"The first scone is what I like to call the practice scone." Alexander says as he stuffs an entire scone in his mouth, hands one to me, one to Avery then swallows and continues lecturing. "It is not until the third—nay, fourth—scone that you develop any kind of scone-eating expertise."

"Scone-eating expertise," Ave repeats in a deadpan.

"Your nature is skeptical," Alexander notes. "That will serve you well in these halls, but if there is one universal truth in the human experience, it is that a finely honed scone-eating palate does not just develop overnight."

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch sight of Oren and wonder how long he has been tailing us. "Why are we standing here talking about scones?" Avery asks Alexander. Oren had insisted that the Hawthorne brothers aren't a physical threat, but still! At the very least, Alexander should be trying to make our lives miserable. "Aren't you supposed to hate me?" Avery asks.

"I do hate you," Alexander replies, happily devouring his third scone. "If you notice, I have kept the blueberry confections for myself and gave you"—he shudders—"the lemon-flavored scones. Such is the depth of my loathing for you personally and on principle."

"This isn't a joke." Avery replies sternly. I look down at my scone and realise mine is blueberry I look back at Alexander who noticed me notice this and gives me a bold wink. I smile at him before he turns back to Avery. "Why would I hate you, Avery?" Alexander asks finally. There are now layers of emotion in his tone that hadn't been there before. "You aren't the one who did this."

Tobias Hawthorne had. "Maybe you're blameless." Alexander shrugs. "Maybe you're the evil genius that Gray seems to think you are, but at the end of the day, even if you thought that you'd manipulated our grandfather into this, I guarantee that he'd be the one manipulating you."

I think of the letter that Tobias Hawthorne had left Ave—two words, no explanation.

"Your grandfather was a piece of work," Avery tells Alexander. I smack her arm slightly. 

Alexander picks up a fourth scone. "I agree. In his honor, I eat this scone." He does just that. "Want me to show you to your rooms now?"

"Just point me in the right direction," Avery tells him. "About that..." The youngest Hawthorne brother makes a face. "There's a chance that Hawthorne House is just a tiny bit hard to navigate. Imagine, if you will, that a labyrinth had a baby with Where's Waldo?, only Waldo is your rooms."

I attempted to translate that ridiculous sentence. "Hawthorne House has an unconventional layout." He answers my thought

Alexander does away with a fifth and final scone. "Has anyone ever told you that you have a way with words?" I say.


After a while he starts taking us to our rooms, "Hawthorne House is the largest privately owned residential home in the state of Texas." Alexander leads us up a staircase. "I could give you a number for square footage, but it would only be an estimate. The thing that truly separates Hawthorne House from other obscenely large, castle-like structures isn't so much its size as its nature. My grandfather added at least one new room or wing every year. Imagine, if you will, that an M. C. Escher drawing conceived a child with Leonardo da Vinci's most masterful designs...."

"Stop," Avery orders. "New rule: You're no longer allowed to use any terminology for baby-making when describing this house or its occupants—including yourself."

Xander brings a hand melodramatically to his chest. "Harsh." She shrugs. "My house, my rules." He gawks at her, "Too soon?" She asks. "I'm a Hawthorne." Alexander gives her his most dignified look. "It's never too soon to start trash-talking." He resumes playing the tour guide. "Now, as I was saying, the East Wing is actually the Northeast Wing, located on the second floor. If you get lost, just look for the old man." Alexander nodded toward a portrait on the wall. "This was his wing, these last few months."

I haven't seen a picture of Tobias Hawthorne, but looking at the portrait, I can't look away. He had silver-gray hair and a weather-worn face. His eyes were definitely Grayson's, almost exactly, his build Jameson's, his chin Nash's. If I hadn't seen Alexander in motion, I might not have recognized a resemblance between him and the man at all, but it was there in the way Tobias Hawthorne's features pulled together—not the eyes or nose or mouth, but something about the shape in between.

"I never even met him." Avery says and I tear my eyes from the portrait and look at Xander. "I'd remember if I had." She clarifies, "Are you sure?" Xander asks her. She looks back to the portrait and studies it to be sure and I watch her look.

Alexander showed Avery to her wing to let her explore, once she is gone he walks me in the direction of my own. "So Alexander, what's school like around here?" I ask. " 'Alexander'?" He quotes strangely, "Is your name.. not Alexander?" I ask slightly worried I've completely embarrassed myself. "No it is, its just no one actually calls me it, everyone knows me as Xander" he informs. "Ok, well... Xander, what's school like around here?" I rephrase. "What you mean by that is do we have a cheer squad? Now I regret to inform you we do not but theres a dance studio here if you'd settle for that" he speaks fast. "How did you know I wanted to ask that?" I ask baffled. "The cheer uniform thing yesterday and the 'Westwood high school chipmunks' is sort of a dead give away" he says referring to the sweater I'm wearing at the moment.

I nod in defeat as we continue walking. Xander leads me to a room which looks huge. Before he can leave, I say something sort of out of the blue, "Bye Xander" I say. "Bye Paris" he replies sweetly before walking away. I walk into the room and am met with a giant room with a four poster bed, every piece of furniture is white to match the walls and to my left is a clean bathroom also very white. I slop onto the bed and drop my dance bag that I keep everything in. 

After laying on the plumped up pillows and successfully deflating them I sit up and grab my bag. The zipper gets caught half way down leaving me with no choice but to pull it with all my might. Once it opens Im met with the small amount of personal objects in my possession. First to be unpacked is my night light, which is coated in a layer of  packaging tape that is tinted pink, I place in a plug socket bellow my television. Next is a shiny golden necklace that Mom got me weeks before her passing. I normally wear everywhere however I took it off for cheer practice and forgot to place it back on, this goes around my neck for now and at night I plan to keep it on the bedside table. Next is a small paper picture of my Mom that I took of her a month before she went into hospital, I place it on my drawer set and then sort through some clothes. 

I clearly have some shopping to do as all I have are some sweats, sports leggings, jean shorts, a short t-shirt that is the size and tightness of a sports bra, a blue cropped shirt and a baggy sweater for 'Westwood high school chipmunks' which is the same as the one im wearing right now however it is in a different colour as this one I got from dance squad. They all go neatly in my closet and the door is closed. And with that I flop right back onto the airy bed and let my eyes close.

Im woken up to the painful sound of my alarm blaring in my ears. I grab my phone aggressively from the nightstand and hit the snooze button. I close my eyes and feel myself drift off before another disruptive sound infuriates me, this time, not the alarm. I open my eyes furiously and try to locate this sound, however it remains unclear. It seems to be a sort of shuffling noise. Next I hear a small pattern of knocks and I know exactly where the mystery sound is coming from. 

I make my way to a bookshelf fearfully, I pick up a chair that is placed next to a desk and prepare to defend myself. There is silence from the other end until another sequence of knocks comes, I step back and prepare. Silence again, then yet again the same knock sequence. Then a sigh, "Just let me in, I know your right there" It says. I know the voice, it is none other than the Hawthorne who -the last time I saw- was in the library fighting with his brother.

"Jameson?" I ask tiredly, "Thats my name.. let me in" He says sarcastically, now a little impatient. "How?" My voice is raspy due to just waking up. "Pull on Moby Dick" he says. I immediately chuckle, "What?" He says, i can tell he is smirking slightly. "It sounded like you said pull my dick" I barely say through heavy laughter. There's a little silence and I hear him breathe a light giggle, clearly not wanting me to hear that he also found this funny.

"Just do it" he says and I can tell he is definitely smiling now. I search the full shelf for Moby dick and pull the top like they do in the movies and just as I suspected would happen, the shelf swings open. I'm met with the dreamy green eyes of Jameson Hawthorne, he wears a layer of soot and dirt.

He wears a parted lipped smile on his amazing face. Behind him is a dark tunnel that seems to last forever. "How can I help you?" I ask slightly sarcastic. "Do you not want to know why he chose your sister and not you?" He ignores me, speaking quickly, "I don't think there's any possible way for me to care any less actually" I report. 

"Well I do.. I was talking with the heiress herself and she doesn't care either. The old man used to give us something to solve every Saturday morning and I think this is all one final mystery to solve." He explains. "So you asked my sister and she said now so you went to the second best?" I ask with a sarcastic smile. "Tell me you don't care even a tiny smidgin and I will leave right now" he has a habit of skipping passed what I say. 

I make a really loud and exaggerated sigh and flop onto my back onto my bed. My sweatshirt rises a little with the force, revealing my lower stomach. "You know they think its because Ave's related to you guys" I use his own trick against him by changing the subject in seconds. "Well you know.. that would make us related too.. which would be a shame.." he walks towards the bed and sits beside me. I prop myself onto my elbows, "And whys that?" I speak gravelly and move slowly. "Well.. the sexual tension is unreal" he matches my low tone. My mouth opens to say something but I'm in too shocked that the man I've known like three or something days is so openly talking about our 'sexual tension'. 

I'm cut off from saying anything when his hand meets the patch of bare skin on my stomach. My breathing hitches slightly and I try to play it off. When his cool skin meets mine I feel fireworks erupt within my and everything stops, suddenly all my problems have disappeared from a simple touch. 

(A/N: Its meant to be... my battery just reached 69% when I started this scene..)

His hand moves from just above my belly button down. He teases me moving slowly, I don't even stop him, I can't stop him. I want nothing more than to let his hand lower further but I can't let him win. I still let myself savour the moment for as long as I can until he reaches the waistband of my sweats. His fingers threaten to go lower but my hand interrupts by swatting his away. 

"Well Mystery Girl's sister-" he starts before I cut him off. "Thats not my name." I state. "Well what do you want me to call you?" He asks. "My name, Paris Riley Grambs" I reiterate. "What kind of name is that?.. Paris.. Paris.. I prefer Eiffel Tower.." my lips part with a slight smile of disbelief. "Well I can think of quite a few nicknames for you too Jameson Winchester Hawthorne." I say. 

"Oh yeah? Like what?" He smirks as well now lying beside me, both our heads facing the others. "Like maybe... Dickhead?" I tease, my smirk growing into a smile. "As I was saying.. Eiffel Tower, are you in?" He says so quietly that i don't think I would hear if I was the tiniest bit farther away. I hesitate before finally saying "I'm in".