Page 1 of Hopelessly Teavoted
CHAPTER 1Azrael
Eight Years Ago
Azrael Hart had missed his chance.
Again.
Victoria’s freckled nose pressed up against the glass of the car door as the engine started, and for a moment, they were kids again. As though she weren’t driving the few hours to college, and he weren’t catching a ride to the airport to fly three thousand miles away from the girl he’d loved since he was six years old.
“Devil dammit,” he swore. He shoved his hands in his pockets and replayed the speech he had planned. In his head, he’d given her the note, which he folded now, and shoved in his wallet, crushing the heavy weighted paper he used for his most treasured compositions against the sweaty, useless palm and tingling fingers that had failed him. His fingers were supposed to push a strand of hair behind her ear. To tuck it gently there, and ask her, in a voice that would have come out low and velvety, if he could kiss her. That perspiring palm was supposed to have been cool and collected and to have pressed against her soft cheek. He wanted to have pulled her face toward his own like he did in his best daydreams.
Instead, his hand had flapped, an awkward bird in the wind, wet with anticipation, as he told her good luck and then gave her a handshake.
An honest-to-devil handshake, like he was his uncle Larry, the funeral director, doing grim business and sealing a deal for a discounted casket and viewing package.
He was a fucking mess.
Vickie was sunshine and daisies and happiness. The echoes of their childhood friendship were everywhere, even when he turned to face his house, which sat on the grounds next to hers, the property marked off by a white picket fence on her family’s side and a wrought-iron one on his. Running a useless hand through dark brown curls, he looked up at the winding spires of the gothic mansion that was the Hart family home.
Now his hair was sweaty, and his hands steamed with angst and unused spells. He would need to at least magic a shower before he left, or risk alarming everyone on the airplane even more than he would if they caught a glimpse of his morbid parents in all their attire.
He looked up to the sweeping window from where his parents watched him.
A familiar clatter of combat boots on the stone walkway told him his sister was nearby.
Good. That crushed the longing in his chest.
Azrael swallowed and wondered if his family suspected how he felt about Victoria.
His mother stood there, straight dark hair hanging over her snug, high-necked, black velvet gown, the lace of the sleeves stretching over her fingers as she raised them in acknowledgment. Concern flickered across her face, pale as a sheet above bloodred lips. The way his mother glided across the ground made him shudder with embarrassment. Years of revulsion from adults and peers alike taught him that, good intentions or not, his parents caused scenes simply by existing.
Victoria’s parents were an exception, but only because the Starnbergers primarily spoke the language of black American Express cards and chauffeurs like the one who was about to squire Vickie away before Az could tell her of his hidden heart. The Hart family might be known for their proximity anytimesomething unusual happened in town, but they were wealthy enough to purchase the respect of their posh neighbors. Though the grounds surrounding both houses were vast enough to require a car, and there was no way to see if the Starnbergers stood watch from their window, Az knew the answer.
They never bothered.
“Did you at least kiss her farewell? You should do that. Like, now.” His sister’s mouth pulled into a smirk, and he knew he was blushing. Priscilla was hisyoungersister. How was it that she knew precisely the right way to boss him around?
Goddess, he hoped Vickie hadn’t heard that.
Vickie rolled down the window one last time. This was his moment.
Prissy looked at him and shook her head. “Weirdo,” she murmured, patting his arm so he knew that even if she was judging him, she did at least also care.
“If you decide this sulky, sad boy isn’t good enough to be your long-distance bestie, you can always pick me instead.” She pointed toward her face, nodding solemnly.
Vickie smiled, and Azrael’s heart seemed to stand still. He was never going to have the courage to tell her.
“I pick you already. You’re already my friend.”
His sister’s smile stretched wide now. “Damn right,” she said, waving one last time, and running back toward the door, but not before giving him a stern look. “Have fun at college! Be safe, but not too safe!” she called over her shoulder.
It was just the two of them now, and the insurmountable distance between his hand and the rolled-down window. He willed himself to move toward it.
His feet did nothing.
“Text me when you get there,” he murmured, weakly, instead. He held up his hand a final time, hoping she couldn’t see the glistening sweat.
She looked at him for a moment. Bit her lip.
