Page 7 of Hopelessly Teavoted
Her mother gave her father a sharp glare.
“Well, obviously I won’t, Amelie. He was an insipid little man.”
“Just know thatIam no Charlotte George, and I am not above murder should your eyes wander.” Her words were ice. Not for the first time, Vickie shuddered at her parents’ cruelty.
Her father dropped down to the couch next to her mother, and whispered words that made Amelie’s lips twitch upward in the closest assimilation Vickie had seen to a smile. This would be a perfect time to slip out, but she had additional business here today.
She cleared her throat, and her mother shook off the haze of lust.
“Yes, darling?”
“I need to talk to you about school.”
Her father focused his attention, sharp and suspicious now, on Vickie.
She sunk into the chair, wishing the upholstery could swallow her whole.
“I’m not going back. I want my own business.”
“Is this about Robert?”
“Robbie,” she corrected. As always.
“You’re well aware I don’t care to partake in juvenile nicknames.” Her mother’s eyes sharpened. “That boy is talented and handsome, and from such a good family, but honestly, Victoria, do you really want to be a permanent groupie?”
“We broke up.” She avoided the razor-sharp blue eyes digging into her, and bit back the correction that a person in their late twenties was more of a man than a boy.
“Oh, thank goodness,” said Amelie. “Groupies are so clingy and gauche. Even if hehadever married you, you would have been either a headline or a punch line. Maybe both.”
The chair was haloed by yellow nail polish chips now.
“I want to buy Hopelessly Teavoted. I want to run the tea shop, and tinker with magic.”
“No,” said her mother.
“Absolutely not,” said her father. “You return to school and finish, and then we can talk about your options.”
Vickie shook her head. It would have been easier if they had agreed, but she was willing to do things the hard way.
“I already talked to Priscilla Hart. She’s too busy at the Council of Witchery to take over. A buyer is lined up to put in a chain coffee shop otherwise.”
Her mother’s glare intensified. How was that even possible? Vickie had the magical gift, and yet here she was, a butterfly skewered by a sharp sliver on a board for examination.
“We won’t pay for it.” Amelie shook out her hair again, chin lifted. “And you have no idea how disastrous it would be to have to pay foreverythingwe have provided for you.”
Vickie shrugged, ignoring the threat. It was typical of her mother to play dramatic. “I’ll take out a loan.”
“You’ll finish school, or we will formally cut you out of the will. I’ll have our lawyers on the phone as soon as you step out of here.” There was no arguing with Maximillian.
Vickie sighed. She had suspected it would come to this. It was part of the reason she had stowed two suitcases in her yellow Volkswagen this morning. The car had barely made it back here from school, but it would do. There was an apartment above the shop, and she had already put in an inquiry at the bank. Prissy could be ready today, she said.
The Starnberger name would help her with getting what she needed. If she hurried.
“Call your lawyer,” she said, her voice as cold as her mother’s eyes. Her father stood up.
“Victoria,” he began, but she held a hand up.
“Don’t bother. Cut me off. I’ll do this on my own.”
