Page 192 of With a Cherry On Top

“You are capable of incredible things,” I say, cupping the back of her head. “You’ve helped Sadie through her trauma, won my brother over. You built a career for yourself—two, even—and you can do it again. You can do anything, Charlotte. And no matterwhatyou end up doing, as long as I live, you’ll have someone who’s proud of you.”

She bites her lip and I can see the internal battle playing out in her eyes, but Beatrice’s voice cuts through the moment like a whip cracking. “Enough of this nonsense. Charlotte, you don’t have the luxury of indecision. This career is the only option you have. Do you understand?”

The second I open my mouth to interject, I see the determination in Charlotte’s gaze. Beatrice’s word are falling on deaf ears.

“I...” Charlotte starts, her voice gaining strength as she turns to her mother, “I’m going to a wedding.” She giggles, like her joy has bubbled up and can’t be contained any longer. “And I’m eating the amazing food they’ll serve. I’m drinking margaritas, dancing, and making out with my boyfriend.”

“Charlotte, don’t be ridiculous?—”

“And that,” Charlotte continues, speaking over her, “is all I’m doing today.”

Beatrice’s face turns ashen, but Charlotte’s gaze never wavers. I’m so fucking proud of her, of the courage it took her to stand up and finally choose herself.

“If that’s what you want, then don’t bother coming back.”

Charlotte flinches, lips turned down like some part of her still expected compassion from her mom.

I didn’t, but fuck, it hurts anyway.

“She won’t need to.” Amelie turns to Charlotte. “You made the right choice. I promise.”

“Thank you,” Charlotte says, a single tear slipping down her cheek as she steps into Amelie’s embrace.

I feel the air clearing, the clouds retreating. The storm hasn’t passed, but she’s taken the first step toward something better.

Beatrice is watching her daughters, lips twisted, and Amelie strikes her with a glare over Charlotte’s shoulder. “We’ll be back for her stuff.”

Quickly, I step forward. “Actually, I’ll grab some things now.”

I don’t trust this woman not to destroy it all.

“What—” Beatrice flinches as I step past her. “You can’t be in here. I’ll call the police.”

“You do that. In fact, give them my name, they know me,” I say, walking through the corridor and into Charlotte’s room. I grab the first tote I find, then stride over to her desk and fit all the sketchbooks inside. I wish I had time to unstick all these drawings from her corkboard, but I have no doubt Beatrice is actually calling the police, and this technicallyisher property.

I open her wardrobe and take the picture of Amelie, shoving it into a backpack with as many clothes as I can fit. She can just get new stuff, but these arehers. She made them. When I can’t possibly fit any more in and I’ve got all sorts of shirts and pants and dresses hanging off my arms, I walk to the desk and grab her sewing machine.

I reach the hall again, and Charlotte’s eyes brighten.

I got the right stuff.

“You leave all that here immediately,” Beatrice barks, phone in hand. “This is private property, and?—”

I turn to her and finally glare the way I’ve wanted to since she made me waste those first four eggs. “You will give Charlotte her money back—every fucking penny. Or I swear, I will personally finance the lawyers who’ll take everything from you. You hear me? Everything.”

“You—you’re all?—”

The second I’m out the door, Charlotte reaches back, grips the handle, and slams the door in Beatrice’s stunned face.

“There.” She grins wide. “She finally shut up.”

CHAPTER 37

The Final Course

Margaritas are my favorite too,” Amelie says as she hands Charlotte her third margarita of the day. I watch Charlotte accept the drink from my spot by the kids’ area then glance away, eyes tracking Sadie as she climbs onto a fallen log, while Nevaeh and Marty, Shane and Heaven’s kids, are stationed on either side like tiny, overenthusiastic spotters.

“Careful,” I call.

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