Page 30 of Hexed Up

Of course, there is a third option. I tell them the whole truth, exploding love bombs and everything. However, I’d rather slit my own throat or boil my own head.

I go with the second, hoping the sherry I downed might improve my acting skills.

“It’s all very new and very recent,” I tell my family. “I didn’t want to share until I knew we were properly a thing.”

“That’s excellent news,” my dad says. “It’s been an awfully long time.” He chuckles and my mum and sister nod in agreement.

“It hasn’t been that long!”

“Four years?”

“One and a half!”

“Anyhow, it’s about time. You’re getting on a bit, Molly.”

“Dad, I’m twenty-eight!”

“You’ve got to catch a man while you’re in your prime,” my mum says.

“I’m not going to catch anyone,” I say, trying not to think about the fact I’ve bewitched a man with a love potion, “and that’s such a dated way of thinking. There’s no prime. Plus, Auntie was single all her life and perfectly happy.”

“She also passed before her fiftieth birthday,” my mum says, like the two events are somehow linked. “Anyway, that’s by theby, because you have a young man now. What’s his name? Is he from good wizarding stock?”

I tap my empty wine glass and immediately it fills with blood-red wine. I take a big gulp.

“Actually, he’s a civilian.” My mother frowns and goes to open her mouth. I beat her to it. “He’s in banking. Very wealthy. In fact, he owns two Ferraris.”

“Ferrari? Those are the flashy cars, am I right?” my dad says. I nod. “Two? Is that normal?” I shake my head.

“And he’s very good looking,” my sister adds, before hiccuping and covering her mouth.

“So when am I going to meet this mysterious man?” my mother asks.

Never,I think,never, never, never!

“Like Norman, he’s very busy with work,” I say.

“How about the annual golf and spa weekend away?” my sister says grinning with delight.

“The what?” I ask.

“The golf and spa weekend away. Uncle Harold rents us all rooms at this paranormal hotel in the Cotswolds. All the men go off and play golf and us girls go to the spa.”

“Erm,” I say, “annual? Why am I only just hearing about it?”

“You weren’t invited,” my mum says, taking a sip from her wine glass.

“What?” I say in outrage. I always thought Uncle Harold liked me. I’m about the only one who makes the effort to laugh at his awful jokes. “Why not?”

“It’s couples only.”

“That is … that is … so singlist!” My mum shrugs. I narrow my eyes. “Has Tiggie been?”

“Last year, she brought that nice boy she went to the academy with.”

“He’s gay!”

My mum shrugs again.