Daisy's father said, and she herself agreed, that the Weasleys were one peculiar bunch.
They weren't as affluent, sociable, and affable as her other neighbours. They never came to the local kids' birthdays, they never invited the local kids to their...
"Yeah, me, too. I mean, they were all insignificant reasons. Too poor being the biggest issue my Dad kept on bringing."
"Oh... That's too bad." Daisy said sympathetically, "What's your plan, then?"
"I'm saving!" Vincent said. He lifted his intertwined fingers over his head and stretched his back, "Well, I'm gonna prove to him that I'm good enough to inherit DeVere Corp, and that I make good enough choices, including who my spouse is. But, if all things go south, I'm saving emergency money so I can go on with my life independently one day."
"Brilliant! Why didn't I think of that?" Daisy said, dumbstruck.
"Do you have money saved right now?"
"Legally, quite a bit. My mother made me a personal bank account when I was born and my Father deposited a little amount every year on my birthday, and sometimes when he's feeling swell or he just returned from a successful trip," Daisy admitted, "But actually, my Father still has the card in his possession."
"What about your allowance?"
"Well. Since I am homeschooled and essentially homebound, I don't recieve any other funding like that."
"You should start hinting about taking charge of your own legal money."
"Wouldn't that be perfidious? Luring my father to giving me money then use it to run away from him? I shouldn't."
"You should. You really should. It's called adulting."
From inside the house, the two teens looked comfortable and happy, conversing with each other, lost in their own world... the sprouts of a budding young love...
A complete opposite of what the two were actually talking about.
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January 2nd, 1995
DAISY USUALLY JUST escorted her father into the car that would bring him to the airport, just outside her front porch, but not this time.
This time, she had to accompany Mr. Allen and the three DeVeres until they reached the terminal.
"I have to say, very lovely dress you got there, Jane," Mrs. DeVere said out of the blue, "Where did you get that?"
"Oh," Daisy said, looking down at her beige, flowery dress with embroideries decorating its hem. "Father bought it for me, and one of our maids, Wendy, embroidered them herself."
"Well, lovely needlework."
That kind of dull, curt, awkward, and superficial talks was what she had to put up with throughout the week.
