Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
A pparently, Vivienne had not planned ahead to drop in on Mimosa Mornings, if the look on my mother’s face when the tall woman walked in was any sign. My father must not have had the opportunity to warn her, either. I wasn’t sure the last time I’d seen my mother so frazzled, though, to her credit, she tried to hide it. She didn’t do a good job. I wondered if Vivienne picked up on my mother’s nervousness—then again, she had the rest of the mimosa-goers hounding at her heels to prove an effective enough distraction.
“My, you’re so beautiful!” Mrs. Holland exclaimed, rubbing Vivienne’s hand as if it were a lamp and she was trying to draw out a genie. “Look at that skin!”
“What moisturizer do you use?” This was Ms. Jennings, her worry wrinkles standing out prominently.
“Oh, that perfume!” Yvette exclaimed, all but gripping Vivienne’s suit jacket like a child with their mother. “So beautiful! So—so—rich! I mean, rich, as in deep , of course, though it smells expensive as well!”
It was almost amusing, watching them make fools of themselves in front of Mrs. Astor with alcohol on their breath. I wondered how many of them would regret their behavior later, sober. Another reason I knew Vivienne’s visit was unannounced—my mother absolutely wouldn’t have drunk any champagne. She also would’ve forbidden anyone else to drink it. Especially Ms. Jennings. She would’ve canceled Mimosa Morning entirely.
“So flattering, so kind,” Vivienne would say to everyone’s compliments, taking the overwhelming hoard of rich ladies in stride. Almost as if she’d had to handle it many times before, and perhaps she had. “You’re all lovelier than I expected. Very welcoming.”
“Is that an English accent I hear?” someone asked. “I thought you lived in California!”
“Oh, yes,” Vivienne said with a laugh, giving a good-natured nod. “My family and I spent our early years in England, but Malcolm, my husband—he moved us back to his hometown on the west coast after Aaron turned ten, I believe. My accent is slowly fading, but I’m delighted it’s still somewhat recognizable.”
She had a way of saying these compliments without them falling flat, and I wasn’t sure if it was because of the lilt to her words or the gentle way she looked at everyone. It almost felt like she was a mother hen and everyone were her chicks.
Except for me, who stood separate from it all. It was only a matter of time now. The topic I’d successfully dodged all morning… It was only a matter of time.
“Why are you here so early?” Yvette asked, and I was sure she’d meant to sound happier about the prospect, but her voice came out almost accusing. “I thought you weren’t coming in until next month, for the wedding. ”
“I had a few things to do in New York, and it’s only an hour’s flight to come by here before heading back home.” Vivienne looked at me with a fond smile. “I wanted to meet Margot as well, though I’m sure Aaron will be very disappointed I met her first. I’ll have to rub his nose in it.”
He had the chance to meet me and declined , I wanted to tell her, to hear what she’d say in an excuse. A woman like her, so poised and perfect, would have an excuse for her son’s behavior—and probably a great one.
At the mention of Aaron, an oohh sound worked through the crowd like a wave. “You’ll have to go back to him and sing the praises of our fair Margot,” Yvette said, turning around to beam at me.
I stared at her with a flat expression, remembering precisely what she’d said about me meeting the Astors. I wasn’t living up to her expectations.
“Oh, show us a photo of him, would you?” Ms. Jennings asked, pressing her palms together. “We’ve all done our digging—ahem, to make sure Margot isn’t getting the short end of the stick—not that your son is the short end of the stick, of course, but?—”
“What she’s saying,” my mother cut in, “is that we haven’t been able to find pictures of Aaron online.”
“We were very careful about my sons’ privacy,” Vivienne said with a nod, bringing her orange juice to her lips. “We gave each of them the choice to remain behind the camera or in the spotlight. We tease that Aaron is a bit of a recluse sometimes—he values his privacy, you see.”
Everyone in the group gave a reverent nod.
“But… I suppose I can show you a picture, if you were to keep it between us. ”
And just like that, the group squealed like they were teenage girls.
My pulse had sped up as Vivienne pulled her phone from her pocket, everyone crowding around her to get a good view. I scanned the hall for Sumner, but I hadn’t seen him since he’d pulled me aside in the hallway. He must’ve ducked into the kitchen to help with cleanup, nowhere in sight.
They’re all going to see him before me , I thought, staring as Vivienne’s thumb swiped through her photos. There was no room for me to press into the group, stuck on the outskirts, as always. They’re all going to know what the man I’m going to marry looks like before I do.
I took a sharp step backward, feeling as though there suddenly wasn’t enough air in the event hall. Surely there were too many people crammed in one space; it had to be a fire hazard. Surely we shouldn’t all be huddled together.
Surely this couldn’t be happening.
Everyone around me got first dibs on my life… but me. My parents, the deciders. The country club members, the gossipers. Me, the afterthought. Just as with every other choice in my life, I was the last person consulted with. And I couldn’t let it happen.
Without thinking it through in its entirety, I shoved into Yvette’s back hard, and with how many mimosas she consumed, she had too delayed of a reaction to right herself. She pitched forward, heels stumbling, and the force sent her and her mimosa sprawling all over Vivienne and her one-of-a-kind suit.
Everyone shrieked.
Yvette ricocheted off of Vivienne’s lap and onto the ground, her plastic champagne flute bouncing harmlessly on the floor. Staff workers rushed toward Vivienne with napkins while Mrs. Holland tried swatting the mimosa off of the expensive clothing. As if it would’ve helped. The liquid seeped into the velvet material, creating a darkened stain on the front of Vivienne’s pants. She blinked, stunned, mimosa dripping off her chin.
I leaned to the side, hiding behind Ms. Jennings. If the ladies hadn’t been so tipsy, I’m sure I would’ve been found out immediately, my evil deed witnessed and condemned. But when Yvette looked up from the floor, she zeroed straight in on Ms. Jennings, and didn’t look at me at all.
“I’ve had it with you, you tramp!” Yvette screeched, completely forgetting time and place, and all hell broke loose from there.
Yvette launched from the marble and grabbed an entire fistful of Ms. Jennings’s auburn curls, snapping Ms. Jennings’s head back. Someone’s mimosa flute fell to the ground, which sent more specks of liquid flying up. My mother called out Yvette’s name and rushed toward the dueling duo, and Ms. Jennings didn’t even question why Yvette sprung at her—she grabbed Yvette’s own hair, the two locked in a vicious embrace.
“You’re just jealous!” Ms. Jennings shouted, unfazed by the grip on her head. “I’m so sorry that your husband likes my company better!”
“It isn’t your company he likes,” Yvette fired back, eyes blazing. “Which is why he only ever stays an hour!”
Scandalized gasps cut through the group, and Vivienne covered her mouth with her hand. I pressed my lips together, but not to fight off a smile. It was a situation that I would’ve normally looked on with amusement, sipping at my own drink while the dramatics unfolded, but I simply stood there, a buzzing sound filling my head.
I hadn’t thought it through, not thoroughly enough the way I normally did. When I pushed Yvette, I wasn’t sure what I’d been expecting, but it escalated far further than I thought. I looked at the stain on Vivienne’s front. I was the reason it was ruined, all because I hadn’t wanted anyone to see Aaron’s picture before me.
Grace tried to tug Yvette’s hands out of Ms. Jennings’s hair, her own expression twisted and flushed with embarrassment. “Mom—Mom, please .”
My mother attempted to untangle Ms. Jennings, and while thick in the fray, she turned to me. Her eyes flashed. “ Margot .”
Security came in then, escorting the two huffing and puffing—and blushing—ladies out of the room. It was too late, though. The damage had been done. The liquid had set into Vivienne’s suit, and she’d stopped dabbing at it. Or, really, stopped allowing Mrs. Holland to dab at it, and lifted her hand to ward the napkin off. I couldn’t bring myself to study her expression.
“Vivienne, I am so, so sorry,” my mother rushed out, fretting with her palms opening and closing over the murder of the fine cloth. “I’ll—I’ll have it cleaned, replaced?—”
“It’s an original Malstoni,” I found myself saying when I should’ve kept my mouth shut. “You can’t replace it.”
My mother looked at me sharply, the realization rolling like a wave in her eyes. In a split second, I saw it all—the promise of her wrath.
But she had to placate first. She rushed in with more flowery words, more platitudes, expressing her deepest apologies. Vivienne stood up from the chair they’d ushered her into and excused herself to the bathroom, waving off when anyone tried to follow her.
The gossip ensued. “Her poor outfit.”
“I can’t believe that was our first impression!”
“She must hate us…”
“No, she must hate Yvette. Could you blame her?”
My mother came at me and picked up my arm. Her fingers tightened. “A word,” she said in a very pleasant tone, one that would’ve fooled anyone except me. She escorted me into the kitchen, where the staff was working to clean up behind the scenes. They gave us space, no doubt reading the room my mother created. “You did that, didn’t you? I’ll never stop being amazed at the lengths you go to, behaving like a spoiled brat, you know that? Ruining her suit, Margot Massey?”
“I would’ve done it even if it hadn’t been an expensive suit,” I said, as if it made my actions remotely better. The truth was I was just as horrified as my mother was, appalled I could’ve done such a thing. If I’d been wearing the suit Vivienne had on, I would’ve lost my mind if someone spilled something on it. The security would’ve been hauling me out—for murdering the person who’d tripped.
“You knew it was. You knew, and you did it anyway.” My mother raised her hand as if to smack me, but when I didn’t flinch, she let out a sharp, harsh breath instead. “You try to ruin everything, don’t you? I don’t know where I went so wrong to have a daughter like you. I truly don’t.”
She was a master swordsman, my mother, because she knew just the right words to say to make sure they cut deep.
It was then that she seemed to notice there were other eyes in the kitchen. My mother straightened, smoothing a hand down her sundress. Her tone was a tad bit more controlled. “I hope you can keep a closer eye on her.”
It took me until a new voice answered in reply before I realized she wasn’t speaking to me. “It won’t happen again,” Sumner said in a low voice, directly behind me.
“It had better not.” With the statement hanging in the air, my mother stalked off back toward the event hall.
I stared at the spot in the kitchen where my mother stood long after she left. The staff continued cleaning around me as if I were a fixed pillar. I squeezed my hands into fists until my fingers bit into my palm, forcing my breathing to stay even.
I had grown used to the thinly veiled comments, the indirect insults, so to have it laid out in such a blatant way slammed into me like a blow. Maybe it was because it was coming so quickly off of Yvette’s harsh comments yesterday, or because it was my own mother saying it, or perhaps it was because even I knew I was in the wrong—whatever the reason, it stung to the point that my eyes threatened to fill like a child’s. I don’t know where I went so wrong to have a daughter like you.
And another thing that made it worse: Sumner witnessed it. “Margot,” he began tentatively, laying his hand on my shoulder.
I slapped it off before I could think about it, the gentle pressure enough to make me snap. “Would you stop touching me?” I demanded, smacking at my shoulder again even though his hand had already fallen. “I’m not some little kid you have to comfort. I don’t like to be touched; don’t touch me.”
Sumner raised his palms level with his shoulders, pressing his lips together. He wasn’t fighting a smile; I didn’t know what the expression was. I didn’t look closely. Like every other staff in the kitchen, he became faceless, just like the day I’d first met him.
I was a bad daughter? No one liked to talk to me? As if I cared. As if I didn’t actively seek to isolate myself. As if I even tried to be a good daughter—my mother didn’t deserve one.
Drawing in a sudden breath, I turned on my heel and exited the kitchen through the door to the hallway, bypassing the people still clutching to the remains of Mimosa Morning, ignoring the staff who were lingering for any threads of gossip, and leaving Sumner and his puppy dog eyes behind.