Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Sender: Aaron Astor
Subject: Touching Base
Hello Margot,
I hope you’ve been well since my last email. I’m sure your schedule has kept you busy, as has mine. Can you believe that in just two weeks, we will meet face to face? I confess, when I think about it, I get a little nervous. You’ll find me much less eloquent in person, I’m afraid. I hope you can forgive me for that.
I’ve gone ahead and sent my flight information to your father. I’m looking forward to meeting you. Please let me know where our meeting location will be, and I’ll be there.
Fondly ,
Aaron
H aving any meal with my parents was a rare occasion, much less breakfast. My parents were two busy workaholics who prided themselves in having no time for anything outside of their scheduled meetings. Their lunches always related to business. Their dinners, if not also under the pretense of business, were held in the private of their homes with not even their daughter bearing witness. Before today, I had been convinced they didn’t eat breakfast.
Perhaps that was why their eight o’clock invitation the next morning had been so jarring.
No, I knew why. It had been the invitation itself.
“Oh, I haven’t been here in years,” my mother said as she cut into her chive and smoked cheddar pancakes of Pierre’s. “The atmosphere is different from how I remember.”
My father, who wasn’t known for his creative palate, played it safe and ordered the bacon topped porridge with soft-boiled eggs. He stirred his spoon through the mixture before deciding he needed more cracked pepper. “Isn’t it?” he asked with obvious disinterest. He hadn’t looked at me once.
I’d barely been able to take my eyes off him. I’d thought seeing him again, in the broad daylight, would invoke rage, but it didn’t. No fear, either. Instead, all I felt was unease.
My mother hadn’t been speaking to either of us in particular, it seemed. She just spoke to hear her own voice. “A bit stuffier, isn’t it? Ironic, given the view of the bay, but the dated furniture most certainly isn’t helping the atmosphere.”
This time, my father simply hummed as he lifted a spoonful of porridge to his mouth. He seemed quite well for how much he drank last night.
My parents sat across from me at the square table at Pierre’s, their shoulders near touching from how close the chairs were. We were hours before my avocado toast would be served, so I settled with eggs Benedict with a side of grapefruit, though the dish sat untouched in front of me. It was impossible to have an appetite in their presence, especially since we’d been here thirty minutes and they hadn’t announced the reason for the impromptu family meal.
I had a few guesses, though. My father’s arrival to my hotel room was one of them.
“How’s Ms. Nancy doing?” my mother asked me after she chewed through her bite of pancake.
“She’s still kicking.”
I’d been watching my mother’s expression, and saw her lips quirk unpleasantly before she brought her water to her lips. “Has she mentioned anything about… well, you know.”
I played dumb. “Mentioned anything about what?”
My mother cleared her throat once. “Never mind.”
Being at Pierre’s instead of the country club’s dining hall meant Sumner was not present to catch the eye of. The thought of him caused something in my lower stomach to shift.
He’d left me in bed last night, but when I’d woken this morning, I’d been in my suite fully alone. At least, until I’d walked out into the living area and found Sumner asleep on my couch.
He had covered himself with one of my suit jackets I’d left out, his legs curled up to strain to fit on the small sofa. I’d allowed myself only a moment to gaze at him, knowing the soft feeling that’d unfurled in my stomach was too dangerous to let bloom further.
Sumner’s lips had been parted as he slept, unflinching even as I laid a throw blanket over him. I should’ve woken him, but I couldn’t. At that moment, I couldn’t bring myself to face him.
“We’re hosting an event next Saturday evening,” my mother told me. “Plan to attend. And, Margot—I heard about your most recent escapade at the tennis courts the other day. Things always get back to me, you know, even if they take time.”
Honestly, I was shocked it’d taken this long for her to bring it up.
“I’ll be sending something to your room. Wear it for the event.”
It wasn’t the first time my mother attempted to dress me, attempted to steer me clear of my Gilfmans and Malstonis. I wasn’t sure why she thought I’d agree this time. “I have enough suits of my own to choose from.”
“If you don’t wear what I send, I’ll cancel your credit card.” She tilted her head with almost sadness at the fact that she was proposing such a thing. “Don’t make me be the bad guy. Please, just this once, wear what I send you. Maybe then Yvette and Ally will keep their mouths shut, hmm?”
I stared at her, knowing that whatever she wanted to dress me in would not be something I liked. She must truly be desperate to shut her friends up before word traveled back to the Astors about my unfemininity .
“Aren’t you going to eat?” my father asked, grumbling around his mouthful of food.
Admittedly, my mouth was practically watering, but I didn’t want to wave my white flag yet, not before discerning whether this was their attempt at raising one or sneaking in on a Trojan Horse. “I’m feeling a bit sick,” I said, and it wasn’t quite a lie.
The next time my mother spoke, I recognized her tone—damage control. It was the tone she’d used when I kissed Sumner the first time we met. “We realized we’ve been going about this in the wrong way. Forcing you to do something without properly discussing it with you first. Without hearing your concerns and figuring out how to mitigate them.”
“Is this about last night?” I asked, eyes flicking toward my father.
Yes, my mother must’ve known, because she didn’t ask me what I was talking about. “It’s about us wanting to make sure you’re comfortable moving forward.”
Proceed with caution , my thoughts were telling me. This is a trap . “Comfortable marrying Aaron Astor?”
“Let’s hear your concerns,” my father said, picking his napkin off his lap and using it to dot at the porridge at the corner of his lips. “You don’t love him, is that it?”
“Is love something you’re interested in?” my mother asked in a gentler tone, shooting my father a side eye. “Of course, love won’t bloom when you haven’t interacted before. It comes with time. Time, Margot, is something we have. We’re not marrying you off next week. We haven’t even begun any wedding planning. In fact, as you know, Aaron hasn’t even proposed yet.”
“You pick my suitor, you plan my wedding,” I murmured, dragging my nail over my knuckles now. “Will you pick out my dress as well? What’s next, picking in what position we consummate the marriage?”
My father choked on his porridge.
My mother’s composure remained. “You will have a say in the planning, of course. I don’t know why you think you won’t.”
“Perhaps because I’ve had no say until now.”
“How haven’t you? You agreed to marrying Aaron, have you forgotten? You’re the one that requested to meet him privately first; we’ve arranged that, and he’s coming in the day before the wedding to meet you. You were the one that wanted communication beforehand; has he not been emailing you? In what way have you had no say, Margot?”
“You’ve threatened to disown me if I didn’t follow through with the marriage,” I said evenly, lifting my chin. “Doesn’t exactly sound like I have a choice, now, does it?”
My mother’s arm moved under the table, presumedly laying on my father’s leg. He’d been sitting forward before he halted. “I’m sorry you’re seeing it that way,” my mother said, raising her eyebrows in an almost insulted way. “If that’s the impression we gave you, we’re sorry about that.”
The impression they gave. More like they’d said as much to my face. It was clear now, though, that there was a motive to this breakfast. A motive that’d led my mother to believe she could lie to my face and get away with it. It wasn’t just my father who “gave me that impression”—my mother had said it herself. She was trying to change history, which meant there was a bigger reason for it.
Why butter me up now? Though she tried to play it off, I noticed the tremble in my mother’s left hand as it gripped her fork. What changed?
“Vivienne Astor was quite smitten with you,” she murmured, interrupting my train of thought. “Your father told me how you two chatted all the way to the airport yesterday, and she’s even emailed me, asking if she can get on your schedule when she’s in town for the wedding. She wants to have a meal with you. She gushed about you, about how you seem to be the perfect fit for her son.”
“I am quite impressive,” I replied, eyes dropping to my plate. “At least someone noticed.”
“Despite the fact that you ruined her ten-thousand-dollar suit,” my father muttered around yet another spoonful of porridge. It was as if he thought shoveling it quicker and quicker into his mouth would get this breakfast over with quicker.
My mother gripped his leg again, but I simply tilted my head at him. “If it can be cleaned, it isn’t ruined,” I said, echoing what Vivienne had said.
My father huffed.
Without looking at me, my mother began sawing into her pancakes, and in the most conversational voice she could muster, she asked, “Did you ever meet Vivienne privately and talk to her, Margot? Before taking her to the airport? When would you have gotten into her good graces?”
It was the puzzle piece I’d been waiting for, searching for, and I’d been able to find it before my mother. All at once, the anxiety I’d been knotted with loosened, the oxygen in my lungs reappearing. “Ah,” I murmured, sitting up in my seat and picking up my silverware. “I see.”
“See what?” my father demanded with a frown.
I began cutting into my eggs Benedict, gripping my fork in my right hand. “You’re afraid that I could win Vivienne Astor’s approval without you.” A little smile fluttered to my lips. “You’ve finally realized I’m the one with the better hand of cards. Took you long enough.”
Both of my parents stopped eating, the atmosphere changing in an instant. I chewed with a small smirk on my lips. “Margot,” my mother began in a low tone, all pretense of pleasantness fading away. “This isn’t a joke.”
It reminded me of last night, my father saying I took everything as a joke. “It is a bit funny, though, isn’t it?” I asked with a mouthful. The eggs were heavenly, the hollandaise sauce perfect. “When did it occur to you? When Mrs. Astor spoke about how lovely I was? When you realized she might like me more than you? Is that why you stormed in last night, throwing wine glasses around like a caveman? Hmm .” I picked up my water. “I wonder what the Astors would say about that behavior.”
My parents had no response. The rush of power I felt due to having the upper hand was almost addicting, making me near dizzy like a glass of wine. Striking them speechless didn’t happen often, and I relished in it.
“You were hoping you’d meet Mrs. Astor first and spin the situation in your favor, weren’t you?” I went on, stabbing a piece of grapefruit. “A fine line you’d have to balance, making me sound like a rebellious daughter while simultaneously a good wife. How were you going to do it? Say that, while I was a little impulsive, I’d make a nice and obedient daughter-in-law?”
Again, their silence was louder than any other sound in the restaurant.
“What are you afraid I’ll say?” I asked them. “That you threatened me to marry their son? Manipulated me into doing it? Are you afraid they’ll throw your business deal out, and me along with it?”
“We’re not afraid,” my father said firmly, resuming stirring the remaining spoonfuls of porridge. “Because you won’t say a thing.”
I raised an eyebrow. “I won’t?”
“You know what will happen if this deal falls through.”
My smile stretched wider as I laid my fork down on my plate. “You need to pick which angle to attack from. You can’t say you never threatened me in one breath and bring up disowning again in the next.”
“You won’t say anything,” my mother cut in, “because we’ll give you whatever you want. Because, yes, we do realize we should’ve listened to you more. That we should’ve cared more… about what you’re feeling.”
She had to practically choke the words out, but I would give her points for trying. “So, what? What are you offering me to tell the Astors you’re amazing parents?”
“Whatever you want,” my mother repeated. “More shares in the business, a larger inheritance, a house of your own while you’re waiting on the wedding. We’re here to negotiate, Margot. ”
As I listened to her pitch the monetary things at me, the eggs began to settle wrongly in my stomach. It was their fix for everything, of course, as it was the go-to solution to anyone with a thick wallet. But my parents didn’t know me enough to realize I didn’t care about a larger inheritance or a fancy house. They didn’t know me in the slightest, and that was what turned my stomach. “Father already offered.”
My mother looked at my father, and for the first time, I saw disdain in her gaze. “I’m offering in a far more civilized manner than he did.”
Not marrying Aaron Astor wasn’t an option on their list, of course. That went without saying. “There isn’t anything I want from you,” I said at last.
My father laid his hand on the table’s surface hard enough for the plates to clatter, and to draw the eye of those at surrounding tables. “So, what, you plan to lord it over our heads? We won’t have you threatening us, Margot.”
“What about fashion school?” My mom spoke the words as if they were game-changing. “Your dream of being a designer in fashion is within reach, Margot. You wanted to go to fashion school? Aaron is your opportunity. Agree to his engagement, without fighting us, and we’ll pay your full tuition to return to school.”
She thought it was her trump card, but it was the wrong thing to bring up. Her mentioning it took me back to the very day they told me that I wouldn’t be going to New York City for fashion, but for business. To the very first day they took any dreams of mine and shattered them. The Margot that would’ve been tempted by my mother’s offer was in shards in my body, too broken up to be properly enticed.
As my father had, I pulled my napkin from my lap and used it to wipe my mouth, trying to wipe away the soured expression. “My, how the tables have turned.”
With that, I shoved my chair back and rose to my feet, buttoning my suit jacket as I did so. “Where are you going?” my mother demanded, eyes wide. “We aren’t finished discussing?—”
“There isn’t anything to discuss,” I cut her off. “I’ve always had to wait for you to decide my fate. I suppose it’s your turn to wait now, isn’t it?”
The server had chosen that moment to come and check on us, stealing my parents’ attention just long enough. They scrambled to appear sophisticated and refined while I made my getaway. “The meal was delicious,” I said as I slid past the server’s shoulder. “Give my compliments to the chef.”
I walked out of the front of the restaurant and to the elevators at the back of the building. Staring at the closed metal doors, I waited. My reflection was a blur in the shine, too fuzzy to pick out my expression. I could make out my hands, fists at my sides.
I waited, but neither parent came after me.
They were a book I’d memorized; one I could easily predict. Too many eyes, they must’ve decided. Tonight, when I was in my hotel room, they could ambush me then. However, the knot of unease from earlier came back with a vengeance, the oxygen thinning as I reached out and pressed the call button.
The elevator doors opened to reveal an empty chamber, and I stepped inside, giving it one last moment. Even now, when they had something to risk, it wasn’t worth it to them. I wasn’t worth it.
With a sniff, I pressed the button for the lobby, and as the elevator plummeted, my mood fell right along with it. I pulled my phone out and sent a text. Come pick me up?