Page 61 of Love and Other Champagne Problems

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 todress 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 myunfemininity.

“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,issomething 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 therewasa motive to this breakfast. A motive that’d led my mother to believe she could lie to my face and get away with it. Itwasn’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.”

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