Page 62 of Love and Other Champagne Problems

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 aboutthatbehavior.”

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 ofgrapefruit. “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 andobedientdaughter-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 mymother’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 anempty 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?

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Sender: Margot Massey

Subject: RE: Touching Base

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