Page 56 of Arranged with Twins
“This burgundy silk would be stunning with your coloring.” Mother holds up a dress that appears to have been designed for someone with no need to hide a growing midsection. “The cut is very flattering.”
“It’s too fitted.” I touch the fabric, noting how the waist curves inward dramatically. “I prefer looser cuts these days.”
“Looser cuts?” Mother’s eyebrows rise with disapproval. “Darling, you’re young and fit. Tighter silhouettes look far better on camera than anything boxy or shapeless. You’ll look like an old hag in something loose.”
The word ‘hag’ carries particular disdain, as if choosing comfort over appearance represents some moral failing. I move to the next dress, hoping for something more forgiving but find another design that would cling to every curve. “What about this one?” I gesture to a navy-blue option that seems slightly less form-fitting.
“The color washes you out completely.” Mother dismisses it without consideration. “And the neckline is far too conservative for an evening event.”
I try on three different dresses, each one making me increasingly anxious about concealing my pregnancy. The burgundy silk clings to my torso in ways that make my breath catch with panic. In another few weeks, hiding my condition will become impossible regardless of clothing choices. My breasts already threaten to betray me.
“The burgundy is perfect.” Mother stands behind me as we both look in the full-length mirror. “You look sophisticated and elegant, which is exactly the image Leo’s foundation wants to project.”
“I look like I’m being packaged for display.” The words come out more bitter than intended, but I’m tired of being treated like a mannequin dressed to serve other people’s purposes.
“You look like a woman who understands her role in supporting her future husband’s career.” Mother’s gaze meets mine inthe mirror. “Marriage requires sacrifices, Sienna. Personal preferences become secondary to partnership goals.”
The lecture about wifely duty makes my chest burn with resentment. “What if Leo’s personal preferences include wanting me to feel comfortable and confident rather than displayed like a trophy?”
“Leo is a businessman first and foremost. He understands the importance of image management.” Mother adjusts the dress’s shoulders with businesslike efficiency. “Your comfort matters less than your effectiveness in representing his interests.” She laughs. “It’s not as if it’s going to be arealmarriage.”
She’s really quite clueless, but part of me is satisfied by knowing things she doesn’t. It’s not a fake marriage anymore, and Leo actually cares about me. The only person who puts their interests above mine in this situation is her.
Gritting my teeth, I change back into my own clothes, feeling deflated by another losing battle with Mother’s expectations. The beige pantsuit that felt restrictive this morning now seems like armor against her controlling demands.
“We’ll have the burgundy delivered to your apartment tomorrow.” Mother begins hanging the rejected dresses back in their garment bags. “The stylist will also send appropriate accessories and shoes.”
“Fine.” I don’t have the energy to fight anymore. Picking my battles with Mother requires strategic thinking I can’t manage while dealing with pregnancy fatigue and emotional upheaval.
“Oh, and darling, I’ll also send over a fabulous low-carb diet plan I’ve been following with Cook’s help.” She lowers her voice slightly, as though divulging a shameful secret. “You’ve clearlygained a few pounds, and you simply can’t do that with fittings for your wedding dress likely to accelerate over the next few months.”
It hovers on the tip of my tongue to tell her off, but I bite back the urge. I don’t acknowledge her words, but it’s obvious my body has changed enough for her to notice.
“Try almonds if you have to stress eat,” she says as though imparting deep wisdom. “They’re so nutritious and fill you up nicely.”
“Right.” I follow her downstairs, endure a painfully tedious parting with both, and finally emerge into the fresh air. I draw in a few deep breaths as the driver pulls up in front of me and gets out to open my door.
During the drive back to my apartment, Leo calls. I answer on the first ring, grateful for the distraction from my frustration.
“How did lunch go?” His voice carries immediate concern, as if he can sense my mood through the phone before I even utter one word.
“About as well as expected.” I settle back against the car’s leather seats. “I lost another battle with Mother, as always.”
“What kind of battle?” His silent concern feels steady and grounding, though it doesn’t ease the ache in my chest.
“Wardrobe selection for Friday’s gala. Apparently, I’m incapable of choosing appropriate clothing without professional guidance.” I try to keep the bitterness out of my voice but fail completely. “I’m also supposed to eat almonds or something so I don’t get fat.”
“You don’t need anyone’s guidance to look beautiful, and you’re not fat. You’d still be beautiful if you were.” His response is immediate and certain. “Ignore her selection. Remember how good it felt to choose things you actually wanted during the early days of our engagement? I still remember how sexy you were in the black velvet top and red silk skirt. Nadia designed those, right?”
The memory of that makes me smile despite my mood. “She brought them, but I don’t know if she designed them. It did feel like freedom.”
“Then why not exercise that freedom now?” Leo’s suggestion carries gentle encouragement. “Go shopping. Pick out exactly what you want to wear Friday night. Choose something that makes you feel confident and comfortable.”
“Mother already ordered something from a stylist.” I watch Manhattan pass by through the car window. “She’d be furious if I showed up wearing something different.”
“Katherine’s fury is a small price to pay for your autonomy.” His voice grows more serious. “Besides, it’s my foundation sponsoring the event. I think I get some say in what my fiancée wears, though I don’t actually believe you need my permission, or anyone else’s, to wear what you want.”
The reminder that this is Leo’s event, not Mother’s, strengthens my resolve. “You’re right. I should choose for myself.”
