Chapter 63

Margaux had promised herself she wouldn’t let thoughts of London creep into her time in Marseille, but as the days went on, they lingered at the edges of her mind. It wasn’t just the ball or her mother’s cutting remarks—it was the growing weight of everything she’d left behind. Still, she threw herself into being present, savoring the warmth of family and the slower pace of life.

It was her last morning in Marseille, and she sat on the terrace with her father, sipping coffee as the early sun cast soft light over the garden. They had spent much of the previous night talking about anything and everything—childhood memories, future plans, and the complexity of the Hawthornes.

Her father broke the silence, setting down his cup with a thoughtful expression. “You know, Margaux, I’ve been thinking. Why don’t you stay longer? Work will survive without you for a few extra days.”

Margaux smiled softly, tapping her fingers against her mug. “I wish I could, Papa. But things are waiting for me in London. Patients, responsibilities. I can’t just run away.”

“It’s not running away,” he said, his tone serious. “It’s taking the time you need for yourself. You’ve been giving so much to everyone else—don’t forget to take care of you.”

She sighed and leaned back in her chair, staring out at the garden. “I know you’re right. But I think getting back to my routine will help. Sometimes I feel like I’m just floating between things. Being back here helped me feel grounded again, but I need to figure out how to carry that with me.”

He studied her with a knowing expression, then nodded. “You’re so much like your mother sometimes. Always trying to balance everything. Just promise me you won’t let anyone—not the Hawthornes, not work—take more from you than they deserve.”

“I promise,” she said quietly, meaning it.

Later that day, Margaux packed her suitcase, folding her clothes with practiced efficiency. Léon wandered into her room, his face a mixture of curiosity and sadness.

“You’re leaving already?” he asked, sitting on the edge of her bed.

She smiled at him, zipping up her bag. “I have to get back to work, petit frère. But I’ll come back soon, I promise.”

“You always say that,” he mumbled, swinging his legs back and forth.

“And I always keep my promise,” she replied, sitting beside him and wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “Next time, I’ll stay longer. Maybe we’ll go to the beach, just the two of us. What do you think?”

Léon looked up at her, his eyes lighting up. “Really? No adults?”

“Just us,” she said, ruffling his hair. “No boring grown-ups allowed.”

“Okay, but you have to let me pick the ice cream,” he added, narrowing his eyes.

Margaux laughed. “Deal.”

The drive to the airport was quiet. Margaux stared out the window, watching the familiar streets of Marseille blur past. Her father was focused on the road, but every so often, he glanced at her.

When they arrived, he helped her with her bag before turning to her. “You know, if you ever need to come back—no questions asked—this will always be your home.”

“I know, Papa,” she said, her voice soft. “Thank you. For everything.”

He pulled her into a tight hug, holding on a little longer than usual. For a moment, she felt like a little girl again, safe in her father’s arms.

The flight back to London was uneventful, though Margaux spent most of it lost in thought. Her mind wandered through the conversations she’d had over the past few days—the way her father defended her, the subtle moments when Léon looked up to her, and the bittersweet truths of her family’s fractures.

By the time the plane landed, the familiar gray skies of the city greeted her, and she felt the weight of her responsibilities settle back on her shoulders.

As she waited for her luggage, her phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen.

William: Back yet? Or still basking in the Marseille sun?

Margaux: Just landed. Back to reality.

William: Reality’s overrated. Bet you’re already hating it.

Margaux: Can’t deny that. I miss the warmth already.

William: Emo era still going strong, huh? “No one understands me. My parents are the worst.” Cue dramatic music.

Margaux: Stop! 😂 I’m not that bad.

William: Oh, you are. I’m getting you a black hoodie. Maybe some eyeliner too. You’ll look great sulking at your desk.

Margaux: You’re terrible.

Margaux laughed softly, earning a glance from the stranger beside her. She began to type a reply, but before she could hit send, her phone started to ring. Her laughter faded as her mother’s name flashed across the screen.

She stared at it for a moment, her thumb hovering over the green button. It wasn’t like she could ignore the call—her mother would only keep trying. Finally, with a resigned sigh, she swiped to answer.

“Margaux, darling,” came her mother’s sharp, polished voice, already filled with impatience. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten how to answer your phone."

“I just landed, Mother,” Margaux replied evenly, shifting the phone to her other hand as she reached for her luggage. “What’s going on?”

“Oh, nothing urgent. I just wanted to check in. I assume your father and his wife didn’t traumatize you too much during your little visit.”

Margaux clenched her jaw, gripping the handle of her suitcase tighter. “No, they didn’t. It was a nice trip.”

“Hm. Well, I hope it didn’t derail your focus too much. You have a lot on your plate with work, and with the ball coming up, I need you to be at your best. This speech—”

“Mother,” Margaux interrupted, keeping her voice calm but firm. “I just got off a flight. Can we talk about this later?”

There was a brief pause on the other end before her mother replied, her tone cooler now. “Fine. But don’t put it off too long. This isn’t just for me, Margaux. It’s for the family. For your future.”

Margaux bit back a retort, inhaling deeply. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“See that you do,” her mother said sharply before hanging up without a goodbye.

Margaux slipped her phone back into her pocket and let out a long breath. She stood there for a moment, feeling the weight of the conversation settle in her chest. The bustling noise of the airport swirled around her, but she felt oddly detached from it all.

Grabbing her suitcase, she walked toward the exit, already dreading the inevitable confrontation about the ball. Despite her mother’s insistence, the last thing she wanted was to stand in front of a room full of people and represent a family she didn’t entirely belong to.

Her phone buzzed again as she stepped outside.

William: Are you sulking yet? Or just zoning out in the cab?

A faint smile tugged at her lips despite the heaviness in her chest.

Margaux: Both, actually. Impressive guess.

William: A gift of mine. Cab home?

Margaux: Just got one.

William: Let me know when you’re back.

Margaux: You don’t have to check up on me.

William: Someone has to.

She stared at the screen, her fingers hesitating over the keyboard.

Margaux: Fine. I’ll let you know.

With a faint smile and a sigh, she slid her phone into her pocket. As the cab pulled away from the curb, the city blurred past her window, a familiar gray that felt both grounding and suffocating. She closed her eyes, letting her thoughts drift, trying to block out the looming storm of her mother’s expectations and the emotional tangle of her family.

For now, she had William’s texts to hold on to—and the brief, fleeting comfort of knowing someone cared enough to ask.