Chapter 74
Margaux sat at the grand vanity in her old bedroom at the Hawthorne estate, her flashcards spread before her. The words on the cards blurred slightly as she rehearsed them again in her mind, repeating her speech under her breath. Her hands rested on the edge of the table, her fingers tapping rhythmically as if to keep her thoughts from spiraling.
Her hair was styled in soft, cascading waves, framing her face perfectly. The makeup, applied with precision, accentuated her striking green eyes, while a touch of blush gave her cheeks a natural flush. She reached for the delicate diamond necklace resting against her collarbone, adjusting it slightly so it sat just right. Its subtle sparkle caught the warm light of the room, complementing the matching diamond bracelet encircling her wrist. Her silver earrings, understated yet elegant, added a final touch to her ensemble, allowing the real star to shine—the Clio Peppiatt Orchid dress.
The dress was a masterpiece of floral embroidery, its intricate design hugging her figure with just enough give to make her movements fluid. It flowed down in delicate layers, stopping just above her René Caovilla heels. The black crystals of the heels added a subtle but noticeable contrast to the soft hues of the gown, catching the light as she shifted slightly in her seat.
Behind her, her mother, Adelaine, lounged near the window, an air of practiced indifference about her. She wore an emerald green gown that screamed opulence, the fabric shimmering in the late afternoon sunlight. Her jewelry, by contrast, was anything but subtle. Bold emeralds and diamonds decorated her neck, ears, and wrists, their size commanding attention.
“You look great, darling,” Adelaine said, her tone sweetened with a thin layer of insincerity. She took a slow sip of champagne, her lips curving into a sharp smile as she assessed her daughter’s reflection. “But you would’ve looked much better if you’d listened to me and lost a few pounds.”
Margaux froze, her grip on her flashcards tightening.
“A little discipline goes a long way,” her mother continued, her voice dripping with faux concern. “You have such a lovely face, Margaux. Imagine how stunning you’d look if you’d just taken my advice.”
Margaux swallowed hard, her lips parting slightly as if to respond, but no words came out. Instead, she forced a faint smile, her eyes meeting her mother’s through the mirror. “Thanks for the feedback, Mom,” she said evenly, her voice carefully devoid of emotion.
Adelaine arched a brow, her smile tightening as if dissatisfied with Margaux’s response. “I’m only saying it because I care,” she pressed on, setting her glass down on the windowsill with a soft clink. “Tonight is an important night, darling. It’s your chance to make an impression. And you know how critical people can be about appearances.”
Critical, Margaux thought bitterly. Like mother, like crowd.
Before she could respond, the door creaked open, and Thomas, her stepfather, strode into the room. His tuxedo was perfectly tailored, his salt-and-pepper hair slicked back in his usual polished fashion. His presence, as always, filled the room with a sense of quiet authority, underpinned by an unspoken expectation of obedience.
“Still up here?” he asked, his tone tinged with impatience. His sharp eyes raked over Margaux, taking in her gown, her jewelry, her posture. “You’re not the star of the evening, Margaux. Let’s not give anyone that impression.”
Margaux bit back a retort, instead opting for a diplomatic response. “I’ll be down shortly,” she said, setting her flashcards neatly on the vanity.
“I’m sure Pierre will be here soon,” she added, hoping to redirect the conversation.
Adelaine let out a soft laugh, picking up her glass again. “He should have been here already,” she remarked, her tone laced with amusement. “Is he always this unreliable?”
Thomas chuckled, a condescending sound that made Margaux’s stomach tighten. “Perhaps he’s realized he’s out of his depth,” he said. “It’s not every day you mingle with real wealth, after all.”
Margaux straightened in her seat, her hands resting lightly on the edge of the vanity. “Pierre is dependable,” she said firmly. “He’ll be here.”
“Ah, dependable,” Thomas echoed mockingly. “A word people use when they settle for mediocrity.”
Margaux refused to take the bait. Instead, she reached for her phone, her fingers moving quickly as she typed a message:
**Margaux**: Hey, people are starting to arrive. Please call me when you get here.
She hesitated for a moment, rereading the message before pressing send. Setting her phone aside, she rose from her chair, smoothing the fabric of her gown as she did.
A soft knock at the door broke the tension, and a staff member stepped inside, bowing slightly. “Miss Hawthorne, the guests are asking for you.”
Margaux nodded. “Thank you. I’ll be right there.”
Adelaine drained the last of her champagne and stood, her movements deliberate and graceful. “Well, darling,” she said, brushing invisible lint from her gown, “let’s not keep them waiting. And do try to smile. It’s unbecoming to look so serious all the time.”
Her step-dad said nothing, but the smirk on his face spoke volumes. Together, they turned and left the room, their whispered comments carrying faintly down the hall.
Margaux glanced at her phone one last time. No reply from Pierre. Her chest tightened, but she took a deep breath, willing herself to focus. Straightening her shoulders, she picked up her flashcards and headed toward the door.
The grand staircase loomed before her, its polished banisters gleaming in the light of the chandelier above. The sound of murmuring guests grew louder with each step, a reminder of the performance she was expected to deliver.
At the base of the stairs, her father stood near the entrance to the main hall, his sharp gaze scanning the room. His eyes landed on Margaux’s phone, which she still held loosely in one hand.
“What are you doing with that?” he asked, his tone low but scolding.
“I was checking in with—”
“Margaux,” he interrupted, his expression hardening as he stepped forward and plucked the phone from her hand. “You’re not a teenager. You shouldn’t be glued to this thing, especially tonight. It’s unseemly.”
Margaux’s jaw tightened, but she kept her voice calm. “Dad, give it back.”
He ignored her, slipping the phone into his jacket pocket with a smug expression. “You’ll get it later. Focus on the evening, not whatever nonsense you were texting about.”
Margaux clenched her fists at her sides, the desire to snap back almost overwhelming. But she knew better than to challenge him in public. Instead, she forced herself to take another deep breath, channeling her frustration into composure.
With a faint nod, she stepped past him and into the main hall. The buzz of conversation, the clinking of champagne flutes, and the sparkle of the chandelier above greeted her like a storm she had no choice but to weather.