Chapter 64

Margaux tugged at the hem of her sweater as she stepped into the boutique, already feeling the tension creep up her spine. Her mother was waiting near a rack of shimmering gowns, her perfectly manicured fingers grazing the fabrics.

“Finally,” her mother said without looking up. “You’re ten minutes late.”

Margaux bit back a sharp reply, forcing a tight smile. “Good morning to you too, Mother.”

Her mother’s eyes swept over her outfit—a loose sweater, fitted jeans, and sneakers. The disapproval in her gaze was palpable. “Could you have tried looking a little more… put-together? We’re not shopping for groceries, Margaux.”

Margaux rolled her eyes. “Yes, because what I wear to a fitting room really matters.”

“It does,” her mother replied crisply, motioning toward a sales assistant. “You represent this family, whether you like it or not.”

The assistant, an older woman with a warm smile, approached them, but Margaux barely had time to greet her before her mother took charge.

“We’re looking for something elegant and timeless. A gown suitable for a charity ball,” her mother said, her tone authoritative. “My daughter has a… tricky figure, so we’ll need something that can downplay her broad shoulders and overly muscular build.”

Margaux froze, her stomach sinking. “I’m right here, you know,” she muttered, crossing her arms.

“Yes, darling, I’m aware,” her mother said lightly, already scanning the racks. “But it’s better to be honest, isn’t it?”

"What size are you?" The assistant asked.

"I would say start at a size M, we can always take it in a bit on the waist but I'll doubt anything smaller will fit her hips," her mother quickly chipped in.

"I would start at an XS actually," the assistant disagreed politely.

The mother looked at the employee with a perplexed look on her face. "Oh, okay." She replied. "She would definitely not have fitted into an XS in my time," she decided to add.

The assistant shot Margaux a sympathetic glance before leading them to the fitting area, where several gowns had already been prepared.

The first dress was a strapless black number with a fitted bodice and a dramatic tulle skirt. Margaux stepped out of the fitting room, feeling exposed and uncomfortable.

Her mother tilted her head, pursing her lips. “It’s… not terrible,” she said, circling Margaux like a predator. “But the skirt is too full. It makes your hips look wider than they are.”

Margaux looked at her reflection, barely holding back a scowl. “I thought it looked fine.”

“Fine isn’t good enough,” her mother said dismissively. “Next.”

The second dress was a slinky, metallic silver gown with a high slit and an open back. Margaux liked the way it clung to her curves, but her mother’s expression soured the moment she stepped out.

“Absolutely not,” her mother declared, shaking her head. “It’s vulgar. You’re not walking down a runway.”

Margaux rolled her eyes. “God forbid I show a little skin.”

“Margaux, don’t be childish,” her mother snapped. “You’re representing this family, not some nightclub.”

The third dress, a pale pink A-line gown with intricate beading, was met with an exasperated sigh from Margaux before her mother could even speak.

“I look like I’m going to prom,” she said flatly.

“At least you look age-appropriate for once,” her mother retorted.

Margaux spun around, glaring at her. “I’m twenty-five, Mother, not fifteen. Do you even hear yourself?”

Her mother ignored her, waving for the assistant to bring out more options.

By the fifth dress, Margaux was on the verge of walking out. This one was a shapeless, draped chiffon gown in a dull shade of gray. She didn’t even bother stepping out of the fitting room.

“I’m done,” she called through the door, yanking the gown off and pulling on her sweater.

“Don’t be dramatic,” her mother said sharply.

Margaux threw open the door, glaring at her. “You’re impossible! Every time we do this, it’s the same thing—criticizing me, belittling me, and making me feel like I’m not good enough!”

Her mother’s eyes narrowed. “Margaux, lower your voice.”

“I’m serious, Mother. If you make one more comment about my weight or my body, I’m leaving.”

There was a tense silence before her mother sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Fine. But stop being so sensitive. I’m only trying to help you.”

Margaux shook her head, exhaling sharply. “Sure, let’s call it that.”

Finally, the assistant brought out a Clio Peppiatt gown. It was breathtaking: an orchid-colored masterpiece with delicate embroidery and a silhouette that hugged Margaux’s body in all the right places.

When Margaux stepped out, the room went silent.

Her mother’s eyes widened slightly, and for once, she didn’t have anything to say.

Margaux turned to the mirror, her breath catching. The gown fit her perfectly, accentuating her toned figure while softening her natural curves. It was elegant, modern, and unapologetically her.

“This,” Margaux said quietly, running her hands over the fabric. “This is the one.”

Her mother cleared her throat, regaining her composure. “It’s… acceptable. The color suits you.”

Margaux glanced at her, her expression neutral. “Glad you approve.”

They paired the gown with a pair of René Caovilla heels—delicate silver stilettos encrusted with crystals. The final look was stunning, and even her mother couldn’t find anything to criticize.

As they paid and left the boutique, Margaux felt a mix of relief and exhaustion. She clutched the garment bag tightly, knowing she’d look amazing on the night of the ball despite her mother’s relentless criticisms.

“You’ll thank me one day,” her mother said as they walked to the car.

Margaux glanced at her, a wry smile tugging at her lips. “Maybe. But not today.”