Page 35 of Arranged with Twins

Sienna

S aturday morning arrives with its usual dread.

I stand before my bedroom mirror, fighting waves of nausea while trying to decide what to wear to the monthly brunch with my parents.

These obligatory gatherings serve as another opportunity for Mother and Father to criticize my choices and attempt to mold me into their preferred version of a daughter.

The beige pantsuit I finally select is boring enough that Mother won’t find fault with it, though the fitted jacket makes me anxious about concealing the changes to my body. At twelve weeks, I’m not obviously pregnant yet, but my clothes fit differently, and Mother notices everything.

She’ll notice this, but is she bright enough to realize what it means? Or will she use it as an opportunity to shame me for not being pretty or feminine enough?

I apply concealer under my eyes to hide the shadows that come with first-trimester exhaustion, then add lipstick in a shade Mother considers appropriate for daytime events. The woman in the mirror looks like someone playing a role, which I suppose is exactly what I am.

An actress. The only honest life I life is when I’m with Leo.

When I step outside my building, I’m surprised to find one of Leo’s cars waiting instead of the taxi I’d planned to take.

The driver opens the door with professional courtesy.

“Ms. Cooper. Mr. Denisov asked me to be at your disposal today.” He’s one of Leo’s regular drivers, impeccably dressed and discreetly armed.

“He thought you might prefer not to worry about transportation.”

The gesture touches me enough to bring tears to my eyes, but that’s partly because of the hormones flooding my body.

Everything makes me want to weep. Leo remembering my dreaded monthly brunch and arranging for me to have reliable, safe transportation without my needing to ask is certainly enough to turn on the waterworks.

I sniff loudly to force them back. “Thank you. That’s very thoughtful. ”

During the drive to my parents’ townhouse, I try to prepare myself mentally for whatever criticisms await.

Mother will undoubtedly have opinions about my appearance, my posture, and my choice of accessories.

Father will make pointed comments about my responsibility to support Leo’s business interests through appropriate social behavior.

Neither of them will see me as anything more than a reflection of their own success or failure as parents.

I don’t believe they’re even capable of doing so anymore.

The driver lets me out at the familiar limestone steps, and I take a deep breath before climbing toward the front door. The sound of raised voices stops me halfway up the stairs. Through the partially open windows, I hear Father’s clipped tone, sharp with stress.

“The payments are behind again. Three months now, and he’s not accepting excuses anymore.”

“Are you handling what he asked for?” Mother’s voice carries a distasteful edge.

“I’m working on it, though the whole arrangement leaves a bad taste in my mouth.” Father sounds exhausted and defeated in ways I’ve never heard before. “This isn’t what I signed up for when I took his money.”

“Then let me handle it.” Mother’s suggestion carries her usual confidence in her ability to manipulate any situation. “I can be very persuasive when necessary.”

“Absolutely not.” Father’s response is immediate and sharp. “I don’t want you anywhere near Adrian. The man is dangerous, Katherine. More dangerous than you understand.”

Adrian. Father’s tone when he says the name carries a fear I’ve never heard from him before.

The silence that follows is loaded like a shotgun. I take another step up the stairs and clear my throat loudly enough to announce my presence. When I push open the front door, my parents are standing in the hallway wearing identical expressions of forced calm.

“Sienna, darling.” Mother moves forward to air-kiss my cheeks, her smile bright and artificial. “You look lovely. Is that a new suit?”

“No, I’ve had it for months.” I study both their faces, noting the stress lines around Father’s eyes and the tension in Mother’s shoulders. “Is everything all right? You both seem upset.”

“Nothing that concerns you, sweetheart.” Father’s voice is dismissive and condescending, indicating he considers the topic too complex for my understanding. “Just business discussions and boring financial details.”

“I do have a degree in business,” I say with a calm smile. “Perhaps I can help?”

He looks like he might scoff but manages to stop himself. “No, you shouldn’t worry about anything except your upcoming nuptials. I’ve got it under control. Besides, degrees aren’t what they used to be.”

I stifle an eye roll. Whatever they were discussing involves someone named Adrian, who Father considers dangerous and is connected to missing payments and unpleasant arrangements. The conversation felt far more serious than regular business.

And I’m going to find out why.

“Shall we go to the dining room?” Mother links her arm through mine with false brightness. “I had Cook prepare all your favorites.”

The dining room table is set with Mother’s best china and fresh flowers, creating an atmosphere of elegance that feels completely at odds with the tension radiating from both parents. During the first course, they focus on the safest topics possible, like the weather.

I’m already bored out of my mind, but at least nobody has noticed that I’m pregnant. Maybe they’re too scared to talk about anything serious.

It’s only when the main course arrives that Mother transitions to her real agenda. “There’s a charity gala next Friday that Leo’s foundation is sponsoring.” She cuts her quiche with precise movements. “Your attendance is vital for reassuring donors about the stability of your engagement.”

“I wasn’t aware Leo’s foundation was sponsoring an event.” I try to keep my voice neutral despite my irritation at being informed rather than consulted.

“It’s a last-minute opportunity that arose when another sponsor withdrew.” Father speaks without looking up from his plate. “Leo agreed to step in, and naturally, the organizers want to showcase your relationship.”

“Naturally.” I take a small bite of quiche, though my stomach rebels against the rich sauce. “What’s the cause?”

“Children’s literacy programs in underserved communities.” Mother’s tone suggests this is a detail of minor importance. “The cause matters less than the opportunity to demonstrate your commitment to Leo’s philanthropic interests.”

The casual dismissal of children’s education as unimportant makes my jaw clench. “The cause always matters, Mother. These events are supposed to actually help people, not just provide networking opportunities.”

“Of course, darling. I simply meant your primary focus should be on supporting Leo’s reputation.” Her smile grows sharper. “Speaking of which, we need to discuss your wardrobe for the evening.”

I should have seen this coming. Mother never mentions clothing without having specific opinions about what I should wear. “I was planning to choose something from my own closet.” I set down my fork, appetite disappearing entirely.

She ignores that. “I took the liberty of having several options pulled from a stylist I trust.” Mother stands, clearly expecting me to follow since I’ve set down my fork. “They’re upstairs.”

The prospect of trying on Mother’s pre-selected outfits makes my stomach clench with anxiety that has nothing to do with pregnancy hormones. “I’m capable of dressing myself appropriately.”

“Of course, you are, sweetheart. I’m simply offering guidance to ensure you make the best possible impression and to ensure you don’t go to the wrong person for advice.” Nadia’s name doesn’t pass her lips, but it’s heavily implied in her tone. “Shall we?”

I have half a mind the throw a fork between her eyes, but I purse my lips and nod instead.

Twenty minutes later, I stand in my childhood bedroom while Mother arranges garment bags across my old canopy bed. Each dress she reveals is more fitted than the last, designed to showcase rather than conceal the wearer’s figure.

Oh great, let’s display my big pregnant belly to the world.

“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.