Page 36 of Arranged with Twins

“You look like a woman who understands her role in supporting her future husband’s career.” Mother’s gaze meets mine in the 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 a real marriage. ”

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 clearly gained 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.”

“Where are you now?”

“Heading back to my apartment. Why?”

“Take a detour. Go see Nadia. She’s been wanting to design something special for you since your mother told her she couldn’t do the wedding dress.” Leo’s suggestion makes my pulse go faster with possibility. “Let her create something that’s entirely yours.”

“Do you think she’d have time? The gala is Friday.”

“Why not ask her?” I can hear the smile in Leo’s voice. “Besides, I’d rather see you in something that makes you happy than something chosen to satisfy other people’s expectations.”

After ending the call, I ask the driver to take me to Nadia’s studio in SoHo. The familiar space smells like fabric and steam, with bits of silk and cotton arranged throughout the converted warehouse loft.

“Sienna?” Nadia looks up from a sketching table covered with fashion drawings. “This is a lovely surprise. How did lunch with the parentals go?”

“Exactly as horribly as expected.” I sink into the comfortable chair beside her workstation. “Mother tried to dress me like a trophy for Friday’s gala.”

“The literacy fundraiser? I heard Leo’s foundation stepped in as a sponsor.” Nadia sets down her pencil and gives me her full attention. “What kind of torture device did Katherine select?”

“Burgundy silk that clings to everything.” I touch my stomach instinctively. “I’m afraid it’ll be obvious I’m pregnant if I wear it. The pregnancy books say I could pop any day and start showing, at least a little. That dress leaves no room for any showing.”

“Well, we can’t have that.” She stands and begins pulling fabric samples from nearby shelves. “How much time do I have to create something amazing?”

“It’s Friday. Is that enough?”

“For you? Absolutely.” Nadia spreads pale gold silk across her cutting table. “I’m thinking something elegant but forgiving through the waist. This color would be stunning with your skin tone.”

We spend the next hour discussing designs and the specific requirements for concealing my pregnancy while still looking appropriate for a formal charity event. Nadia sketches quickly, her pencil capturing ideas that evolve with each iteration.

“It’ll be somewhat traditional, so Katherine can’t complain too much.” Nadia shows me the final sketch. “The empire waist and flowing skirt will give you room to breathe, and this shade of gold will make you look luminous.”

“It’s perfect.” I study the drawing, already imagining how the dress will feel compared to Mother’s restricting choice. “You’re sure you can finish it in time?”

“I’ll have it done by Thursday. That gives us Friday morning for any final adjustments.” Nadia grins as she begins taking my measurements. “Katherine’s going to hate that you look better in my design than in her stylist’s selection.”

“Good.” The prospect of Mother’s disapproval doesn’t bother me as much as it usually does. “It’s time I stopped letting her dress me like a doll.”

As Nadia works, pinning fabric and adjusting the fit, I think about Leo’s encouragement to choose for myself.

It’s such a simple concept, yet revolutionary in the context of my family’s expectations.

For the first time since my brief spike of rebellion before I let Mother take over everything again when I stopped caring about it all at Leo’s emotional withdrawal, I feel excited about attending a social event, knowing I’ll be wearing something that reflects my own taste rather than someone else’s vision of who I should be.

The drive back to my apartment passes quickly, and my mood is considerably lighter than it was this morning. Leo’s concern for my happiness, combined with Nadia’s creative enthusiasm, has transformed what felt like another defeat into a small victory.

When I reach my building, I text Leo to thank him for the suggestion and the car service. His response comes immediately: “Looking forward to seeing what Nadia creates. I love you.”

I love you.

Those three simple words make everything else bearable.

Whatever expectations they try to impose, I have Leo’s love and support to anchor me.

That feels like enough to weather any storm Mother might create when she discovers I’ve rejected her stylist’s selection.

I’ll wear Nadia’s creation and feel beautiful in something I chose for myself.

It’s a small rebellion, but an important one.