Margarette Macaron Novels & Stories

Before I could answer, a familiar voice chimed in from behind me. “Did someone say Paris?” I turned just as Colette appeared at our table, balancing a tray of desserts like a magician revealing treasures. “Tarte au citron and lavender macarons—on the house,” she said brightly. “You two look like you’re planning something worth celebrating.” Margaux’s eyes lit up. “We are indeed. And these look divine.” “Colette, you’re an angel,” I said with a smile. “Margaux, this is Colette—the genius behind Le Jardin Bleu.”

I could barely focus on eating breakfast, the piece of egg on the end of my fork somehow making its way into my mouth while my eyes remain trained on the scribbled notes. I have already read through Margaret’s journal multiple times now, soon learning that not only did she create perfumes that could cure illnesses caused by black magic, but she also had recipes for perfumes that could cure other natural diseases. It is indeed a riveting read, and I consider Margaret a pioneer of her time.

“Are you sure about this?” I turned around from the mirror, the wedding gown I was inspecting rustling around my ankles. Celeste was sitting on my bed, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. “Celeste…” “I mean…come on, Margaux. We knew that man was a monster.” She continued, “After everything we’d learned about him, the reports from the capital…” “I knew what he was.” I smoothed down the silk, twisting my back to see how it looked from another angle. “That’s why I was doing this, isn’t it?”

A slow, cruel smile spread across Margaret's face. "Of course," she murmured. "Hit him where it really hurts. His precious company." She grabbed her phone, dialing Maxwell's number. It rang twice before he picked up. "Margaret? Is everything okay?" Maxwell's voice was concerned. News of the cancelled wedding had spread fast. "No, Maxwell, everything is not okay," Margaret said, her voice hard. "But I think you can help me fix that. How would you like to take down MacPherson Industries?"

I said flatly, sliding into the armchair across from her. She delicately pointed at the crystal glass on the table. "Have a drink first. It's Marcus' favorite-Macallan 30." I raised an eyebrow, inspecting the liquor like it was suspect. "You didn't slip anything weird in there, did you?" Margaret let out a dry laugh. "If you're scared, just don't drink it." I set the glass down and nudged it away. "Yeah, I'm gonna pass. Safer that way."

It’s around 5 in the afternoon, I'm preparing mom’s soup when our doorbell rings consecutively. As I check on the living room Lucy, Candace and Roland are in there so I think it must be someone who is mistaken to push our doorbell. But it’s not stopping for consecutive times so I check who's on our door. “Margarette,” I whispered. She's wearing a red suit paired with her red lipstick. I get a vibe of Cassandra by the look on her face. There’s nothing so different between the two of them. They are trouble makers.

Probably nowhere near as romantic as this one considering it was a contract marriage. The lady returned, carrying a silver tray with a porcelain teapot, matching cups, and a plate of freshly baked shortbread cookies. She set it on the table in front of us and then took her seat, “I hope you don’t mind chamomile.” She said. “I’m Margaret by the way. And you two are?” “Mr. and Mrs. Patterson.” I said. “Brayden and Larissa.” Larissa said at the same time. Margaret’s eyes crinkled in amusement. “Ah. Let me guess, you two are newlyweds?”

Trying to compose myself, I am gripping Marcov's arm. The two came to us while holding their own glasses of wine. “Hi,” she greeted me. I smiled without showing my teeth. I think she's playing nice to me, but she's scheming something inside her head. “Marcov, why don't you ask Lita to assist them? They might want to have some food. Lita’s pasta is the best,” I suggested. “Right. Lita, help Kalvis and Marga—"I elbowed him. I hate him calling that woman by the name he summed up last time. “I mean Margarette.”

' She thought as she smiled widely. 'And once I become the princess, I'll kick that brat princess out of the castle and be empress!' "Here! These are the sweets that the Loreants are famous for. Try it!" Margaret stopped daydreaming as a voice broke her out of her reverie, turning her head to the side only to see a noble kid offering her the sweets, which looked like they had too much sugar on them. Margaret hates sweets, so she always avoided them at tea parties. However, now is a crucial time for them and so, she can't say no to this offer.

"Please? I don't want to do this alone." "No." I didn't even hesitate. "I'll pay for it, but I'm not accompanying you. Figure it out yourself." I scheduled the appointment, gave her the details, and left her crying in that empty room. As I walked back toward the dining room, something nagged at me. Margaret was nauseous. Couldn't eat certain foods. I'd asked her what foods made her sick, and she'd said oily foods and seafood. Oily foods and seafood. Just like...