Margarette Macaron Novels & Stories

She chuckles, shaking her head, just as Matteo strolls into the kitchen. “Good afternoon, Signora, this kitchen smells like heaven,” he says, sitting next to me. Margaret narrows her eyes at him, clearly unimpressed. “I’ve been practicing,” I say, presenting the tray. “Margaret’s jealous. Want one?” He grins, that same unsettling smirk that never quite reaches his eyes. “Of course. I’d love to taste your cookie.” Before I can respond, a chilling voice cuts through the warm air like a blade. “You’ll taste it six feet under if you defy me again.”

There were financiers, royalty, philanthropists, movie stars, and of course, socialites dressed like they’d stepped out of an art museum. “Smile,” Margaret Caldwell whispered as she slipped an arm through her son’s. “You look like you’re going to a funeral.” “I feel like I am.” She ignored him, distracted by a passing tray of éclairs. She snatched one like a hawk. “Mm. Pistachio. Don’t let me have more than five.” “You said that last time,” Damon muttered. Margaret popped the éclair into her mouth and gestured grandly toward the main hall. “We’re raising funds and matchmaking. Two of my favorite hobbies.”

“The reason behind Margaret’s madness.” I didn't interrupt. I just watched her. “She crossed a line she couldn't come back from,” Jennifer blurted out, no longer holding back. “Margaret committed a massive fraud within the pack’s kitchen and treasury. She didn't just fail us—she robbed us of our livelihood.” I felt the blood drain from my face, leaving me cold despite the morning heat. “W-what did you just say?”

Emma said, mocking her daughter-in-law. Margot ignored her snide remark and started trying the cakes she ordered. “Hmm. They’re really good. You should try them, Emma. Sweets are good for keeping people happy. I think you need a lot of them to straighten those creases on your forehead that even Botox couldn’t solve,” she said before taking a huge bite of cupcake.

she replied flatly. “I know. But I cooked your favorite—spicy chicken tinola. And I baked cupcakes, too. Strawberry. You can share them with your friends.” “And why would I—” “Oh my God, Ericka! Can I have some?” We turned as a girl with a high ponytail rushed over, bursting with energy. “Oh, hello!” she greeted me politely. I smiled. “And you are?” “I’m Margarette!” she said brightly, then glanced at Ericka. “And you must be—”

Nora asked in bewilderment. Ever since returning from school, Margaret’s attention toward Amora had been excessive—nothing like the usually reserved and formal woman Nora knew. Margaret wasn’t the type to become easily sentimental, nor was she particularly fond of children. Seeing her embrace Amora so tightly immediately made Nora suspicious. “Am I not allowed to like her? She’s so smart and adorable!” Margaret defended herself. “Ah… if only Mark would give me a grandchild, she would probably be just as beautiful and intelligent as you,” she continued, pinching both of Amora’s cheeks until they turned red.

They had spaghetti, fruit salad, and a cake with a candle shaped 18 on it. Ellaine was forced to speak just to break the awkward silence, “Auntie, a while ago I met a strange woman. Her name is Margarette.” “Margarette? I don’t know a woman named Margarette living in the neighborhood.” “Maybe that’s because she’s living near the city proper. She has this shop selling weird stuffs as well.” Ellaine was not interested in eating her spaghetti anymore. She was merely poking it with her fork. “What kind of weird stuffs?”

However, when she could no longer avoid meeting his eyes, Marguerite managed to hide her nerves and greet him with a smile. Relieved to see her usual friendly smile, Matthew sat upright and returned her greeting. His mouth instantly watered when she handed him a serving tray brimming with delectable food. The main dish was a large cut of something resembling a pie comprising cabbage, carrot and meat. Marguerite told him it was a French dish called chartreuse of partridge, which he couldn't help but forget not a minute after she mentioned it. Equally tempting was the dessert, a sponge cake sprinkled with icing sugar sitting prettily in the middle of peeled fresh oranges. Without wasting anoth

Ma’s Bakery bread and pastries were handmade fresh every day. “Sweetheart! What are you doing under the table?” Margaret rushed in from the bright blue wooden door and helped pull Amber up. There was also flour on Amber’s nose and cheeks. “The rolling pin dropped,” she grinned, holding up her prize. Margaret laughed and tousled Amber’s hair. “Silly girl. You can set that down, I’ll take over. I’ll need you to make a delivery to the convention centre. They’ve ordered thirty of our assorted pastries.” Thirty! That was a lot! But she wasn't complaining, in any case, Amber was glad to see Margaret busy. Her pastries were the best and Amber loved her cinnamon rolls the most. Maybe she would grab

No distractions. Margaret Rodrigo was already seated when I arrived, looking composed as always in her understated designer dress. When you talk about Rodrigo's, they know how to dress like power itself. When I got close,she stood to greet each other with air kisses before sitting down near the window. "Brittany, darling, you look gorgeous," she said, signaling the waiter to get the champagne. "Thank you, Margaret. You're too kind." I smiled smoothly. "I appreciate you making time for lunch. I know how busy you are."