The Margot Affair Goodreads Novels & Stories

They just bury themselves deeper. She wandered cafés, sketched strangers, and danced through gallery openings with polite smiles. But at night, in her candlelit studio, she painted for herself. And Damien lived in every painting. His outline, his gaze, the manner in which his lips contorted when he was lost in contemplation. She was unable to restrain herself. Then one night, Margot—her poised, perceptive liaison—stopped by. “The Louvre curator,” she said with a grin. “He wants your work for their modern wing. He saw your last piece and was moved.”

It's cold, and my thin jacket doesn't do much against the autumn night. It's crazy to think that, less than twelve hours ago, I was actually feeling like a normal teenager. I was on a date, enjoying myself for the first time in weeks. And then the whole world flipped upside down. First with Heather and Alice. And then with the Silver Hunters. Thinking about Heather and Alice still makes me sick. I genuinely thought Alice was my friend. She showed me kindness, took me under her wing when I came to Hawthorn. And then she stabbed me in the back.

Inevitably Cheryl had to return the hug from Margareth, who was crying just because Cheryl showed off a simple thing. “You never reacted like this when I first became the director of Diamonique. Then why do you have to cry just because I can shower and wash my hair?” Cheryl snorted in annoyance. She still remembered Margaret's reaction when she told her at length about her first experience working at Diamonique. Margareth just nodded slowly and smiled casually as if Cheryl was a little girl recounting the experience of riding a horse passionately.

Doris comforted her, saying, "Even though I don't know what's going on between the two of you, it wouldn't be good for the baby if you kept being angry and unhappy." She then reached out to help Margot up. Margot sat up obediently and took over the bowl from Doris. She couldn't help but let her tears fall out of misery as she ate. Doris felt heartbroken watching her like that. She quickly wiped away Margot's tears and asked, "What's wrong, Ms. Stone? Why are you crying so hard?" Margot lowered her head as she tried her best to control her emotions. Her voice was hoarse when she said, "He's having an affair, Doris."

Two days later . . . Aaron had given the members of BAAM a week to give him a decision on the FRB heist. Margo had a few friends in Tampa, but no family. It wouldn’t be that big of a hardship for her to leave the state. But never seeing or talking to Bobbi again pained her. They had shared a lot of good times. She had also shared some good times with Anthony and Aaron, but not like she did with Bobbi. They had girl talked about men and the latest fashions. Being friends with Bobbi had made Margo’s life less lonely. If they did the job and pulled it off, she would have all the money she would ever need, but she’d be alone.

she said to her. Margaret was not happy with the treatment. “Why are you doing this to me?” She said to her. Veronica looked away. She didn't bother replying. Margaret swallowed her saliva. “Where is your kitchen?” She asked her. Veronica returned her gaze. “My kitchen is just over there,” she stretched her hands towards it. “Okay!” Margaret stepped down. She stood on her feet and she walked directly to the kitchen. Getting there, she opened almost all the pots, because she didn't know the right one. After a few minutes, she got her hand on the right one.

But I am calmer about it. That is, until I step back out into my main chamber and nearly leap out of my skin to find Margot lounging across my bed, eating my chocolates and sipping a glass of wine to which she clearly helped herself. She glances up at me from a pamphlet she’s brought, smirking. “Queenies need to learn to lock their doories!” I lean back against the wall, panting a little as my shock fades. “Margot!” She laughs, shaking her head at me. “You’re lucky it was me. I could have been some fell assassin! Or –“

I shrugged. “I forgot your cook left. He couldn’t…” she stopped mid-sentence. Mentioning the cook brought back an unwanted memory, how I had drugged that old man, hoping he’d sleep with me. But that failed too. Nothing came out of it. “Rita! Rita!” Eleanor called, snapping her fingers. “What are you thinking about? Or… have you finally understood what I mean?” “What are you even saying?” “I’m talking about Mr Andrew. Your husband’s friend. He’s… talented. Every woman he’s slept with has gotten pregnant.”

* “Thank you. I feel like the whole world is against me. They think I’m jealous of Amanda and Tom. They don’t believe he could still be obsessed with me.” Margret poured tea with graceful movements. “Some people see only what they want to see. Amanda is happy with Tom, so they assume you must be the problem. But I believe you, dear. A woman knows when danger lingers from her past.” She handed Sara the cup, her touch lingering a second too long. “Drink this. It will help after such a horrible night.” But none of them saw the venom beyond Margret's words.. She was determined to strike when the time was right.

It was one of the things about herself she had always trusted. She had been in Geneva for nine days. Margot's apartment was in the old city, large and high-ceilinged and full of the kind of art that had been collected with money and attention over time rather than purchased as statement. Margot was five years older than Elena and had spent the bulk of her adult life doing international financial compliance work, which meant she had very good instincts for when someone near her was managing a crisis and very little patience for being managed in return. "You're not sleeping," Margot had said, on day three.