Emma's POV

After finalizing everything with the agent of Mr. Keller, which was the last name of the man renting me the space for my bakery, I went back home excited, already making a list of everything I needed to buy. Luckily, during college, I had earned a scholarship thanks to my good grades. Since my parents covered my tuition and expenses, I had saved every cent of that scholarship, along with the allowance my father gave me. That money was what I planned to use to buy what I needed and to cover at least three months of rent for the shop.

I hoped everything would go well and that I could recover my investment within a year. Otherwise, I would be in serious financial trouble. Asking my parents for money was never an option. They didn't agree with me opening my own bakery in the first place.

When I got home, my mother was waiting for me in my bedroom. That horrible habit of walking in without permission again. I really need to become completely independent.

"Hi, Mom. Can I ask why you're in my room without my permission? You seriously need boundaries."

"I'm your mother, Emma, and as long as you live in this house, there isn't a boundary I can't cross. When you have your own house, you can set all the limits you want, and they'll be respected. That is, if you even know how to earn the respect of the people living there. Although with that appearance, I doubt it."

"Back to my appearance again. Don't you ever get tired?"

"That's enough, Emma. I'm your mother, and you're in my house. I can talk to you about whatever I want, however I want. How do I explain to you that in this house, I do and say whatever I please?

"If I want to talk about your weight all day, I will. If you don't like it, you have two options. Lose weight or get married and leave."

"Since I have no interest in losing weight, I could just leave right now."

"Absolutely not, Emma. You're not leaving this house unless it's on the arm of a man from our social class."

"Then I guess I'll stay here forever, because obviously no man from our social class would ever marry a fat woman like me."

"Then lose weight, my dear. It's not that hard. Or is it?"

"You say that because you've never been fat and—"

"Enough, Emma. I only came to tell you that tonight we're having dinner at the house of some important business partners, and you're coming with us. They're going to introduce us to their eldest son. His mother hopes that you and he can form a friendship that, over time, turns into something more."

"I just hope that when he sees you, he doesn't get scared and run away. The boy is very handsome, successful, and extremely popular with women. Do your best to please him, Emma. Although it's obvious you'll need a miracle for him to like you."

"Thank you, Mom, for your kind words."

"What if I don't want to go just to be humiliated by you and your partners? Because that's exactly what will happen when they see me walk in with my greasy body."

"You're going. It's an order. And since this is my house—"

"Yes, yes, I know. In your house, you make the rules."

"I'm glad you understand that, my dear. I'm going to the office. I'll send you an appropriate outfit for tonight. Don't embarrass us."

"No, Mom."

My mother was truly exhausting. If only I could either lose weight easily or get out of this house, whichever happened first, I would be the happiest woman in the world.

That afternoon, my mother sent me a tailored suit. It included a skirt, a blazer, and a vest, all in shades of gray. A white blouse, sheer stockings, and a pair of black ballet flats. There was also a sweet little note that said: 'Emma, I'm sending you ballet flats because you'll probably break heels with your weight. Please don't eat like you're starving during dinner. With love, Mom.'

Wow. My mother really loved me. I just hoped those partners weren't a nightmare.