Because of Mamie

Grandmother turns 77 years old this week. Since Wednesday, her scattered grandchildren have been arriving from all corners of the globe. Grandfather's family hails from Provence before gainned fortunes in America, while grandmother's roots trace back to the Swiss-Italian border. They thrived through their flower and vine plantations, which were among the finest. As time went on, their investments became less conservative. Equipped with their esteemed winemaking distillery, Grandfather and Grandmother Proust ventured into various retail endeavors closely aligned with the value of fine wines. In essence, they embraced a single concept: rare arts and super-luxurious goods.

Hence, it comes as no surprise that Magdeléne has been well-versed in the beauty of flawless objects since childhood. Born in Bali, she is a citizen of France. Her routines involves frequent trips to and from California, often making Provence a medium-term transit point, especially during the early days of autumn. Whether she likes it or not, this convergence of experiences has had a significant impact on Magdeléne's character development. She has grown into an individual who pays excessive attention to details, deeply concerned with perfection and necessity. One can hardly blame her, as her life has been truly enchanting. Without her meticulous approach to every aspect, what else could she possibly desire?

Let us also say that Grandfather and Grandmother Proust doted on Magdeléne because she was the only daughter, with her brothers being much older. Furthermore, Magdeléne's keenness, which some may view as intrusive, is a valuable asset. Her sharp taste buds ensure that she always selects the finest wines. Her sensitive skin compels her to choose only the best natural materials. Her discerning eyes easily distinguish the work of skilled artisans from factory-made replicas without any hesitation. If you visit Magdeléne, it is best to dress modestly and avoid knock-off accessories, as she appreciates non-branded accessories worn with precision. Dare not appear overly glamorous with knock-offs in front of Magdeléne, as it may become the topic of conversation at the next gathering. Being the subject of the high society gossips is an embarrassing situation indeed.

The appreciation for every distinctive detail in Magdeléne extends to her two sons, Aymard and Alaric, albeit with contrasting outcomes. Aymard, despite being endowed with such sensitivity, channels it through a broad understanding. Since an early age, he grasped that not everyone holds the same principles and values in life as he and his family do. Reading philosophical works extensively has refined Aymard's conscience. He is deeply intrigued by psychology, primarily to comprehend human preferences and to recognize and study the market.

The side effect of this is beneficial for Aymard's social awareness, grounding him in reality.

Aymard is grateful, feeling fortunate to have inherited not just one perspective. Because, even though Magdeléne is like that, Dharma is a patient and tolerant person. Aymard admires this complete individuality in Dharma for being humane. It is evident that it is not just Magdeléne's tweets that catch Dharma's attention.

However, as a woman, Magdeléne has fulfilled her role entirely. Beyond their business arrangements, there are two sons and the shining name of Dirdja. Aymard knows for certain that it is not passionate love that exists between his parents. Yet his observations lead to an additional conclusion: it is precisely those who possess strong awareness of commitment that have successful his parent marriages. Dharma clearly demonstrates this, and Magdeléne, despite her typical tendencies, is a determined individual. Aymard vividly remembers when he was a child, before returning to their homeland, witnessing Dharma and Magdeléne lovingly united like doves, while everyone knew they were in a corporate marriage.

Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for Alaric. There's no need to explain it, as it can be quite headache-inducing. However, the dapper man never occupies a prestigious place in this world. Even a talented but indifferent struggling actor will always capture more hearts than a runway mannequin, no matter how beautiful its features. Whether wearing Comme de Garçons or DSquared, the mannequin pales in allure compared to last decades philosophers in a Parisian sidewalk café! But why bother? After all, those edgy labels suitable for streetwear are guaranteed not to find their way into Alaric's predictable super closet.

Conservative and perpetually classy. Dark hues when the weather cools and pastels when embracing the approaching heat or setting sail. Then there are the expensive white shirts from the preferred fashion house. Replenished by the dozens with every change of season, for it is forbidden to wear a shirt with even the tiniest stain on the collar or underarms. There is never anything surprising about him.

Tedious. Just flat in his enviable everyday glamor. What do you expect from a young man who obsesses over chevron or houndstooth patterns for semi-formal attire? A suit meticulously prepared for attending the first Polo match of the early winter season in Moscow later this year.

Coincidentally, for the first time, Dirdja has been invited, courtesy of Martin Ingmar, the largest benefactor. According to him, a Polo match in the hardened mud and thin snow is more challenging. Martin Ingmar jokingly claims to have been the Best Rider of his time. To be honest, this Durlach style is entirely new to Alaric, and he is immensely curious. He pleaded with Magdeléne to let him accompany Dharma and Aymard.

Magdeléne was infuriated, though she reluctantly granted Alaric's request. Little did he know that the inaugural event was an exceedingly exclusive affair. Abundant caviar was a freely indulged snack, akin to champagne too light for the Russians. The event would commence after lunch and conclude with tea time. Clearly, it would be a high tea affair with the delectable presence of Fabergé's giant eggs. Despite the precise arrangement of their luxurious tent space, reminiscent of Canaletto's perspective and precisely measured angles of light, it never became dull. After all, the guests swarmed attractively in their rare haute-couture winter costumes, rarest items never chosen by the common folks. Such as the pure white mink fur or the alligator skin gloves. And boots! Where else could one proudly showcase the finest fashion house boots if not on the muddy outskirts of Moscow's field?

"So, my dear, you gave in?" Katarina, Magdeléne's mother, inquired.

Magdeléne forced a stiff smile, "That child, Mother. When will he grow up?"

Katarina chuckled, "He's your sweetest boy."

Magdeléne let out a soft sigh, "It's your fault for spoiling Alaric. Now he's become some fashion-obsessed young man. Let's hope he doesn't go too far!"

Katarina looked at Magdeléne, "You always compare him to Aymard. That's why Mama spoils Alaric."

Magdeléne shook her head, "Since when did I spoil Aymard, Mother?"

Katarina gazed at her cherished daughter, saying nothing, but her mind was filled with thoughts.

"I'm actually afraid, Mother. What if Aymard perceives me as showing favoritism? I've been too preoccupied with pushing Alaric to measure up."

Katarina flashed a momentary smile and leaned back, assuming a relaxed posture.

"What do you mean? Of course not. Aymard understands that you're not obligated to shower him with the same affection as Alaric."

"Mother!"

Katarina now fixed a sharp gaze on Magdeléne. "Don't attempt to evade, Magda."

Magdeléne sighed. She turned her gaze towards the swimming pool, observing Aymard laughing with his cousins. It lingered for quite some time before she finally locked eyes with Katarina.

"Doesn't Mother have even a shred of love for Aymard?"

Katarina remained silent, her jaw tightening before she eventually spoke. "The word 'love' is not meant to be elucidated, Magda."

Magdeléne bowed her head. "But he's still your grandson, Mother. Your most praiseworthy grandson."

Katarina stayed silent, her gaze also fixed on Aymard. Her countenance was inscrutable. Also, her eyes gazing into the distance.

"Let him belong entirely to Dirdja, Magda. Your father's and my decision is final. Alaric will take Dharma's place. It's part of your prenuptial agreement."

Magdeléne fell silent. Her face grew cloudy. Katarina glanced at her briefly before moving away to joining other family members. If you thought Magdeléne was formidable as a lady, then you know nothing. Perhaps only the nobility could rival Katarina's arrogance. She was even capable of wholeheartedly banishing out her eldest son who refused to be betrothed.. So, how could she acknowledge Aymard, who often opposed her, as a cherished grandchild?

*****