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Cadence Delongpre
”Even if his first dance isn’t with you?” The thought had crossed Cadence’s mind. Prescott liked to ‘party,’ his definition of the word differing greatly from hers. Mia Gallagher was all too happy to tell Cadence how fun her intended could be. It was possible she, Angelo, and Prescott were already at the party, hauled off in a corner somewhere. Whenever she’d stumbled upon the trio, they were always whispering and laughing suspiciously. Cadence chalked it up to immaturity. Blonde roots or red, she wasn’t ignorant. She merely saw more power in hope than defeat. Her sister was wrong if she thought her weak. It took strength to believe in a man the way Cadence believed in Prescott. Her guiding hand would help him flourish. Adrienne’s tone lacked intimidation once talk turned to Phillip Sinclaire. She avoided eye contact, discovering an unknown passion for wallpaper. The manner in which her voice quivered pained Cadence. She’d gladly wear her older sister’s scars, if life offered such an option.
“I’ll take a DAR informational packet from Minnie Luxton. That should bribe her. She’s been eyeing me since I helped with a benefit in high school.” Of course, grandmother encouraged the transition from college student to DAR member too, but Minnie was the worst. Cadence hadn’t double majored in business and journalism to make a career of volunteering. She loved helping others, but there was more than one way to do so. Her place was by her father’s side. His campaign needed her. “Don’t worry. World War Four, Lord willing, will never commence…here or elsewhere.” Cadence smiled that sweet, peacemaker smile of hers and headed for the door. Adrienne’s apology stopped her cold. “It’s alright…” It wasn’t, but grudges benefited no one. “In fact, consider it forgotten.” Cadence wrapped her arms around Adrienne lovingly. The oldest Delongpre wasn’t deserving of grace, but she needed it. Cadence would give the gift time and time again. “Plus, everyone knows you’re more bark than bite,” Cadence finished, a twinkle in her eye.
Phillip Sinclaire
Liz grasped at phantom hair, her signature locks gone. The bob spoke to sophistication. Phillip gathered she’d cut it for politics sake. She was beautiful regardless, but that wasn’t for him to say. Complimenting Delongpres meant wading through dangerous waters. Ford nearly socked him for admiring Cadence’s ring last month. God help him if he chose to address the blonde as his sister-in-law. Phil would stick to his designated corner, for now. Liz played the part of mind reader well, suddenly referencing her gall. “I don’t doubt it. You’ve had a fire inside you from the start.” It’d be a damn waste not to stoke those flames. Phillip didn’t glorify a rebel lifestyle, rather, he respected individuality. The evolving gypsies shared an understanding smile. Their smiles gave way to laughter at mention of Elizabeth’s auction. Much could be said for the woman beside him, but Phillip would play nice. He knew better than to crack jokes on stage. The audience was not composed of comedic patrons.
“Well, then, let me ease your troubled mind. You can thank me. I intend to make you this evening’s hottest commodity.” He winked, dimples appearing. Liz rose gracefully and stepped around him. She responded with a roll of her eyes. “Letting me off easy? That’s unlike you.” Only, she wasn’t giving him a pass. Liz’s ‘I know something you don’t know’ expression deepened. There were bigger fish to fry, mainly, her grandmother. “Eighth circle is right. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t expect pig’s blood to drop on my head.”
The Carrie reference was not lost on Liz. Adrienne and Phillip watched the movie while dating. Uninvited, Liz and Cadence joined the viewing party via closet. Cadence revealed her presence in the final act. She was a crying mess. Adrienne comforted her, never noticing Liz’s retreating form. Phil had noticed. “Maybe she’ll have me perform a song and dance?” The temptation to embarrass her granddaughter’s ‘no good, moronic ex-husband (her words)’ must be strong. Ironic, how a purple heart stood between him and his grave tonight. The Donahue patriarch wouldn’t taint her precious ball with a war hero’s blood. What Elizabeth failed to recognize was Phillip’s matching sentiments. He’d rather himself dead too. “How is she?” he inquired, finally, guilt rising to the surface. “You don’t have to answer, but I have to ask.”
Last edited by Captivating; 12-22-2015 at 01:41 PM
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