Title: Diamonds, Chapter 4.
Rating: G, I guess. Actually, we're going with PG, because it may not be explicit, but this isn't kiddie stuff.
Warnings: angst.
Characters/Pairings: Sheridan, Julian, Alistair, Ivy, original character, mention of Pilar.
Summary (for chapter): She felt like this whole party tonight was really an auction, one where she'd be sold to the highest bidder.
Chapter 4
"Stop fidgeting," Julian hissed at Sheridan, raising the glass of brandy to his lips and savoring the last drop.
"Hi," Sheridan muttered underneath her breath, shooting him a withering glare. "My name is Julian, and I'm an alcoholic." Why not fidget, she wondered. She felt like this whole party tonight was really an auction, one where she'd be sold to the highest bidder. Father'd do it, too. Colin Lindsay wasn't the wealthiest heir in Maine, much less the country, but her father was nothing if not ambitious. Sheridan shivered as she saw the man in question approaching her with forceful steps, Colin in his shadow. She rubbed her bare arms roughly. Though the heat outside was sweltering, Sheridan felt like the temperature in the room had just plummeted.
"Ms. Crane," Colin greeted as he brought Sheridan's hand to his lips. "What a pleasure to see you again." Openly roving her figure with his icy gray eyes, he remarked, "This is a much better look for you."
Unnerved, Sheridan nevertheless whispered her thanks. "Thank you." She had nothing in common with this, this man. He was fifteen years her senior. Whatever would they talk about? Silently, she prayed for an escape and endured her father's doting act.
"You do look lovely tonight," Alistair agreed.
Of course, Sheridan thought. She felt exposed, naked, in the dress her father had chosen for her. The neckline plunged entirely too low for her tastes. She feared the thin spaghetti straps would somehow falter, and she'd unwittingly flash everyone at the party. Why, it'd taken Pilar a good ten minutes to pick her jaw up from the floor when she'd first seen her; Sheridan's lips twisted into a sardonic smile as she remembered Pilar's softly uttered words of surprise (Dios mio, Miss Sheridan! You look 25, 26 years old). Sheridan was sure that had been Father's intention. If she didn't look seventeen, the press wouldn't have such a fuss, would they? The only saving grace of the dress, Sheridan decided, was its shocking red color. Flashbulbs of what seemed like millions of cameras blinded her as picture after picture was taken of the happy couple. Colin's arm around her waist felt wrong, foreign. Sheridan's cheeks hurt from the effort it took to smile and play her part. Her skin crawled where Colin's thumb stroked the exposed small of her back, and she felt the overwhelming need to cry, if she had any tears left. Be brave, Sheridan, she told herself. You can do this. You can. Only a few more pictures then you can get out of here and leave this nightmare behind, if only for tonight.
Ivy smiled at Sheridan sympathetically over the top of her flute of champagne.
Ethan's blue eyes stared off into space as he posed with his intended.
He and Gwen had perfected their smiles for the outside world, and they liked each other well enough, Sheridan guessed. At least they had that. She had no such hope, Sheridan realized as Colin pulled her into his wooden embrace and led her in an uninspired waltz for the cameras. Her father watched the debacle with a pleased smile on his lips. Couldn't he see she was unhappy? Did he even care? The music stopped, and Sheridan sighed in relief, lifted an unsteady hand to her brow. "Colin. I feel a little dizzy. I think it's all the dancing and the champagne."
"Here," Colin offered. "Let me help you. I can take you to your room."
"No," Sheridan panicked momentarily. "No," she turned him down in a much calmer voice. "My dear sister-in-law can help me," she told him, begging Ivy to save her with her eyes. "Won't you, Ivy?"
"Of course, Darling," Ivy smiled. Slipping an arm about Sheridan's waist, she led her away from all the madness.
Sheridan blinked against the harsh brightness of her bedroom when Ivy turned on the lights.
"You're not really dizzy," Ivy surmised knowingly.
"No," Sheridan whispered. Drawing her heavy curtains back, she gazed out the window at the ongoing festivities below as Ivy lay a gentle hand upon her shoulder.
"If you ever need anyone to talk to, Sheridan," Ivy offered, "I'm here." She gave the girl's shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
Sheridan threw grateful arms around Ivy's neck, and her voice grew choked with emotion as she spoke. "Thank you." It felt good to know she had someone on her side. She sniffled as Ivy brushed the tears away from her cheeks and kissed her forehead.
"I have to go. You know how your brother gets at these sorts of things. Alistair will kill him and me if I don't keep him under control," Ivy revealed with a slight smile. "Good night, Sheridan." She shut the door behind her, leaving Sheridan alone with her thoughts.
Sheridan hugged her knees close to her chest as she stared out at the starlight. She ached with loneliness. With her whole heart, she wished that Mother was here, alive. Mother would never let Father do this to her, never. Sheridan felt so helpless, so very alone. She needed to go someplace, get out of this dreadful house to clear her head and strengthen her heart for what she knew lay ahead (maybe find a way out). Padding over to her bedroom door, she cracked the door and chanced a glance outside. Stealing down the hallway and out of the servant's entrance into the night air, she realized she knew the perfect place.
Three guesses as to where she's heading.
;)