Chapter 7 - The Gathering Storm
The rest of the week passed in a tense, surreal blur.
I stayed at Scarlett’s with the twins. Preston tried to visit twice, but Scarlett met him on the porch with a broom and a glass of warm tap water, informing him that until he found his spine, he was a trespasser on Vane property.
Dany blossomed in Scarlett’s garden. Away from her grandfather’s critical gaze, she spent hours chasing tree frogs with Harry, her yellow sandals covered in dark Carolina dirt. Harry seemed lighter, too; the phantom weight of being the "chosen bearer of the name" had rolled off his seven-year-old shoulders the moment he gave up the ring.
On Friday night, Preston sent me a long text message:
*Sydney, I love you. I love Dany with all my heart. You think I’m weak, but I’m trying to keep a roof over our heads. Dad has power you don't comprehend. If we fight him, we lose everything. Please, tomorrow, just let him have his moment. For the family.*
I didn't reply.
Saturday arrived with a heavy, bruised-purple sky over Charleston Harbor. Thunder rumbled far out over the Atlantic, pushing hot, humid air through the battery oaks.
At five o'clock, a courier delivered three garment bags to Scarlett’s house, sent by Trip’s assistant.
Inside was a bespoke junior navy blazer for Harry, identical to Trip’s signature look, complete with brass buttons engraved with the Sterling crest.
For Dany, there was a pale pink crinoline dress with enormous frills—a dress she despised—and a small hair bow.
No suit for me. Trip hadn't even bothered to send a note.
"Throw that pink abomination in the rag pile," Scarlett said, sweeping into the hallway wearing an impeccably tailored, floor-length suit of deep emerald silk. Around her neck was a heavy, double-strand necklace of natural pearls—her mother’s pearls.
"What should she wear?" I asked.
Dany walked out of the guest room, already dressed. She had chosen her favorite outfit: a bright yellow linen sundress with small embroidered lemons, her trusty yellow sandals, and her hair tied back in a neat, defiant ponytail.
Harry stood beside her. He had flatly refused the brass-buttoned blazer. Instead, he wore his regular school blazer, navy and simple, with sneakers.
May you like
"Perfect," Scarlett declared, her eyes gleaming. "The free spirits are ready for battle."
***
