THE PARTY I DON’T BELONG TO
ENYA
Ishould have said no.
I really, really should have because this is not my scene.
But who am I kidding? My scene or not, my father ordered me to come, and I did. I wish I had the spine to turn him down, but….
In any case, according to Grandma Lucille, my spine isn’t the problem—it’s my starved heart.
“You want his approval, sweet girl, but you’ll never get it. I wish you’d stop trying so hard because all it does is hurt you.”
I still crave his approval—more now than ever, especially after the mess with Nick Smith, or whatever his name really is. Lowell committed the treason, but if you listened to Maggie and my father, you’d think I was the one on trial.
When they find out I’m pregnant, it’s going to be…something. I don’t know exactly what, but I know it won’t be good.
I place a hand over my belly—a protective reflex—as I step into the ballroom of the Omni Shoreham Hotel.
My mauve dress, all chiffon and silk, floats around me in soft layers. I wore it to hide my belly, which is absurd—it’s far too soon for that. I’m only at eight weeks, according to my OBGYN, in the early days. Still, I’m constantly aware of the baby inside me, and wonder if everyone can see I’m knocked up.
“Ma’am,” a uniformed officer murmurs next to me, and I realize that I’m in his way, standing in the middle of the entrance of the sprawling, opulent room with its glittering chandeliers and beautiful people, feeling enormously out of place.
I step inside and join the throngs of donors and diplomats.
I spot my father almost immediately. He’s holding court. No scandal is going to make this man shrink. It’s been just two months since the Lowell debacle, and he’s doing just fine. After all, he’s Kevin Cahill, a career diplomat who has survived three administrations. He understands optics, leverage, and loyalty better than he does his own children.
He’s spent the bulk of his career in Washington, advising, negotiating, and smoothing over crises behind closed doors, with a posting abroad as U.S. Ambassador to Belgium, and head of mission to the European Union.
After Lowell’s arrest and his own quiet exoneration, my father carried on as Senior Diplomatic Advisor to the Secretary of State, untouched by the fallout. Men like my father absorb damage and keep moving.
My father’s assistant called to inform me that my presence was expected at the Hamilton Fellowship Ball. My father wants both his daughters there—an intentional show of unity at an event he sits on the board of. Optics matter in this town. Everyone is always watching.
This is Daddy’s playground—one where he glides effortlessly, and people like me try not to trip over the carpet.
“You’re late.” I hear Maggie before her hand closes around my arm, her grip firm, like she’s worried I’m going to bolt.
“Maggie,” I greet.
She looks me over once, quick and efficient, assessing whether I’ll embarrass her. Satisfied, she nods. “Daddy wants us to make the rounds. A few people he needs face time with.”
I nod because that’s what I’m here for. Maggie will talk. I’ll smile.
We move together into the current of the room, Maggie steering us toward a cluster of men in tailored suits and women in evening dresses that cost more than the average monthly rent.
She does the introductions smoothly, seamlessly—names, titles, committees, vague references to future lunches, and pending legislation.
I offer my hand when prompted, murmur polite hellos, and keep my answers short and pleasant.
“Maggie,” someone says warmly. “How are you doing?”
Maggie beams and, after a bit of small talk, introduces me almost as an afterthought.
No one asks about me or after me. I’m the Cahill sister who isn’t in politics, and in this room, that makes me decorative—someone that wouldn’t be noticed if they were missing, but once in place, requires no further attention.
This is the rhythm. Maggie speaks. I nod. I exist as punctuation.
Eventually, she guides us toward my father, who’s standing near the edge of the room with a drink in hand, deep in conversation with two men I don’t know but instinctively know are powerful.
