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A Diamond in the Rough	By : DrunkenScotsman Category: X-Men - Animated Series (all) > General Views: 3410 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 13
- 14
Chapter 14: Pawn Storm

Emma spent Sunday morning putting together her outfit for the party; fortunately for her, it wouldn’t start until after lunchtime. The outfit had to meet strict criteria: neither too formal nor too casual; fashionable, but not ostentatious; summery, as befitting a pool party; alluring and eye-catching, yet not skimpy. Choosing the perfect shoes proved similarly difficult, since they had to complement the rest of the outfit, sufficiently hide her ballet-mangled feet while seeming summery, and be comfortable enough to wear all afternoon into the evening. During this selection process, articles of clothing accumulated on every horizontal surface of Emma’s room as she tried various combinations out of her walk-in closet.
Finally, Emma made her selection: an off-white dress with paired light blue and pale pink one-square-inch squares touching at one corner, with about three inches between each pair; the paired squares formed a loose diamond pattern against the background. The dress fastened halter-style behind her neck, and the back dipped low enough to preclude even a strapless bra; the lower hem hung just above the knee. A baby-blue sash around the waist and a pastel-pink headband accentuated the dress’s pattern.
For shoes, she chose a pair of close-toed slingback pumps, in white because one didn’t wear white after Labor Day tomorrow (an absurd rule, frankly). Her white-rimmed cat-eye sunglasses and favorite diamond-stud earrings completed the ensemble.
Before heading out to the patio, Emma admired herself in the mirror. A stray thought bubbled up to the forefront of her mind: I wonder what Ms. Grey – what Jean would think of this. I wonder what she’d wear to an event like this.
I’ll have to suggest we go shopping together sometime.

XXXXX

By the time Emma made it poolside, her parents were directing the help as they set up additional lawn chairs, tents, tables, and outdoor games like croquet. Father cut an imposing figure, even in a short-sleeved white polo and khakis; Emma attributed the feeling to Father’s aviator shades, which police and military officers also often wore. Mother wore a surprisingly-conservative one-piece swimsuit, aqua-blue and adorned with coral and reef fish and kelp, with a gauzy sarong hanging from the waist. A large, round white had shaded her face from the sun.
Beside the pool, four figures sitting together caught Emma’s attention. Uncle Clarence, Father’s younger brother, could easily be mistaken for Father, except for Uncle Clarence’s clean-shaven face. Aunt Alessandra oozed elegance in her flowy lavender dress and matching jewelry set – earrings, necklace, bracelets, and ring, all in gold and set with emeralds – and Mediterranean complexion.
Next to them sat her cousins, Adrienne and Cordelia. Adrienne was a few years older than Christian, now in her senior year at Princeton, though Mother and Aunt Alessandra had previously discussed that Adrienne was largely pursuing her MRS degree. Adrienne stood a few inches shorter than Emma and, unlike Emma, her mane of hair hung long and thick, even if the platinum blonde came from a bottle. She’d elected to wear an emerald one-piece with a zebra-print sarong, along with a hat similar to Mother’s.
Emma had never been able to stand the haughty, imperious Adrienne, whose interests and personality mimicked Mother’s far too closely. Growing up, Adrienne had also treated Christan cruelly, mocking him relentlessly for any reason, or even no reason. Briefly, the idea of using her ability on her loathsome cousin flitted across Emma’s mind, but she knew she didn’t have enough control to do anything sufficiently hideous to serve as proper retribution.
Not yet, anyway. Emma smirked at the possibilities.
Cordelia was younger than Emma by a few months. She’d always been a rebel, getting into trouble for mouthing off and defying anyone and everyone. She’d worn all black, as per usual, including tall leather boots festooned with metal studs and spiky black bracelets and choker, not to mention her jet-black hair (dyed) arranged into a hedgehog of short spikes. Emma had never cared much for her, either, with no desire to get caught in the fallout whenever Cordelia pushed the envelope too far, not if Emma wanted to remain sufficiently in Father’s good graces to present herself as a worthy heir.
Frankly, I’m surprised that Cordelia has lasted this long without getting herself disowned, Emma mused.
At least Adrienne is between boyfriends, if Mother’s chatter about it yesterday was accurate. With any luck, she’ll keep as much of the boys’ attention away from me as she can.

XXXXX

Luck, as it turned out, wasn’t remotely on Emma’s side that afternoon.
One by one, scions of locally and regionally prominent families seemed determined to try to catch the eye of one of the Frost girls – Emma more than the other two for some reason. Sons of bankers, marina owners, seafood restaurateurs, racehorse breeders, stockbrokers, and politicians all preened and strutted around, competing for attention as if their lives depended on it (more likely, their egos). They all wore similar outfits: shades; polo shirts in an array of light, summery colors; khaki shorts; and boat shoes.
Every word they spoke, every mention of their fathers’ wealth and prestige, carried an air, to Emma, of “trying much too hard to impress.”
For example: “Normally, we summer in Martha’s Vineyard, but Dad surprised us this year with a trip to Rio. You know, Rio de Janeiro? In Brazil?”
Or, “Father bought me a Lamborghini for my birthday. How’d you like to go for a spin, baby?”
Or, “You’re not getting into the pool? Don’t know how to swim? You can always hold onto me; I won’t let you drown.”
Or, “Not getting in the pool, doll-face? Maybe you’re already wet. Mind if I check?”
(With this one, Emma barely suppressed a retch. When she overheard this buffoon use the same line on Adrienne, she laughed and swatted him and exclaimed, “Oh, you’re so deliciously wicked!” When he used it on Cordelia, she kneed him in the groin, at which Emma barely suppressed a laugh.)
Or, “Are you from Tennessee? Because you’re the only ten I see.”
Or, “I know all the best sushi places in Boston. Let me choose one for a date. Can I get your number?” (Even if she demurred, Emma couldn’t deny that one was at least a little tempting.)
After a couple hours of these types of remarks on repeat from such similarly mediocre young men, Emma had almost convinced herself that someone had copied and pasted the same person, making only minor changes.
She also decided she needed a drink. Fortunately, her parents always had an open bar at their parties, of which she could avail herself now that she was eighteen. Soon, she had glass of pinot grigio in hand; she found the tangy citrus notes quite refreshing after so much flavorless “conversation.”
Emma’s eyes alighted on Father, who stood conversing with an unfamiliar gentleman – not that she knew Father’s business contacts particularly well, but she’d seen quite a few in passing over the years. This fellow stood almost a head shorter than Father, and probably four inches shorter than Emma; but he carried himself with the utmost poise, an aura of authority that belied his short stature. He wore charcoal slacks, a sleek, chic pair of shades, and a short-sleeved black button-up, the latter of which stretched across his broad shoulders and showcased powerful arms. He had dark hair pulled back into a short ponytail and truly remarkable sideburns; the overall effect reminded Emma of history-book illustrations of the Founding Fathers (if less gray).
How long have I had to endure these annoying little boys, and Father still hasn’t thought to introduce me to… whoever this might be? Gathering her courage, Emma strode over, hoping this move wouldn’t be perceived as impudence, but rather as taking the initiative.
As she approached, Father raised an eyebrow but did nothing otherwise to indicate disapproval. The striking man in black also noticed and, with a mere flick of his hand, beckoned her. Emma felt vaguely as if she’d been granted a royal audience.
“Emma,” Father greeted as she drew near. “Are you enjoying yourself?”
“Of course, Father,” she replied instantly, intent on making sure he looked as good as possible in front of a clearly important man. “I’ve never known you to host a party that was poorly received.”
“Thank you, my dear. Allow me to introduce you to one of my chief business partners. Shaw, this is my daughter Emma.” He gestured to the black-clad man. “Emma, this is Sebastian Shaw of E8 Shipping. His company handles our imports and exports to the United Kingdom and European Union.”
Emma smiled – the close-mouthed smile she preferred when she had to seem pleasant – and extended her hand.
Shaw took it and kissed her knuckles; the quaint gallantry of it caught Emma thoroughly off-guard. “Charmed, Miss Frost. Quite charmed.” His voice wasn’t as deep as Father’s, and he had a faint London accent. He even released her hand in a timely manner, letting her go before it became creepy or awkward.
“Emma’s just begun her first year at Bernhardt,” Father explained, pride just barely audible in his voice. “She graduated valedictorian of her class at Snow Valley.”
“One all-girls school to another,” Shaw noted in a tone Emma couldn’t quite read. “Fewer distractions from your goals, I suppose. Which are?”
Emma swallowed, a little surprised this Shaw fellow hadn’t immediately dismissed her as some silly girl. “I plan to major in business and marketing, possibly minoring in psychology. From there, I’ll take an MBA, likely from Harvard or Yale.”
A thin smile curled Shaw’s mouth. “My, such ambition. But those are merely the formalities, I believe. I was asking about your goals.”
Emma sipped her wine, hating to have given an insufficient response in front of Father. She hadn’t intended to reveal her intentions to Father today or in this manner, but she couldn’t refuse to respond without seeming impolite or uncertain – both death knells for the goal Shaw inquired about. Steeling herself, she replied, “Those credentials are no mere formalities, Mr. Shaw; they would provide me with the knowledge and skills to hold a position within Frost Enterprises, where I could then observe a master businessman firsthand. Without accusation of nepotism.”
“Likely unavoidable, dear daughter,” harrumphed Father, “though that would minimize their validity. If I deemed your presence at Frost Enterprises beneficial.”
“Father, I doubt that it would be otherwise,” replied Emma, “but rest assured I’ll do everything I can to meet your expectations.”
“Given that your father has spoken well – glowingly, in fact – of you to me in the past,” interjected Shaw, “and given the impression you’re making, it sems likely you’ll exceed them, Miss Frost.”
Emma sipped her wine again, hoping to hide the heat she felt rising to her cheeks at the compliment. “Thank you, Mr. Shaw,” she managed when she felt she could trust her voice. “You’re too kind.”
That drew a chuckle from him. “I can’t say I’ve ever been accused of that before,” he retorted. “Winston, my good fellow, why didn’t you introduce us sooner?”
A thin smile, almost a grimace, stretched across Father’s face. “Her mother insisted she meet young men her age rather than bore her with meeting my business associates.”
Emma bristled, both at hearing Father’s name from Shaw’s lips and at Mother’s presumption. She tried to hide it…
… to no avail, as Shaw seemed to notice. “Far be it for me to give parenting advice, Winston, but I think Hazel made the wrong call for your daughter, who might just take after you.”
Father seemed to regard Emma for a long moment – it was hard to tell with the shades over his eyes. “Indeed,” he finally rumbled. “Emma was just telling me she felt her mother underestimated her. I’ll have words with Hazel this evening.”
“Why wait? Best not let such things fester,” Shaw suggested, in a manner that indicated it was more than a suggestion.
After another long moment, Father nodded. “A capital idea, Shaw. But first, if you’ll excuse me just a moment? I need a word with my daughter.”
“Of course,” replied Shaw with a strange smirk.
With his hand against the small of her back, Father shepherded Emma away, just out of earshot. “I didn’t expect Shaw to take such a shine to you, Emma, but apparently he has. I doubt I need to impress upon you just how vital his continued goodwill is to Frost Enterprises.”
“No, sir,” replied Emma, but her stomach sank at the implications.
Father’s jaw clenched. “When we spoke on this matter last night, I told you that you needn’t go beyond your own comfort level with your flirtation today.” He looked over his shoulder towards Shaw. “I won’t contradict myself; but bear in mind that, in the world of business, success is predicated on taking risks, seizing the initiative, and pushing boundaries. Ultimately, the choice is yours.”
What choice? Emma wondered sourly. Of course I want to succeed. Failure is not the Frost way. You taught me that.
Aloud, she said, "I understand, Father," and strode toward the powerful Sebastian Shaw, her heart hammering in her ears.

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A/N: Dramatic irony occurs when the audience is privy to information that the characters in a story are not, which creates either humor or tension as the audience waits for the character to discover what the audience already knows, to the character's chagrin or horror.
This literary device lesson is brought to you by the letter S.
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A Diamond in the Rough