The Downfall of a Good Girl. Kimberly Lang
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for a good cause.
Max was now introducing her Cherubim Court: ten local high school kids chosen by the charity’s board to be her team in the fundraising.
And now it was her turn. She took a deep breath, checked her dress, and waited.
“…my pleasure to introduce Saint Vivienne LaBlanc!”
The curtain opened to a strobe of flashes from the photographers gathered in front of the stage and a very heartening roar of approval and applause from the guests. Vivi heard her sister’s distinctive whistle and looked over at the table where her family sat. When she’d left the table twenty minutes ago, claiming she had an emergency phone call from the gallery, Lorelei had given her a knowing look. She waved as she watched people from the surrounding tables congratulate her parents.
Being chosen as the Saint was quite an honor, and Vivi was beyond touched by the applause that showed so many people thought her deserving of it. She’d won a lot of contests in her life, brought home quite a few crowns, but this was different. It wasn’t about being pretty or popular. The downside to her pageant career was the assumption by all that she was just a pretty little face with no real substance. She’d spent years fighting that stereotype, trying to prove that there was more to her. It had been her biggest challenge to date, and the halo on her head was proof she’d succeeded. It might be cheesy and rather silly-looking, but it suddenly meant more to her than any crown she’d ever worn.
Beating the Sinner—whoever that turned out to be—would be icing on the cake at this point, and now she wanted that trophy more than anything.
Vivi removed her halo with the proper pomp, placing it on the blue satin pillow that would hold both the Saint’s halo and the Sinner’s horns until the competition ended and the winner claimed both trophies. She then took her seat with her court and applauded politely as the Sinner’s court, the Imps, was introduced.
Max took a deep breath and looked so excited he might burst with it. “Our Sinner this year is an obvious choice, and we’re so pleased he’s made time in his schedule to reign over this important event.”
The pronoun usage told Vivi that she’d lost her bet. Damn, she’d been so sure it would be Marianne. It doesn’t really matter, she thought with a mental shrug. She was ready to take on anyone.
“…Connor Mansfield!”
Vivi’s smile froze as the crowd broke into wild applause. You’re freakin’ kidding me.
Connor caught a glimpse of Vivi’s face as he stepped onto the stage and nearly laughed at the perfect mix of horror and fury against a feathery backdrop of angel wings. Not that he blamed her; his response had been very similar when he’d heard her name called, but he’d still been safely behind the curtain.
He had to hand it to the board of Bon Argent; they certainly knew how to guarantee maximum attention from the local press—attention that could be otherwise difficult to draw amid everything else happening during the Mardi Gras season. They’d probably break every fundraising record in history.
Vivi just looked like she’d like to wring his neck, but then she always looked at him like that. Some things just never changed, no matter how long you were gone from your hometown.
But the show must go on, and everyone was waiting for them to take their seats so dinner could be served. He removed his horns and solemnly placed them next to the Saint’s halo. Then he walked over to Vivi, nodded politely and waited for her to return the gesture. Slowly, they made their way to the high table. When they reached their seats a cheer went up from the crowd, and the competition of the Saints and Sinners Festival officially began. Servers appeared from the woodwork and the crowd turned its attention to the salad course.
He leaned a few inches in her direction. “You’re going to ruin three years of orthodontic work if you don’t stop grinding your teeth, Vivi.”
Her eyes narrowed, but she released her jaw the tiniest bit. She reached for her wineglass, noticed it was empty and reached for a water glass instead. He saw her look at it carefully, then shrug before she drank. Knowing Vivi, she’d debated dumping it in his lap.
“I’d say Welcome Home, but—”
“But you wouldn’t mean it.” He grinned at her to annoy her.
“But,” she corrected, “it would be rather redundant, considering the reception you just got.”
“Jealous I got more applause?”
“No.” She shifted in her chair. “I’m not an attention whore.”
“Big talk from the pageant queen.”
Vivi inhaled sharply and her smile became tight. “Some of us have outgrown our adolescence.”
He pretended to think about that for a second, then shook his head sadly. “No, you’re still sanctimonious.”
“And you’re still a—”
She stopped herself so suddenly Connor wondered if she’d bitten her tongue.
She inhaled sharply through her nose and swallowed. “You must be very pleased to finally be recognized for your achievements.”
“I hate to burst your bubble, Saint Vivienne, but these titles aren’t character references.”
“Oh, really?” Vivi’s face was the picture of confused innocence. “You seem to be perfectly suited for the title.”
And there was the first dig. He should have known that Vivi wouldn’t let that pass. Although he’d been vindicated, rumor and gossip had done their damage. Everyone believed there had to be a grain of truth in there somewhere—which grain it might be was the engine that drove the gossip that wouldn’t die.
Vivi might have hit a sore spot with her first salvo, but damned if he’d admit that. “Sanctimonious and judgmental. You need to increase your repertoire.”
“Maybe you should add some to yours, as well. A little decorum from you would be nice, considering the honor you’ve been given.”
“According to you, it’s not really an honor, now, is it?”
“Yet you still seem very pleased with yourself.” She snorted. “You look ridiculous, you know. Black leather pants, Connor? Really? What is this? 1988?”
He’d had a similar thought when they’d been presented to him. “I agree on the pants. Very eighties glam metal. But then I guess it fits the costume.”
Vivi smiled—a genuine one this time—at the server who filled her wineglass, but the smile disappeared as soon as the server did. “I don’t know what Max was thinking,” she grumbled at her salad. “The Saint and the Sinner are supposed to be local celebrities.”
“I’m literally the boy next door, Vivi. I’m as local as you are.”
“You were local,” she corrected him. “Now you’re international. You’re off touring far more than you’re in town.”
He tried to get comfortable in his chair, but the enormous black wings attached to his back made that feat nearly impossible. He didn’t quite understand the mixed-metaphor approach to Saints and Sinners, but Ms. Rene had gone for a Lucifer vibe. He felt more like a giant crow. “So it’s the fact that my job requirements keep me out of town a lot that you object to?”
Vivi tried to brush her hair back over her shoulder, but it only got tangled in her wings, creating modern art-inspired shapes in the white feathers. She tugged at the strands as she spoke. “I object to the creation of an unlevel playing field.”
Except for that jet-black hair, Vivi had the right looks to pass as an angel—wide blue eyes, fair skin, elegant features. The fire in her eyes was far from angelic, though. Irritation made her movements jerky, tangling her hair even worse.
“How is this unlevel in any way?”