Grace offered me a cocktail, but I shook my head. “I drove here, so I’m not drinking.”
“At least have one. Your dhampir genes will burn off the alcohol in no time,” she encouraged with a cajoling smile.
“Fine,” I allowed. “I’ll have one, but keep the pour light.”
“Will do!”
A few minutes later, I was wandering around the house, sipping my cocktail and keeping an eye on things. Somebody had to. Grace wanted to let loose, but I was determined that my uncles wouldn’t come home from their trip to a thrashed house. I mean, yes, we could clean up, but drunk people always seemed to find something delicate and irreplaceable to break. Looking around, I was actually impressed that Grace had the forethought to put away some of the more valuable ornaments.
I entered the living room and spotted Sophia. She and Ren Tanaka were standing in a corner talking, but Peter was nowhere to be seen. I didn’t want to seem like a needy psycho by quizzing Sophia on his whereabouts, so I kept searching. Annoyingly, I bumped into the last person I wanted to see, and I had a hard time believing that Grace had invited her.
“Darya Cristescu,” Belinda slurred. She sat on a bench outside Grace’s bedroom, her bleary eyes informing me of her intoxication.
“Did you gate crash?” I asked, eyeing her up and down. She had a glass of red wine in her hand, and it was in danger of sloshing over onto the carpet when she shook her head. I quickly swiped it from her grasp.
“I don’t need to gate crash. Everyone loves having me at their parties,” she responded, her head flopping back against the wall. I heaved a weary sigh and sat down next to her.
“Do you at least have someone sober to drive you home?” I asked.
“Liz is around here somewhere. She’s our designated driver,” Belinda answered, and I felt her gaze zero on in on me. A few moments of silence fell before she blurted. “I’m sorry for what I did to you. It was out of order.” I blinked in surprise at her admission. “I was in a bad mood and lashing out. It didn’t help that I’ve always been jealous of you.”
Wow, alcohol really was a truth serum. I glanced at her. “Why on earth would you be jealous of me?”
Belinda shrugged. “I never said it was a rational kind of jealousy.”
Her response surprised a laugh out of me. “Okay.”
“It’s just that everyone thinks you’re so unique and special, especially given who your parents are. You don’t even have to try to get people to respect you. They do it naturally. Whereas I have to work hard to be popular. It’s constant pressure.”
“Why bother? Popularity is overrated. All you need is one or two close friends and life can be pretty great,” I said, thinking of Grace and Nic. “Plus, you don’t have to bother worrying what everyone thinks of you all the time.”
“Hmm,” Belinda replied, trying to swipe back the wine I took from her.
I held it out of reach. “No more of this for you. Go drink something that won’t leave a permanent stain on my uncles’ carpet. There’s plenty of vodka downstairs.”
Belinda grumped. “Fine.” There was a pause as she eyed me. Then she asked, “Why didn’t you ever tell Principal Wolf what I did to you?”
At this, I shot her a sharp look. “Because I planned on paying you back in my own way.”
Her lips formed a thin line. “I freaking knew you were planning something.”
“Well, don’t worry about it,” I said. “I’d rather call a truce than fight with you, Belinda.” There were far bigger threats out there to deal with, especially if Vasilios had more up his sleeve, which I was convinced he did. I just didn’t know what it was yet.
Her eyebrows rose. “Really?”
I held out my hand. “Uh-huh. How about it?”
She hesitated a moment, then placed her hand in mine, and we shook. “No more fighting?”
“No more fighting,” I agreed and stood. “Make sure you get a ride home with Liz. You’ve had way too much to drink.”
I went into the bathroom to dispose of the red wine down the sink, then continued looking for Peter. I finally gave up when I couldn’t find him anywhere, deciding Sophia must’ve come to the party on her own. Needing some fresh air, I stepped out into the back garden and was greeted by a waft of smoke.
Peter stood in the dark, a cigarette in hand. His eyes met mine as the acrid scent hit my nose. He still looked like he hadn’t been getting enough sleep, and I itched to reach out and smooth the tension lines around his mouth, the one right between his eyebrows. I wanted to pull him into my arms and let him melt into me as he had during the night of the storm.