I thank her—it’s not her fault my best friend doesn’t understand boundaries—then find the tower where my room is.
The suite is Hawaiian-themed and lushly appointed, with colorful tropical flowers perfuming the air and pale beige rugs on an earth-tone stone floor. Huge windows and balconies face the ocean. Although the suite’s fairly high up, when I open the windows, the sound of waves rolls in from outside.
My entire body shaking, I finally collapse on a couch with a bottle of vodka. A sob punches through my thick throat. Clenching my teeth, I twist open the vodka, my hands trembling, then pour some into a crystal tumbler. I can’t break down and fall apart. I have an image to maintain—the only source of what nebulous power I have.
After a moment, I get up and find a corkscrew in the full-sized wet bar. I bring it back to the couch with me, just in case.
People think I’m influential because I’m pretty or rich or related to wealthy people. Those are ancillary. The main source of my power is my reputation. People admire me because I’m always polished, warm, sweet and help others. They’d turn their back
s if I faltered, if I lost control of myself or a situation.
The sob shoves harder against the back of my teeth. I swallow the vodka, flushing it down my throat with the liquor.
I keep drinking. If I drink enough, the sob will be pushed down so low that it won’t come back up. Not for a while.
But no matter how much I drink, I can’t find peace. My thoughts become clearer and sharper. The old memories of what happened between me and Andy pop into my head over and over again in little fragments.
So much blood. So damn much blood.
I drink faster, hating my metabolism, which prevents the vodka from doing for me what it does best—giving sweet oblivion.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Dominic
I finish the birthday cake, scanning the area to see where Elizabeth is.
Hot annoyance surges when I see her laughing with some brown-haired man. His swim trunks’ design is based on the Texas flag—red, white and blue with a lone white star front and center.
“He’s a cutie, isn’t he?” Shishi, Ming Ming’s cousin, leans over and says in a low, conspiratorial voice. We were introduced half an hour ago.
“Hard to say. I don’t play for his team.”
She giggles. “Then take my word for it.”
“And suitable,” another girl says.
I don’t have the faintest clue who she is, but she looks like she might be related to Shishi.
“He’s the son of the governor of Texas,” the girl says. “The oldest.”
“His papa isn’t what makes him charming,” Shishi says, waving her red-tipped fingers. “Mmm. Just my type.”
“Every cute guy is your type,” the girl says.
“Of course. If you have to have a type, it might as well be a good-looking guy…preferably rich and romantic, too.”
While they laugh, I look beyond and scowl when I see Elizabeth and the guy are gone. I don’t think she went off with a guy she just met, and that possibility is not why I’m looking for her. I’m doing this to make sure she’s all right.
Yeah, keep telling yourself that.
“Dominic, are you enjoying the party?” Ming Ming says, coming up.
“Yes. Happy birthday.”
“Thanks. I plan to enjoy every one of my birthdays until I’m too old to give a damn. Are you looking for Elizabeth?”
I nod.