“Finally,” said Emma. The guardians were ushering the Moroi onto the dock and up into the island. “I can’t wait to see what kind of rooms we have. Miranda was here once and said they’re huge.”
They were indeed, but Eric didn’t spend much time in his. Moroi servants—nonroyals, of course—carried in the guests’ baggage and made sure everyone knew where their room assignments were. Enormous it might be, but the house couldn’t provide thirty bedrooms, so some people had to share. Eric was one of the lucky ones who had his own, which didn’t surprise him. With his father’s status and power, most royals wanted to get in good with him. Jared’s family would be no exception.
After that brief stop, everyone spilled out toward the back of the house, where the Zeklos servants had been hard at work. In a secluded, tiled area bordered by sheltering trees, tall torches were staked into the ground, lighting up the darkness with eerie, flickering light. The scents of roasting meat and other delicacies filled the air, and in the center of it all was a man-made lagoon, its water a deep, crystalline blue that was lit from within by cleverly embedded lights. The entire pool glowed like something otherworldly.
Jared’s father, a thin man with slanting black eyebrows and a waxed mustache, gave a brief speech congratulating them on their graduation from high school and wishing them luck on whatever roads they chose to follow. When he finished, the festivities kicked in immediately. Music blared from unseen speakers, and all thoughts of future responsibility and important plans were quickly forgotten.
Eric threw himself into the drinking and dancing, suddenly wanting nothing more than to forget everything for a while. He didn’t want to think about his mother or that awful, nightmarish face down on the beach. He didn’t want to think about the legacy left to him, of being the heir to a dying royal line. He didn’t want to think about his father’s plans for him. And above all, Eric most certainly didn’t want to think about the solemn girl he’d met on the boat. Sometimes he found parties like this trite, but other times…well, in the hardest moments of his life, crazy revelry was a welcome escape.
“This is the most fun you’ve been in a while,” exclaimed Emma, shouting to be heard over the music.
Eric grinned and pulled her close to him with one arm as they danced. His other hand was precariously holding a drink—and not doing a very good job of it. Considering it was his third, it probably didn’t matter if he lost some.
“You don’t think I’m usually fun?” he teased.
Emma shook her head. “No…you’ve just been so serious lately. Like you’re nervous about…I don’t know. Nervous about the future.” She knocked back some of her own drink and frowned prettily. “Are you?”
It was a surprisingly pensive moment for her, and Eric wasn’t sure how to respond. Emma was usually all about living in the now, about seeking as much fun and excitement as she could—without thinking of the consequences. It was one of the things he liked best about her when his own worries plagued him.
“I don’t know,” he admitted, deciding he needed to finish his own drink if this conversation was going to continue. Both the music and topic made it difficult to continue. “There’s just so much pressure…so many decisions that could affect the rest of my life.”
Emma stood up on her tiptoes and gave him a quick kiss. “Just because you have to make a decision doesn’t mean it’s going to have bad consequences. And some of us don’t mind standing with you through it all.”
Through his haze of vodka martinis, he heard a subtle hint about their engagement in her statement. Eric decided then that he wished they hadn’t strayed onto this topic. He was going to suggest another drink, but a distraction of a different kind popped up.
“And now,” a voice declared, managing to carry over the heavy bass of the music, “I will attempt a feat never, ever before attempted by anyone in history. Not ever.”
Eric and Emma turned, finding Stephen Badica standing on a chair by the edge of the pool. Everyone in his vicinity stopped what they were doing to watch. Even without his theatrics, Stephen often drew eyes. He had a build that was a bit brawnier than the typically slim Moroi figure, giving him a look he joked was “rugged and manly.” He didn’t have pretty-boy features, but the strong lines of his chiseled face met with the approval of most girls—especially since he always seemed to be smiling.
Stephen held up a shot glass. “I’m going to jump into the pool and finish this shot before I hit the water.”
This was met with cheers and whistles, as well as the cries of a few naysayers protesting that he’d be spilling whiskey in the water. Stephen held up his free hand as though calling for silence—impossible in this situation—and then leaped off the chair. It all happened fast, but Eric was pretty sure he saw Stephen actually down the shot before hitting the water—in his clothes—cannonball-style. Water exploded everywhere, and there were a few squeals of surprise as several people got soaked. Emma was among them, her slinky red dress catching a particularly large wave.
More cheers erupted from the spectators, and Stephen emerged from the pool holding up his hands in victory. After a few whoops of joy, he then challenged others to do it. Naturally, there were several volunteers.
Watching Stephen, Eric realized he wasn’t going to be able to push aside all his cares tonight. There was a part of him that kept secretly hoping he’d see sunny blond hair in the crowd. Turning to Emma, who was futilely trying to wring water out of her skirt, he asked, “Hey, do you know anything about Stephen being engaged?”
“Huh?” Emma’s eyes were still on her skirt. “Oh, yeah. To some girl from…I don’t remember. Some other school. She’s here somewhere—she’s got blond hair. Kind of quiet. Why?”
Eric shrugged. “I just heard about it earlier and was surprised that Stephen was engaged. I never thought he was the settling down type.”
Emma gave up on her dress and looked back up. “More like he doesn’t seem the type to settle down with her.”
“What? Why? What’s wrong with her?”
“She’s only half-royal.” Emma couldn’t keep the scorn out of her voice. “Her mom’s an Ozera, I think, but her dad’s a nobody.”
“That’s kind of harsh.”
“Hey, I’ve got nothing against her. And she’s done pretty good to snag Stephen. Nice work there. That’s definitely going to bring her up in the world.” Emma tugged at Eric’s shirt, Stephen and Rhea already forgotten. “Come on. My dress is ruined.”
“Huh? What are you—”
Maybe it was the abrupt change in topic—or just too much to drink—but Eric wasn’t able to stop Emma when she jerked him toward the pool. They landed ungracefully, sending more water up over the edge and onto the patterned tile. Other people had already followed Stephen’s example, and Eric thought it a miracle he hadn’t landed on anyone already in the pool.
“Ugh,” he said, looking down at his waterlogged clothes. Emma laughed in triumph and threw her arms around him.
“Gotcha,” she said.
He started to complain but soon discovered it was hard to with Emma pressed up against him. Uncaring of the others around, she kissed him, and Eric found the feel of her body, with its tightly clinging dress, was better than alcohol for forgetting his worries. He jerked her closer, running his hand over her hip.
“You want to call it an early night?” she asked huskily, breaking the kiss at last.
Eric hesitated, thinking that might be a very good idea. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he caught the longed-for glimpse of shining gold hair. Rhea Daniels was here after all. She slipped inside the house’s elaborate glass doors, but not before her eyes flicked over to him. On her face, he saw…what? Disapproval? Scorn? He wasn’t sure, but suddenly, inexplicably, he knew he had to talk to her.