Tristan was so nervous as he turned round to face Alice that he thought he might chuck up the sausages he’d eaten for dinner. He could taste them rising in his throat.
“Hi,” she whispered shyly, leaning in to kiss his cheek.
Tristan burped quietly.
“I meant to call you back about tonight. Sorry I didn’t.” Alice pinched a fold of Tristan’s sweater between her fingers. Sorry might be her least favorite word in the universe. But for him, she was prepared to make an exception.
“Yeah, good to see you, too,” Tristan mumbled. He wasn’t listening to a word Alice was saying. He was too busy trying to act normal.
Alice’s eyes started to narrow.
“T darling! How are you?” Just on time, Tally danced up to them, throwing her arms round Tristan from behind.
“Tals, old girl.” He hugged her in relief. “I’ve hardly chatted to you in eons. How the hell are you?”
“Fantastic! I feel like going mad tonight,” Tally gushed, oblivious, as always, that she’d interrupted something. “Come on everyone, let’s go insane! Here’s to that!” She took a swig of her drink, a livid pink concoction that she’d scooped from the punchbowl on the way in.
“Careful!” Alice shrieked. “You have no idea what could be in there.”
“Of course I do. Fruit juice and booze. What more could a girl want?”
“Urine,” Alice said.
Tally looked confused. “But I don’t want—”
“No, you minger. Everyone knows you should never drink from punchbowls. Boys like to piss in them for fun.”
A few feet away, the tall stranger who’d been chatting with Jasper had stopped mid-sentence and was gazing at them. Or, to be more precise, he was gazing at Tally, who looked like a Hollywood starlet tonight. She’d styled her hair into waves and was wearing a tight gold satin dress that belted at the waist, with gold shimmer and eyeshadow to match. Alice nudged her, and Tally stole a glance at the boy over the rim of her plastic cup. He had dark, wavy hair and eyes like blue sea-glass. He reminded her ever so slightly of Mr. Logan. Except that Mr. Logan was older. And hotter. And way more… experienced. She wished he were here—then she could bring a whole new meaning to the words “teacher’s pet.”
“Tals, this is my Cousin Rando,” Jasper said, dragging the boy over. “He’s just joined us at Hasted House.”
Rando shifted a bit, then held out his hand. “Pleasure,” he smiled. He had pointy teeth that gave him a dashingly cheeky air.
“Rando?” Tally scoffed. Oops. She’d meant to say, “Nice to meet you,” but something had gone wrong.
“Well, it’s Tom Randall-Stubbs actually,” Jasper’s cousin replied smoothly. “Rando’s my nickname.”
Tally rolled her eyes sarcastically. “Oh, nickname. Is that what it’s called?”
There was an awkward silence. Tally turned in panic to where Alice had been standing, but she and Tristan had mysteriously disappeared.
Then Rando burst out laughing.
“Touché,” he congratulated her. “That was rather funny.”
“Why, thank you.” Tally’s eyes shone. “Nastrovya!” she toasted in Russian, downing her drink.
“Don’t touch me,” Mimah ordered, slapping Freddie Frye’s hand away as he tried to sneak it round her waist. She’d put a stop to their incredibly boring conversation and had maneuvered Freddie onto the dance floor at the back of the Demetrioses’ huge, open-plan lobby.
Behind them, party guests were spilling through the glass doors onto the patio, and above them, revelers on the mezzanine were chucking down bits of chips and chocolate into the crowd. From here, Mimah commanded a better view of the territory.
“Why not? What’s your problem?” Freddie bleated. He wiggled his ass in delight as Amy Winehouse came on and a general cheer went up.
But Mimah didn’t answer. She’d caught sight of Sonia Khan and Seb Ogilvy smoking near an open window. They were actually sharing a cigarette. Mimah watched as Sonia took it out of his lips and put it between hers. She’d been in love with Seb for fucking ages. How dare her psychotic ex–best friend try to steal him? Mimah felt the rage boiling up.
“Vodka jelly!” Gerald Coombes’s voice rang out above the music. He dashed from the kitchen carrying a tray and cut a swath through the masses.
“Hurrah!” People rushed him, trampling each other as they tried to grab the cups. Delphinia Atwood tripped on her six-inch shoes and slid over the floor into a carved table, cracking one of its legs right off.
Luckily, George wasn’t there to witness any of this. He’d disappeared ages ago with the Wyndham-Rhodes sisters, into another wing of the house.
“So… do you still want to come back with me later?” Alice fluttered her eyelids up at Tristan. She’d drawn him behind a pillar, away from the others, and was standing with one leg crossed over the other, trying to suppress the urge to pee. Battling her nerves and being seductive at the same time took astonishing skill.
“Er, yeah,” Tristan said. “Of course.”
“That’s great, darling. Do you like my dress?”
Tristan checked it out. Alice was wearing one of those awful loose things that seemed to be in at the moment, tight at the top but shapeless and puffy everywhere else. Just like a fucking maternity tent.
“Adore it,” he said.
Alice kissed his neck and shivered. Tristan smelled of his usual soap, and, beneath it, of something warm and mysterious and delicious. Under her babydoll dress, she’d put on her sexiest black lace underwear; they had a gold lollipop charm hanging off them, and she felt a thrill whenever she thought of Tristan playing with it later. Things were going to be fine. He was gorgeous and he was her oldest friend and he was in love with her.
Slipping her hand under Tristan’s sweater, Alice hooked her pinkie tentatively over the top of his trousers. She heard him gulp. He was probably overcome with excitement.
Dylan stepped out of her black cab at the Mayfair address that Mimah had given her. She was so late. After getting home from the pub, she’d fallen into a snooze, woken up at ten, rushed like crazy to get ready, and drunk half a bottle of wine to get her courage up. Now she was tipsy. More than tipsy. Again.
Posh gas lanterns illuminated the front of the house as Dylan stood uncertainly outside, wondering whether she was meant to knock or what. Judging by the flashing disco lights in the windows and the stifled music thumping through the walls, knocking wasn’t likely to attract anyone’s attention. Then the door flew open and two people fell into the street, passionately sucking each other’s faces off. Problem solved.
“Excuse me,” Dylan said. They blanked her.
“Move it!” She raised her voice. The alcohol was getting to her. Maybe she shouldn’t drink any more tonight, but fuck it.
“Piss off,” said the girl in the couple.
“Slut.” Dylan maneuvered round them.
Inside, the place was teeming with people. Dylan stayed close to the door, seeing no one she knew. Then she caught sight of Mimah dancing near a bucktoothed blond boy. The boy was trying to grind with her, but Mimah was ignoring him and gazing menacingly across the room. Dylan followed her eyes. Sonia. She was sitting on a windowseat with her legs draped over a sandy-haired guy wearing a gray V-neck sweater, and it looked like they were about to lock lips.
Dylan had no clue what new drama was brewing between her classmates. And she didn’t give a shit; she’d just seen Tristan. He was standing by himself up on the mezzanine with a pensive expression on his face. Maybe he was thinking about her. She smiled drunkenly and climbed the stairs.
* * *
“They’ve run out of champagne so I got you vodka,” Alice said, pushing aside some rowdy boys practicing river-dancing, and handing Tristan a drink. She’d finally rushed off to the toilet to relieve her bursting bladder and had poured them both stiff ones on the way back.
“Vodka’s always good,” Tristan said, guzzling half the cup.
“Easy there, tiger,” Alice chuckled. She drew him toward her and kissed him, savoring his taste. He rubbed the small of her back with his free hand, pulling her closer.
“You’re irresistible,” Alice said. “Oh my god. What’s wrong?”
Tristan had stiffened, and was gawking past her with a horrified expression on his face. An object came hurtling toward them and skidded along the floor. Alice looked down. It was a box of condoms. She started to laugh, until she saw that Dylan was standing right there, her eyes on fire, wearing some ratty pink pashmina.
“You left those in the pub,” Dylan spat at Tristan bitterly. “I wouldn’t want you to be without them. Seeing as you’ll be needing them for tonight.” She gave Alice a dirty look.
“What is going on?” Alice hissed.
No one said anything. Dylan’s jaw was trembling.
“Answer me!” Alice growled. “Have you been seeing her behind my back?”
“No,” Tristan protested. “Those aren’t mine.”
“Liar. Of course they’re yours,” Dylan burst out.
Alice looked at her coldly. “How do we know you’re not the fucking liar?”
“How do you know? Because of this.” Dylan dug into her purse and pulled out a piece of paper. “There. Tristan Murray-Middleton. Says it right on the receipt. And you know why? Because he bought them with a stupid credit card! What kind of moron buys condoms with a credit card? And I’ll bet he doesn’t even pay the bills. I’ll bet Daddy pays them. Is Daddy financing your two-timing sex habit, Tristan baby?”
Alice gaped. She hadn’t suspected that Dylan had such spark in her. Then she turned to Tristan. He was staring at the ceiling, looking like he wasn’t even paying attention anymore.
“Well?”
“Ali, it’s not what it looks like, I promise.”
“Yeah, right.” Alice was almost crying.
Before Tristan could defend himself further, a ruckus erupted below.
“What are you doing?” Sonia shrieked from the ground floor.
Mimah had grabbed Sonia by her long, dark hair and was dragging her off of Seb’s lap.
“You bitch,” Mimah snarled. “You slut!”
“Slut?” Sonia screamed. “I’m not the one who paid this poor boy to have sex with me. There’s a word for that, you know. It’s called prostitution.”
“No it isn’t, you moron,” Mimah mocked. “It’s called solicitation. There’s a big difference.”
“Oh, of course. You would know something like that.” Sonia’s eyes gleamed with malice. “The Calthorpe de Vyle-Hanswickes are experts on the sex trade. All you have to do is copy your dad.”
With that, she turned her back and faced the crowd of wide-eyed party guests. Holding her head high, she began wobbling on her heels in the direction of the bathroom.
Mimah said nothing. Instead, she calmly stepped forward and shoved Sonia, hard, from behind. Sonia reeled drunkenly, crashing her face into a nearby column. Then she collapsed, clutching her bleeding nose.