What Peter did next happened too fast for Trevor to do anything but watch in horror.
He lurched toward Citlali and Carl. The two dancers broke apart to face him with looks of mild alarm.
" ‘m cutting in." He glowered at Carl, then turned beseechingly to Citlali. "Ci'lali. It's me. You shoul’ be with me."
Citlali gaped at him.
"I know it's me you wan'," he continued, "an' I'm here. Jus' say it. Say it's me."
"Careful," Carl said, placing himself between Peter and Citlali. His face was neutral, but his eyes bored into Peter's. "I don't think you know quite what you're saying. You might want to sit down. Or go home. Sleep it off.”
“Y’know she belongs with me,” Peter insisted recklessly, louder. A hush fell over the room. “Y’know she doesn’ feel the same ‘bout you. I’d know. I’d know. You don’ fake tha’. I re'mber how she kissed me. . .”
Carl’s face twisted into a snarl.
“I’m choosing to believe you have no idea what you’re saying right now.”
“Peter,” Phoebe hissed. “What the hell are you doing?”
“He doesn’t,” Citlali said, reaching for Carl’s arm. “Carl, he’s drunk.”
“Not too drunk to remember this, I hope,” Carl said in the same ominous soft tone. “Stay away. She’s given you her answer. Don’t make her—or me—tell you again.”
“I can’t believe you,” Trevor broke in. “Do you ever think about everything you’re about to ruin before you go and do something stupid and selfish? Do you even care?”
Trevor’s furious rebuke pulled Peter away from his confrontation with Carl.
“Son . . .” he said.
“Don’t. You should leave,” Trevor said.
Peter swiveled, looking blearily around for support. Trevor, turned from him contemptuously. Phoebe glaring. Carl assessing, lips pressed tight. Citlali staring at the floor.
“I— I— sorry,” he mumbled, and bolted for the door.
"Uhh . . . cake time!" Leonor chirped nervously as Peter made his stumbling retreat. "Who wants a slice? I made it myself! Al, here, try the rose frosting!"
"Are you all right?"
"Yes. Fine." Citlali let out a shuddering breath. "Do you think . . . should someone go after him?"
Carl's jaw clenched. Then, looking into her eyes, his expression softened.
"I'm not worried about Peter," he said. "How are you feeling?"
"Fine," Citlali said again, but her voice trembled. "It's just . . . I feel so sad for him."
Carl nodded. "I know just the thing for that," he said suddenly. "How about a drink?”
