The Bed You Make
Chapter 44, continued
How was it that a skill she’d learned in early childhood now seemed to have disappeared completely from her grasp? Dara Jensen Cassadine leaned against the cool stones and tried for the fourth time to button the silken pajama top she’d donned. The silk boy shorts had gone on pretty easily, but the top… the smooth crimson fabric kept sliding from her grasp even as the buttons continued to frustrate her fingers. Screw it, Dara cursed softly under her breath. She’d gotten one button done. That would have to suffice. She was getting ready for bed, not a state dinner.
Good thing, too. Stefan had cautioned her against underestimating the power of true Russian vodka. In light of the earlier incident with the Countess de Mardors, Dara had not been in much of a mood to hear him. She’d had to pause several times during her bedtime preparations, though, to allow the room to cease spinning. Apparently her husband’s private reserve vodka only seemed harmless. Its potency was kicking in with a vengeance … just as Stefan had cautioned it would.
There was no way she was going to add to Stefan’s already considerable arrogance by letting him know he was right. The last thing she needed was for him to return to their suite and see her unbalanced state. He would know that his warnings about the vodka had gone unheeded. Dara squinted at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. The simple act of focusing her eyes brought on a wave of lightheadedness. And she wasn’t sure, but she thought she saw another copy of her reflection standing behind the two or three that were already there. "Would you guys stop with all the jumping around?" she complained. "I’m getting sea sick."
The ridiculous complaint so amused Dara that she leaned against the bathroom door and laughed until tears began to stream down her face. "Oh, hell. I really do have to pull myself together," she murmured after a while. "Stefan will be coming back here soon." Stefan, Stefan, Stefan, a slightly drunken little voice mocked in her ear, blah, blah, blah to him.
Dara tried to show her approval of the drunken sentiment with a saucy nod of her head. When she nearly lost her balance she realized two things: one, she was a bit more inebriated than she thought, and two, reaching the safety of the bed had just moved to the top of her ‘to-do’ list.
For a few fruitless minutes, Dara struggled with the bathroom door handle. She managed after a while to escape and move gingerly in the direction of the bed. Her laughing spell had passed as quickly as it had come. Still, it took her absolute concentration just to make her feet cooperate and move when she directed them to. With each step Dara took, the welcoming security of the oversized bed she shared with Stefan loomed closer and closer. Ten more feet and she’d be-
"Dara?"
Shit.
"Are you in need of assistance?"
