#phoebecampbell

Baela and Rhaena! 🥺

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."

Rhaena Targaryen | House of the Dragon Season 2

"Home? Give the kids some time to themselves?"

"Home," Cintia agreed.

"Nance? Miguel? Ready to go?"

"Ready!"

"Looks like we're the last ones here," Phoebe said. "We should probably be getting out of your hair. Great party, Leonor. And congrats again."

"Please give Al our congratulations, too," Hannah said. "I'd tell him myself, but I haven't been able to find him."

"I will," Leonor promised.

* * * * *

Leonor made sure the door had closed behind Phoebe and Hannah before letting out a relieved sigh.

She was tired, her social battery depleted. Her feet were sore, her cheeks even sorer from smiling all day long. But she was happy. So, so happy.

"That's everyone!" she sang out, rolling her shoulders and making her way toward the bedroom she would now officially be sharing with Al. "I was starting to think we wouldn't get any time alone tonight . . ."

"They're cute, aren't they?" Citlali asked.

"Hmm?"

"Phoebe and Hannah." Citlali nodded toward the two women, who'd been swaying in place, oblivious to anyone else, since Domingo had picked up his violin. "They've been together nearly thirty years by now, but they're still head-over-heels."

Something about the way Carl cleared his throat made Citlali forget about Phoebe and Hannah. She looked up at him.

He looked nervous. She was surprised. She'd only seen him nervous once before.

"I'd like to have something like that myself," he said. "With you. Could you see that?"

She swallowed a lump in her throat, her pulse fluttering.

"Carl, are you--proposing?"

"I don't want to steal any of Leonor and Alvin's thunder, so I'm not getting down on one knee. Not here. But, ah, yes. I am. If you'll have me. I'd like to marry you. Be a real father to Miguel. Have a family. I'd like all of it."

"Oh."

"Well?" There was a quaver in his voice she'd never heard there before.

A wave of tenderness washed over her, almost like pain.

She pressed closer, feeling the thumping of his heart against her own chest.

"Yes."

Miguel was the only kid at the party, but that was OK. He wasn't that close with the other kids, so he even preferred it that way. He liked dancing with Carl and his grandpa, playing games with his aunt Nancy, being doted on by his aunt Leonor and his three grandmas. (Even though Grandmas Hannah and Phoebe weren't paying him much attention at the moment.)

"How are you so fast?! I didn't even see you move!" he demanded of Nancy.

"Practice, little man. Practice."

A few steps away, Peter was only too aware of the fact that Trevor and he had been in the same room together for hours and had yet to say so much as hello. Every time he approached, Trevor suddenly seemed to be deep in conversation with someone else.

"Enjoying yourself?" he said to the closest unoccupied person, who happened to be Yesenia.

Yesenia was startled. She'd forgotten herself for a moment, had allowed her mind to wander, her careful smile to slip, and Peter had caught her. Blushing, she did her best to tack it back on.

"Yes, of course."

"Riiiight." His voice had taken on a slight, uncharacteristic drawl. The drink in his hand clearly wasn't his first.

Peter glanced down at the glass. She must have been staring.

"Uh. Can I get you one?"

She shouldn't, not if she was going to keep up her happy facade all night.

"Sure."

The drink helped. Yesenia tossed it back it too quickly, then poured herself another.

"Easy there."

His glass was freshly filled to the brim, too. He's one to talk.

Jeremy and Meda were the first to leave. Jeremy delivered their goodbyes while Meda bundled up for the walk home.