The VIP (18+ Only) [COMPLETED] [Winner of a Wattys 2014 Instant Addiction Award]

7: In Which She Totally Disregards All Sense that is Common

7: In Which She Totally Disregards All Sense that is Common

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The day of the wedding came so quickly, it felt like only yesterday that I was staring at the invitations and contemplating the idea of making my excuses not to attend. The fact that Inga and I weren’t all that close meant that I literally had nothing to contribute to the wedding but my presence and my presents. This was absolutely fine by me because, at the end of the day, this was a royal wedding and I was completely out of my depth. Besides, I just couldn’t wait to get this whole thing over with so that I could get the hell out of Dodge and forget about it.

“You OK, babe?” Sav peeked into my bedroom, already dolled up in a strangely respectable peach sheath dress.

“Why?” I asked, although I already knew. I’d slept for an unbelievable ten hours straight and I was still standing in my towel in front of the full-length mirror at four in the afternoon.

“Well, after last night...” Her voice trailed off and she arched a questioning brow.

I scowled at her. By “last night”, she was referring to our walking in on the bachelor party in the dungeons of the castle. It was stupid, to be honest, but when I was with Sav, we reverted to kids that did the dumbest things together. It didn’t really matter that was I mad at her for her and her husband for their brainless attempts at making their marriage “exciting” and putting an innocent baby’s life at risk. Sav could bring out the worst in me and nowhere more so than at a shindig.

Inga’s so-called girlfriends’ poor excuse of a bachelorette party had consisted of a fucking Bridget Jones marathon and sodas and poorly mixed martinis. Fortunately, Sav knew where the good stuff was in the parlour and she’d snuck in to swipe some pretty freaking expensive bottles of red for me. Then, slightly drunk and giggly, I dragged her down into the dungeons, which I knew from Mikhail had been turned into a replication of a Vegas nightclub.

Seriously, the stone cells were big enough to host hundreds of horny, intoxicated men and a harem of whores. I guess princes going out to strip joints were frowned on in Ruslavia, but it was perfectly OK for the strippers to make house calls.

Mikhail was standing awkwardly in a corner, dressed in a black T-shirt and black jeans and holding a beer. He was on his phone, probably texting his fiancée to tell her how much he missed her, sad face and hugs and kisses.

Most of his friends, on the other hand, weren’t missing anything or anyone. Throwing cash at the dancers or receiving lap dances, half of them looked as drunk as I felt. That would’ve been totally fine with me if I hadn’t seen Ryan – Sav’s husband and one of my oldest friends – with his dick shoved down some hooker’s throat. It was one thing to listen to my best friend recount her sordid tales of her complete lack of respect of the sanctity of marriage and another to witness said best friend’s husband wave at her with his cock down another woman’s throat.

And she fucking waved back, grinning like a total fucking clown.

I wasn’t drunk enough to think that that was anything but shitty.

“Sav, you’ve gotta be kidding me,” I yelled over the thumping electronic music. “You're both disgusting.”

“Oh, shut up,” she retorted, giving me a stupid grin that was probably the result of two cans of Red Bull. “I slept with one of Inga’s brothers yesterday and Ryan watched. We’re even, don’t’cha think?”

I was going to be sick and it wasn’t the Chateau Margaux. I mean, I even tasted bile and my stomach was churning. How could someone I’d known for almost my whole life drop these kinds of bombs on me?