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

1: In Which She Gets the Low-Down on a Hook-Up

Just the idea of seeing Nikolai again made me ill. Something more had happened that night, something I didn’t want to analyse too much: He’d ruined me for other men.

The sad thing was that while it was a powerful sexual awakening for me, it was nothing more than a sleepy roll in the dark with a warm body for him. Desperate to feel wanted, I’d thrown myself at the Nikolai and didn’t even have the good fortune of being able to say that I had no idea of who he was.

Mikhail had mentioned his uncle thousands of times before so I knew he’d been twenty-six when he’d given me the best sex of my life. Mikhail’s father, the current king, was twenty years older than Nikolai and had practically raised him after their father, the previous monarch, passed away.

Eight years older than me, Nikolai should have known better. How could I ever look Mikhail in the eye knowing that I’d slept with his uncle? It was…wrong, which was why I hadn’t seen my friend in almost six years.

What does he want? I thought, holding the envelope away from me like it was herpes in a package. Despite the distance and years, Mickey and I were still friends and I knew that I could call him whenever. I knew Mikhail’s father was alive and well – even remarried – therefore Mikhail wasn’t up for the throne anytime soon. Whatever was in the envelope was so important that he couldn’t pick up the phone and call me.

Maybe it’s him.

“Ophelia? You there?”

“Can I call you back, Sav?” I asked in a rushed breath, and without waiting, I cut the call. Inhaling deeply, I ripped the envelope open. And laughed.

Mikhail Alvonich III was getting married to Inga Antonova in a month’s time. Two first-class plane tickets were included with my invitation.

***

 

 

“So let me get this straight, gorgeous. You're asking me to be your date?”

I rolled my eyes, grateful that he couldn’t see me over the phone. “Yes, Dad. Will you be my plus-one?”

He laughed, the deep, comforting sound a painful reminder that I hadn’t seen him in months. “Sweetheart, what makes you think I want to spend a week with stuck-up royals in a frozen wasteland?”

I was glad he wasn’t asking me why someone my age couldn’t get a date that wasn’t related to me.

“Dad,” I chided, “Mikhail’s my friend. I thought you liked him.”

“The kid’s all right with me but his father? That’s another story.”

I didn’t push my father to elaborate; I already knew exactly why he didn’t have particularly warm and fuzzy feelings for King Mikhail II. The king was a blatant chauvinist and, as a result, female literacy in Ruslavia was shockingly low. There were no mixed gender schools but the ratio of boys-only schools to girls-only was a disgusting four-to-one. Dad had been meaning to get the network he worked for to push for an interview with the king, but up to now, no dice.

“If you don’t want to come, I’ll go alone,” I muttered, standing in my kitchen. “But you know what happens to single women at weddings, right? It’s a total meat market.”

“Fine,” Dad growled. “I’ll go. But don’t blame me if I tell him exactly what I think.”

“Dad.” He was more than capable of going up to Mikhail’s father and telling him what he thought of him. “His son’s getting married. You're going to be civil or I’m going to tell Rory.”