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

2: In Which She Gets Made

I donned a pair of black pants and pearly-pink cashmere sweater over a vest before stalking off to my dad’s suite. As part of the groom’s party, we were on the east wing of the castle and Dad’s room was a few doors down from mine. I knocked before entering and was highly disappointed to find him fast asleep, still in the clothes he’d worn on the plane. Waking him up was equivalent to being a sadist, as he usually had four hours of sleep – on a good night.

My phone chose the exact moment I was trying to creep out my father’s room to ring. Before Harlem Shake could really start, I pressed the green button.

“Yeah?”

“I’m in your room, O,” Sav’s breathless voice chirped in my ear. “Where the hell are you?”

***

 

 

Out on the castle rooftop, protected from the elements by a high, white pavilion, Mikhail was having a mini causal high school reunion before dinner, complete with wine and finger foods.

“So do you really know who you're marrying, Inga?” Ryan asked the blushing bride-to-be, slurring his R’s. He threw an arm around Sav’s neck, careful not to slosh the glass of merlot he had in his hand.

Inga – a stunning, green-eyed and raven-haired beauty with legs as long as stilts – took a small sip of wine, giving Ryan an amused look. “Are you going to tell me he’s a serial killer?” she asked, her ordinary Boston accent at odds with her exotic name. She gave Mikhail a coy glance. “Because I already know that. He murders food like nobody’s business!”

I laughed. “You should’ve seen him in high school. He won some crazy hotdog-eating competition and nobody could believe that the Helen Huber Prep King Hot Dawg was actually a prince of some faraway country no one’s heard of.”

Mikhail grinned. “Yeah, but you came in second place, didn’t you?”

“Only because you cheated, Mikhail Alvonich!”

Inga’s brows rose at me. “Really? But you're so –”

“Tiny?” I snorted when she nodded. “I love eating just as much as the next person. In fact, if I could get paid to eat food, I’d do it.”

“And what about acting?”

As soon as Sav asked that playful question, I slightly deflated. Bad move because my best friend knew me way too well.

“Ophelia?” Her brown eyes were wide with concern. “You OK?”

I nodded, the rush of wine in my system making that tiny movement torture. “Just a little jetlagged, you know?” I bullshitted.

“Sorry about that,” Mikhail offered, as if he were responsible for time difference and my sleep patterns. That was just the kind of guy he was – nice. Nice but not perfect. There was no such thing as “perfect” and anyone who said different was a coked-up liar.

It was funny, though – I looked at Mikhail and felt nothing but friendship and genuine happiness for him. In hindsight, I had probably put him on a ridiculous pedestal after breaking up with Kyros all those years ago and now I was seeing him for real. He was sweet, funny Mickey, one of my oldest friends, and he was getting married over the weekend to someone he genuinely loved. Inga seemed just as down-to-earth as he was. She was a Boston native born to Russian parents and was studying physiotherapy. Mikhail, who was in medical school, clearly worshipped the ground she walked on.