Page 4 of The Prince and His Bodyguards
We step into the main room, which to my surprise, isn’t a ballroom. Instead, it looks like a luxe lounge with a huge bar along one wall, as well as rich, jewel-toned couches scattered about. Low lights create an intimate ambience, which is mysterious and enticing. Mira turns to me with wide eyes.
“Do you think the prince is here?” she whispers.
I shrug.
“I don’t know. I hope so because I’m not sure if we’re going to get more guest passes after tonight.”
My friend nods, her blonde curls waving about her face.
“That’s true,” she says in a hushed voice while looking around some more. “But do you think people can tell that we don’t belong?”
After all, we’re two young women clad in tiny cocktail dresses with sky high heels. I thought all the ladies would be dressed like this, but actually, quite a few of them are wearing long gowns with elegantly coiffed updos. Of course, there are a few in nothing but lingerie and fishnets, but at the moment, no one’s doing anything sordid. Instead, it looks like any upscale cocktail party with handsome men in suits, beautiful women, and everyone drinking wine and chatting.
“Goodness, how do we find the prince?” Mira whispers, her blue eyes still darting around the space. I squeeze her hand and then straighten my back.
“We’ll figure it out,” I reassure her in a whisper. “Just follow me, okay? Smile and look like you you’re enjoying yourself.”
With that, we teeter into the room before stopping at the bar.
“Um, two aperol spritzes please?” I request. I hope this is what sophisticated, mature people drink. Meanwhile, the bartender pauses for a moment. He’s an older guy, in his forties or so, with prematurely gray hair and a black vest over a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Very old-timey if you ask me, but very glamorous too. We could easily be in a speakeasy from the Roaring 20’s.
He leans against the bar for a moment, regarding us with an amused gaze.
“Now, I know the club is strict about background checks, but both of you are legal, aren’t you?”
Mira nods furiously, already fumbling with her small purse to find her fake ID.
“Yes, of course!” she chirps. “See? Here, it says I’m twenty-one.”
The bartender takes the ID before scrutinizing it with skeptical eyes.
“If I’m not mistaken, your photo was glued into this driver’s license,” he drawls before handing it back to her. “Is that true, Miss Jones?”
Mira goes pale, staring back into his eyes.
“Well… um … I mean—”
“What she means is that we’re both legit,” I say in a smooth tone, trying to get us out of hot water. “And what I meant to say is that I was hoping for twovirginaperol spritzes.”
The man nods with amusement, his gray eyes flickering.
“Sure.Virginsounds about right to me,” he says before turning away. My friend and I stare at one another.
“Somehow, that remark came out sounding like a double-entendre,” I say in a wry voice. Mira nods, blinking at me.
“Did he mean virgin, as in a virgin cocktail, or virgin, as in we’ve never been with a man before?”
I wave my hand dismissively in the air.
“Of course he means virgin as in a cocktail, sweetie. Trust me, don’t let the staff here intimidate you. Besides, we may be nineteen but we’re notvirginvirgins. I mean, I’ve been with a guy before.”
Of course, what I don’t add is that my ex-boyfriend Theo is the only man I’ve done stuff with in the past. Plus, Theo suffered from erectile dysfunction despite being relatively young, so our sexy times were more frustrating than sexy. Still, he did get it up every now and then, so I’m technically no longer a “virgin,” even if my experience left a lot to be desired.
“Oh, I’m definitely not a virgin,” my friend says in a hushed voice, her cheeks pinkening. “I can’t believe I even gave the impression that I am!”
I throw her a droll stare. Really, my buddy telegraphs innocence on all channels, from her big Bambi eyes to her long, wavy blonde hair that resembles paintings of the Virgin Mary. Then again, I don’t know Mira all that well because we only met recently at Oakdale Community College. We were in the same orientation group, and struck up a friendship immediately seeing that we’re both curvy girls who are interested in the arts.
But within moments, the bartender returns, his gray gaze still amused.