The King's Virgin Bride: A Royal Wedding Novella (Royal Weddings Book 1)

by Natalie Knight

“Oh, totally,” I assure her and head to the limo. It’s the same color of red as my Louboutins. “I fucking love it.” And I really do.

  The inside is a mix of red and black. A bottle of champagne on ice is waiting for us, and I settle back on the soft leather.

  “So…elephant in the limousine,” Sammi says tentatively. “Dan the Man can’t make it?”

  I nod.

  For a little while, I was so caught up in reuniting with my BFFs, I’d forgotten my future husband isn’t even going to show up until the day of the wedding.

  “Blessing in disguise,” Sammi reassures me, popping the cork of the champagne. She fills up our glasses, passing them out as she announces a toast: “To one last hurrah!”

  “Hurrah!” echo the others, but I say nothing.

  Sammi holds my glass out to me, and I hesitate to take it.

  I’m biting my bottom lip.

  “Darlin’?” Mysti May’s voice seems a long way away.

  “Becks,” Percy echoes. “You okay?”

  I shake my head.

  Time to break the news, I guess.

  “We can’t drink.” I confess, hanging my head.

  “You’re pregnant?!” Percy and Sammi gasp.

  “No,” I reassure them. “It’s just…Dan the Man left us with some ground rules.”

  My BFFs are staring at me like I just stole Christmas.

  “And they are?” asks Sammi, narrowing her eyes like a hawk.

  Out of the three of them, she’s always disliked Dan most. It’s always bothered me a little—since she’s also easily the smartest of our little bestie group, and with that hawk-eyed gaze of hers, she usually sees things that I don’t.

  “No drinking, no gambling, no hooking up.” I rattle them off as quickly as possible and stare at my heels like they’ve got a naked Channing Tatum printed on them.

  “WHAT?!” Percy roars. “In Vegas? What’s he even sending you here for?!”

  “He might as well have sent you to the morgue.” Sammi blurts out, and I look at her with a furrowed brow. “If you can’t drink, gamble or hook up in Vegas, you may as well be dead.”

  I shake my head.

  “Alfonso wouldn’t put such restrictions on me. He trusts me,” adds Mysti May, which makes me feel, like, so much fucking better—not.

  “Okay,” Percy sighs. “So what can we do?”

  I smile weakly at Percy.

  “The Royale has a spa,” I say, trying to sound chipper.

  Everyone perks up a little bit at that. I’m not sure if they mean it or not, but it helps.

  “And…Dan’s left me his black card.”

  They all gasp.

  “No credit limit?” Mysti May says, eyes as wide as dinner plates.

  “And he’s given it…to you,” Sammi says, obviously recalling my shopaholic days.

  “Bitchin’,” swears Percy. She points to her top, which is admittedly barely keeping her ample tits restrained. “These titties of mine aren’t getting any smaller. Size sixteen, see you later; hello, size eighteen. Shopping’s on the to-do list.”

  Now I have to laugh.

  It’s true Percy is nothing like your fucking stick figure models. She’s the complete opposite, but she looks good. Actually, I think she looks fucking hot. And I’ve never met a guy who doesn’t like large tits and something to grab on to.

  “And we have Celine Dion tickets for tonight,” I add. “It won’t be as fun as if we were a little shitfaced, but...”

  “It’s Celine Dion,” Sammi says, nodding her head. “Good even when you’re sober.”

  “And we can have a visit to a day spa and the hairdresser,” adds Mysti May.

  “And we’ll shop ‘til we drop,” Percy adds.

  Slowly, the gloomy feeling lifts. We can have fucking fun in Vegas. As long as we’re together. Even with the stupid fucking rules set by Dan the Man.

  “And best of all…we’ll remember this week. Do you remember some of our wild parties at UCLA?” Percy asks, and we nod.

  “The hangovers,” groans Sammi. “I don’t miss those.”

  Mysti May shakes her head and giggles. “I think most mornings, I woke up with a set of genitals dangling over my face and no idea who they belonged to.”

  I laugh. “There may have even be a few nights I have no fucking idea what happened at all.”

  Our limo stops and we get out.

  It takes no time at all for us to check in, and then we finally walk into the bridal suite of the Royale.

  “Oh my fucking god,” mutters Sammi as she surveys the room. “Compared to the research boat…this is a fucking castle.”

  She’s not wrong.

  There’s yet another bottle of champagne on ice sitting on the table. Expensive champagne. Royale-level luxury champagne. There are four tall crystal glasses around the ice bucket.

  I’ve never wanted to drink anything more in my entire life.

  “So…we definitely can’t drink this? Dan the Man’s orders?” Percy holds up the bottle, looking to me with puppy dog eyes.

  “We…shouldn’t.” I don’t want to say it. It hurts my soul to turn down champagne this nice. But I’m thinking about those good choices I’m supposed to be making, and Dan’s stern face refuses to leave my mind.

  “Becky…darlin’. It’s just one glass. Can it really hurt?”

  Mysti May has a point.

  “Come on, Becky. It’s your last hurrah before you marry an idiot so boring that his nickname only serves to remind you what gender he is. It’s free. Compliments of the hotel. They’d be offended if we refused.” Sammi looks at me sternly.

  Well…she has a point. And if it’s just one glass…

  I chuckle. “Okay, okay. I’ll have one glass. But Dan’s not boring, okay? He’s…” I hesitate.

  Shit. I try to think of a better adjective, but my mind has gone blank.

  “Dull as dog shit,” Sammi finishes for me.

  Percy pops the champagne cork and drinks straight from the bottle at exactly the wrong moment. She winds up snorting champagne out through her nose and mouth.

  “Sammi,” she protests, “time your fucking jokes when I’m not guzzling.”

  Sammi shrugs. “You’re always guzzling. And I wasn’t joking.”

  Champagne glasses in hand, we sip as we tour the suite.

  “Holy shit,” Percy swears. “The size of this hot tub!”

  The thing looks like you could swim laps in it.

  Percy grins as she peeks over the edge of its vastness. “Maybe we could find some hot wangs to fill it with.”

  I pretend to punch her in the arm. “Rule #3,” I remind her. “No hooking up. I need to make good choices! Picking up men for the hot tub hardly qualifies.”

  Percy shrugs. “Depends on the kind of man, doesn’t it?”

  We return to the main living area of our apartment. Mysti May is pressing some buttons, and a massive television screen descends from the wall.

  “Well, fuck me sideways,” Mysti May breathes in awe, pulling up a digital slot machine on the screen. “We can gamble from the fucking living room.”

  “Rule #2,” I groan. “No gambling.”

  “Have you seen the bed?” Sammi calls out.

  We all thunder into the bedroom.

  My jaw drops when I see her sprawled across a double king-size bed. A king-size bed is fucking big. This one is like, three times that size.

  We all fall on top of it and roll around giggling like teenagers.

  I’ve missed these fucking BFFs of mine. We’ve had the best fucking times together in the past. I sigh.

  I hope we’ll have an awesome fucking time leading up to my marriage. I’m still a little disappointed that Dan the Man couldn’t make it, but judging from my friends’ reactions, they’re not going to miss him a bit.

  “There’s a spa downstairs,” I say, flipping through a relaxation menu on the bedside table. “How about we start our bridal party with a massage?”

  “Well, it’s not
drinking,” Sammi says.

  “Or gambling,” Mysti May pouts.

  “But I can probably fuck one of the masseuses,” Percy grins.

  “Bet you fifty bucks you can’t.”

  “Do you think they have mimosas?”

  What can I say? Old habits die hard.

  Becky

  10:18 AM THURSDAY

  “I think if it had caught us, it would have fucked us to death,” Percy pants, leaning up against the bathroom door.

  Behind us, enclosed within the bathroom once more, I can still hear the rogue vibrator buzzing sinisterly.

  “That’s not a vibrator,” I sigh, chest heaving. “That’s a weapon.”

  “That’s a Celine Dion-level vibrator,” Percy adds.

  I don’t know why, but for some reason, I completely agree.

  Meanwhile, Mysti May is dealing with the freshly awakened showgirls in the kitchen, who all seem like they’re eager to get friendly with poor Mysti all over again.

  “You’re very sweet, bless your hearts, but you misunderstand. I’m not interested.”

  The showgirl with the long brown hair and a snake tattoo on her ass tries again to wrap her arms around Mysti. Indignant, Mysti May pushes her away, polite but firm. Typical Texas beauty queen attitude, really.

  Considering that the night I met Mysti May, we were paired together for a tag-team topless jello shot wrestling match, I feel like it wouldn’t surprise me if she had banged all three of the showgirls.

  I mean, she’s always kind of put off that vibe, you know?

  But the truth is, I don’t really want to know what the fuck Mysti May got up to last night. I doubt I really fucking want to know what I got up to last night. Deep down I know that whatever it was, it was no fucking good.

  “Really, y’all, you’re very pretty, but I’m a happily married woman, you see.” Mysti May is smiling at them like a glass of over-sweetened tea as she comes to my side for support.

  “Do you think I should pay them some more money?” she whispers in my ear and I shrug. Her voice sounds like a jet engine landing in my fucking head.

  I just want someone to make this all go away.

  Please, Lord, make it all go the fuck away.

  Good fucking choices. Where the fuck did I go wrong? How am I going to explain this to Dan?

  Percy appears and shakes her head.

  “Still no fucking sign of Sammi.”

  Fuck.

  Not only have I completely fucked up last night, I’ve also lost one of my best friends. How is that even fucking possible?

  Where could she be?

  “Have you tried to ring her cell?” May has returned wearing a bathrobe and carrying some cash.

  Sammi’s cell phone. Of course. Why the fuck have I not thought of this myself?

  I race to the little coffee table where I last saw my own phone and pick it up. Frantically, I scroll through my numbers and press Sammi’s when it comes up on my screen.

  After a few ringtones, I hear Sammi’s voice.

  Thank fuck.

  “Samira Brighton speaking—”

  “Oh my god, Sammi, we’ve had the worst night,” I begin. “Everything’s fucked and we can’t find you anywhere and—”

  “I can’t come to the phone right now, but if you’ll kindly leave a message at the tone, I’m sure I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.”

  Rats.

  “Voicemail,” I say to the others and hold the phone up.

  “Hey, Sammi,” I say into the phone. “Shit’s fucked. Mayday. Call us when you get this message. Please.”

  Oh god. What if she can’t call us? What if something fucking terrible and awful has happened to her?

  What if she’s been kidnapped by the Korean mafia? Trapped in an elevator? Dosed with roofies and locked up on top of the building?

  “She’s fine,” Percy assures me. “It’s Sammi we’re talking about. If any of us is fine—it’s her.”

  I stare at my phone, worrying about Sammi. Percy is right, of course—but while I’m making phone calls, there’s another person I know I need to talk to right now.

  Before I chicken out and talk myself out of it, I dial Dan’s number.

  Might as well get the confession over and done with quickly, so he knows what a fucking whore I am, and he can break off the marriage before everyone shows up for the wedding. If I can find my engagement ring, I’ll give it back to him.

  If not, I guess a million dollar IOU will have to suffice.

  “Hey,” Dan’s voice says through the phone.

  I take a deep breath. “Hey Dan, it’s Becky. I have, uh—I have something pretty shitty to tell you, and there’s no easy way to say this, but—”

  “You’ve reached the message bank of Dan the Man Hardbottom. Please drop me a line after the tone.”

  I sigh.

  “Dan…please call me. Please. We need to talk.”

  “Becky?” Mysti May calls from the bathroom. The one that we currently don’t have a murderous vibrator trapped in. “You’re gonna want to see this.”

  I walk in nervously, still clutching my phone. Mysti is standing over the toilet and pointing into the bowl.

  “Mysti—hon,” I say, cringing and drawing away. “If you’ve thrown up, I super don’t need to see it.”

  Mysti May rolls her blue beauty queen eyes. “I haven’t thrown up since I beat bulimia. Come look.”

  Ready to gag, I approach the white toilet bowl. For some reason, I’m still expecting to see puke.

  Instead, sleeping soundly beneath the Tidy-Bowl blue water of the toilet bowl, is Sammi’s sleek black cellphone.

  “We could get some tongs from the kitchen to fish it out?” Mysti May suggests.

  “What the fuck is her phone doing in the toilet, though?”

  “Seems like everything else went to shit last night,” Mysti May jokes. “And Sammi has always taken things pretty literally…”

  Not helpful.

  “Get it out of the toilet,” I sigh. “If you can.”

  “…ew.” Mysti May sneers. “I’ll give it my cowgirl’s best—but no promises..”

  I call Dan’s number again. I get the voicemail again. I wish he’d call or answer his fucking phone, so I could get this confession thing out of the way sooner rather than later.

  I mean, my marriage’s already in shambles before it’s even begun. Might as well let him know that he doesn’t need to fly in from San Francisco after all, if nothing else.

  “Hey, Dan,” I say after his voice mail sounds the beep. “About last night—we seriously need to talk. Please call me back. I’m sor—”

  Percy grabs my phone before I can finish my apology and presses the end button. Then, for good measure, she slaps me right across the face. My ears start ringing. It wasn’t a hard slap, but all the alcohol is still swirling in my head and—

  “What the fuck are you doing? What were you thinking?” Percy screeches at me.

  “I have to tell Dan that I fucked that dude,” I insist, trying to grab the phone back.

  “No,” Percy says, shaking a pudgy finger at me. “You fucked that dude allegedly. I’m dating like three lawyers right now, Becks, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that you should always plead the fifth.”

  “But I feel guilty,” I whine. Because, fuck, I really do.

  “Don’t care,” Percy says. “No point in ruining your life over it. Now, you can have this back when you’re done trying to incriminate yourself for something you might not have done.”

  I open my mouth to argue further, but I’m caught off by a panicked scream.

  “HELP!!!!!!!! Fuck my fucking fuck, HELP!”

  I know that voice.

  Sammi.

  We race to the veranda door and stare open mouthed into the saltwater pool overlooking the Vegas skyline.

  I blink.

  Can this disaster get any fucking worse?

  Sure as sin, there’s Sammi, looking like a hot mess and floatin
g on an air mattress in the pool.

  That, of course, is not why she’s calling for help.

  I see the fin first, and then a small flash of sharp teeth.

  In the pool with her, swimming circles around the air mattress, is a fucking shark.

  I get to the edge of the pool first, hearing the Jaws theme song playing in the back of my mind.

  “Help me? P-please help me,” whimpers Sammi.

  I’ve never ever heard Sammi call anyone for help. Sammi is, like, the most capable person I’ve ever met in my life. I once saw her cut her hand open while shotgunning a beer…then proceed to stitch up her own wound with a sewing needle and some dental floss.

  Fuck. She must be really fucking scared.

  Percy grabs a long-poled cleaning net and prods Sammi’s airbed with it. The airbed swirls on the spot before it moves toward the side of the pool, where I run to meet it.

  The shark seems to pay us no attention whatsoever. It doesn’t even seem interested in devouring Sammi whole—which is probably exactly what it wants us to think.

  “Sammi, take my hand!” I call to her and hold out my arm.

  Sammi grabs it and I drag her onto safety.

  We’re both breathing so hard at this point, you’d think we’d just run a topless marathon.

  Which is when I hear it: “Viva Las Vegas” playing from my cellphone again.

  Percy and I both bolt for the phone, but I’ve been jogging daily for the past six months to prep for my wedding dress, whereas Percy sees cardio as a form of extreme punishment.

  I get there first.

  “Honey?” my voice is a little shaky. “Dan, I—”

  I’m at a loss for words. I have to confess, but I don’t know how. Just that I have to.

  And I’m going to. And when I do, Dan is probably going to hate me forever and tear me to shreds.

  “Becky? Hey, sorry, it’s Martin. Dan’s not free right now.”

  Oh. Not Dan. One of his groomsmen, or employees, or cronies—shy, awkward little Martin. Oh, thank fuck. I’ve never felt so relieved in my life.

  “Yeah, um, so, here’s the thing, Becky. Dan’s really, really busy right now. It’s just not possible for him to speak to you. Are you okay? Need something? You’ve still got his step-brother’s number, right?”

  Martin always sounds nervous. Like, that’s just who he is. So I try not to read too much into the hint of panic in his voice—even though it’s totally unsettling, given the circumstances.