Doctored Vows - Chapter 14

“Zoya…” I stumble across a cabana littered with plastic cups and empty beer cans before wrapping my best friend up in a hug.

“Where have you been? You missed the celebration.” I jump up and down like Aleena’s bridesmaids did when Aleena told them to order anything they wanted at the bar after they barged through the hundreds of guests depleting the Ivanovs’ profits by thousands in literally minutes.

“You won! You got twenty big ones.” My nose screws up. “Well, more like ten after I borrow a tiny bit to fix that.”

I thrust my hand at the bar that was shut down by hotel security a minute after I returned to it.

“They didn’t have long, but they almost drank the bar dry. They won’t tell me the final tally, but I can’t leave all that mess to Maksim’s family. Especially because I was acting like a jealous twit.”

The crinkles in my nose smooth. “He deserved it, though. He’s being weird.” I brush off my comment as if I didn’t speak it. “Anyway, you won!”

“Wow.”

When that is the entirety of her reply, I inch back and stare at her like she’s a stranger.

“Who are you, and what did you do with”—hiccup—“my best friend? You sound like Aleena when I reminded her that her wedding is only a few short weeks away.”

With my tact tossed out the window along with my sobriety, I say, “She’s not giving off blushing virginal bride vibes tonight.”

Zoya tries to hide her smile before asking, “Where is she?”

“Um…” I scan the two dozen or so drunk women—and just as many sober hotel security personnel—scattered throughout the cabana. “There.”

I cringe when I realize how glazed over her eyes are. “She’s pretty wasted.” An unexpected giggle rumbles up my chest. “We’re all pretty wasted.”

As quickly as my giddiness comes, I’m hit with an equal amount of unease. “I don’t think the eggs in the brownies were fresh. I’ve been feeling a little off since I ate them.”

Zoya lifts my downcast head before peering into my eyes. “Are you high?”

“No. I don’t think.” My eyes bulge when my symptoms finally make sense. “Do I look high?”

“Yeah, you do.” Her lips tug at one side. “And you smell like a brewery.”

“That would be my fault.” I gleam excitedly when Riccardo, the bartender whose shift ended shortly after I was marched into Maksim’s pool cabana by his head of security, props his elbow on the cabana’s bar before he waves hello to Zoya.

“Zoya, this is Riccardo.” I drag Riccardo into the cabana like I wasn’t ordered to stay away from him by Maksim’s head security guy. He didn’t say the order came directly from Maksim, but he didn’t deny it, either. “Riccardo, this is my deliciously gorgeous friend Zoya.”

When I push them together, then stare at them with loved-up eyes, Zoya clicks on to my plan faster than Riccardo. “Oh… ah. I’m not looking for anything permanent right now.”

“Good, because from what I can tell, neither is Riccardo.” I apologize for the loudness of my voice before clamping my hand over my mouth and waiting for the fireworks to start.

Regretfully, every single one I thought I’d secretly planted turns out to be a dud.

Not a single spark fires between Zoya and Riccardo.

“I’m sorry for asking you to come back after your shift. I could have sworn you were her type.” When I attempt to add to my condolences with a hug, I trip over my feet and crash into Riccardo’s chest. His extremely developed chest. “Are you sure there’s nothing?” I ask Zoya. “Maybe you should feel his chest. It is all rigid and tanned, with only the slightest smattering of dark hairs.”

After snapping her eyes to Riccardo’s smooth and white chest, Zoya rockets them to my face. “I think it’s time to call it a night.”

“No. It’s still early. The sun hasn’t even gone to bed yet, so I don’t want to either.” I sound like a brat who hasn’t been drinking since midday.

“Kita—”

“Please, Z. I promise I’ll be good.”

She drinks in my puppy-dog eyes and drooped lip for a few seconds before asking, “How many bottles can you fit under your…” She tugs on the garment only a frumpy grandma would wear. “What even is this?”

“It is the ugly coverup Maksim told me I had to wear.” I flop onto a couch and cradle my blurry head in my hands. “He didn’t like that my ass was showing. Well, he didn’t actually say that. Aleena just thinks that is what he meant. He’s so confusing. I want to see you come. You won’t leave my fucking head.” My impersonation of Maksim’s accent is atrocious. “Then, the next minute, he pushes me away. I just wish he’d give me a straight answer like you did Riccardo. Not… fucking… interested.” My stomach rolls before I shoot my eyes up to Riccardo. “Sorry.”

“It’s all good.” His smile makes my dizziness worse. “I’d rather be honest than strung along.”

“That’s what he’s doing. He’s stringing me along like my feelings don’t matter.” With drunkenness comes honesty. “And I think I know why.” I lock my teary eyes with my best friend. “I think he’s suing the hospital for malpractice. In all honesty, they deserve it. Their plan to diagnose his mother’s condition was preposterous. They were stabbing at theories that made no sense for her symptoms, and when that didn’t work, they conjured up an even more absurd way to justify their stupidity. Her diagnosis was so simple a third-year resident worked it out in minutes, so how could seasoned doctors not do the same?”

My eyes snap to Aleena when she unexpectedly joins our conversation. “Because their brains are wrinkly lards of flabby skin between their legs.”

Zoya’s laugh pierces my ears before her voice soothes the sting. “You gave her the men are stupid because their brains are in their dicks speech, didn’t you?”

“Maybe.” I shrug. “It’s my go-to material when someone is feeling down.”

I realize I said too much when concern hardens Zoya’s features. “Aleena was feeling down?” I only hold my pointer finger and middle finger half an inch apart, but she acts like my arms are stretched from one side of the cabana to the next. “What happened?”

“Nothing happened. She just seemed a little⁠—”

Before I can find an appropriate word, Aleena rejoins our conversation. “To men who think with their dicks.” When she holds up her glass, ready to toast, I accept one of the shot glasses Riccardo recently refilled. Zoya declines. “And the women stupid enough to fall for their tricks.”

My double shot of bourbon almost slides down my windpipe when Aleena clinks her glass against Shevi’s with enough force it shatters. When she tries to down the shards as if they’re ice, I forcefully swallow the liquid burning my throat and then shift on my feet to face Zoya. “It’s time to call it a night.”

She sighs in relief before making a beeline for her little sister.

Aleena is so drunk it takes Riccardo, Zoya, Shevi, and me to get her to our room and then just as many limbs to direct her to the secondary suite instead of the in-room bar.

I’m not the greatest help since I’m just as intoxicated, but I’m well-versed on pretending my head isn’t muddled and my limbs aren’t the weight of trunks.

While Zoya switches Aleena’s clothes for pajamas, Aleena mumbles something about how not all men think with their penises and that if given the chance, we could show them how they could have the best of both worlds.

“They could have love and money. We-we could give them that.” She shoots her bloodshot eyes to me, then swallows like the brisk movement almost causes her to vomit. “You just need to tell Maksim the truth. That you’d never intentionally hurt his mother.”

“He knows. He was there.”

She stumbles away too quickly for Zoya to hinder. “No, he doesn’t. They told him it was a ruse”—a smelly burp breaks up her reply—“and that you knew he was there. They’re putting all the blame on you.” She grips my arm firm enough to bruise. “You have to tell him the truth. They need to be told when they’re wrong.” This could be my drunk head talking, but I feel like a lot of what she is saying resonates with her as much as it does me. Her next lot of words proves my theory. “They only treat us this way because we let them.” Her spine straightens as determination sparks in her eyes. “If we don’t like how we’re treated, we should stand up for ourselves. Tell them to either ship up or ship out.” Her grit rises along with the sturdiness of her legs. “And we should do it now.”

“Now?” Zoya and I radio in sync.

“Uh-huh.” She gets so up in my face that my intoxication level rises from the alcohol on her breath. “Let’s get it out of the way. That way, if he’s not interested in what we’re offering, we can do whatever the hell we like all day tomorrow. Stuff the consequences.”

“Stuff the consequences,” I echo, too drunk to realize I am accepting the advice of an intoxicated woman. “I’m going to confront him and give him a piece of my mind. If it weren’t for me, his mother would most likely still be admitted.” My leap of determination almost ends my campaign, but I swallow down the vomit surging up my throat before chickening out with more dignity. “Tomorrow. I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”

“No! Not tomorrow,” Aleena says. “We need to do this now before it’s too late.”

For someone who could barely stand minutes ago, she charges for the door without a single stumble Shevi uses to trace her steps.

“What do I do?” Zoya asks, unversed in dealing with family issues since she left home at fifteen.

“Go with her,” I suggest when Aleena disappears into the hallway and takes a left instead of the expected right. Maksim’s suite is on the right. “I’ll be right behind you. I just need to grab my bag. It is the equivalent of a first-aid kit. It may come in handy.” When Zoya groans, I push her toward the door, almost stumbling when dizziness overwhelms me. “I’m joking. Go.” I’m not, but she doesn’t need to know that. “Your baby sister needs you.”

Since they’re the words she’s needed to hear for years, she throws her arms around my neck and breathes in my scent before sprinting after Aleena. “I’ll meet you down there!”

“I’m right behind you.”

When the entryway door of our suite slams closed, I flatten my palms on the drawers and suck in some big breaths. I’m not feeling well at all, and although my symptoms mimic ones similar to someone who has drunk too much, I don’t believe excessive alcohol consumption is solely to blame for my woozy state. I’m having memory issues of events that happened earlier, such as, why am I wearing a frumpy coverup?

After checking my pulse and noticing it is dangerously high, I veer toward the suite’s kitchen for a glass of water. Dehydration doesn’t excuse all my symptoms, but alleviating it could reduce some of them.

I startle out of my skin when my stumble through the living room is met with a manly voice. “How are you feeling, Nikita?”

It takes me a few seconds to remember the name of the blond gent in front of me. That’s how woozy my head is.

“Riccardo…” I lower my voice from ear-piercing before repeating, “I… ah…”

His smirk reminds me of how drunk I am. I didn’t find it attractive earlier. “You forgot my name.”

“No. Not at all. I just…” I wish I weren’t so honest when drunk. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all good. It proves the second dose is working better than the first. I was starting to worry that I’d have to improv.”

He rubs his hands together but makes no attempts to leave, lumping the task onto me. “I’m not feeling the best, and Zoya will probably be gone awhile, so…” I nudge my head to the door, soundlessly giving him his marching orders.

He can’t take a hint.

After his teeth catch his lower lip, he glides his hooded eyes down my body. “I usually hate when the party loses steam early, but I’m glad it’s just us this time around.” When he steps closer, exposing the lusty glint his perusal of my body caused his eyes, the vomit I forced down earlier burns my throat. “Gives us plenty of time to⁠—”

“Play Scrabble?”

He laughs like I’m joking.

I’m not.

That is the only game we will ever play.

I thought he was a good match for Zoya. That means he is the opposite of what I am seeking. She likes them wild and dangerous. I usually only ever look for the safe option.

Well, until Maksim entered my life.

“I think you should go.”

As I walk to the door, disgustingly stumbling, Riccardo replies, “I’d rather stay.”

“I don’t care what you want. I asked you to leave, so leave.” I sound rude, but I don’t care. I’m unwell, and he’s acting like a dick.

After yanking open the door, I crank my neck back to Riccardo. He hasn’t budged an inch, and his threatening snarl exposes he has no intention of going anywhere.

“I wouldn’t test me. I know where every artery in your body is and which are vital.”

I assume his whitening cheeks are from the honesty in my statement, but I learn otherwise when a voice I immediately recognize rumbles over my shoulder. “She asked you to leave.” After returning my stare long enough to convince me he feels my gratitude, Maksim shifts his narrowed eyes to a brute of a man on his left. “Get him the fuck out of here.”

“I’m going,” Riccardo assures, holding his hands in the air in defeat.

The brute doesn’t listen. He grabs him by the scruff of his shirt and pulls him out of the suite fast enough that a knife similar to the one he used to slice limes earlier today falls out of the back of his jeans.

“Oh my god.”

I feel even more sick now—incredibly ill.

“Was he…? Did he come here to…?” As my stupidity steamrolls me into a blubbering, teary mess, the chaos I almost introduced into my best friend’s life smacks into me. “I brought him into her life. Despite your security officers’ warnings, I told him to come back. I-I introduced him to my best friend.”

Maksim steadies my swaying movements by gripping the tops of my arms before staring at me with stern yet worried eyes. “Did he hurt you?”

I shake my head so fast that I almost vomit. “No. I thought he-he’d be a good match for Zoya. I-I tried to set them up. What if he had hurt her like… like… like… What if he’d…?”

Bile races up my esophagus between my stammered words. I try to swallow it down, but several gulps offer little relief. I’m going to be sick, and since Maksim’s grip on my arms is too firm to dislodge, it lands on his shoes.