Who Wants to Marry A Billionaire?(26)
“A fake marriage?” Nina covered her mouth with her hand. Oh no, she had let it slip out. She turned quickly to check on the others, but they hadn’t heard her.
“Don’t worry. I know what’s going on. I would never tell anyone.”
“I had no idea how stressful this was all going to be.” Nina put her fist to her mouth, feeling her stomach turn over.
Boris turned the limousine. The Opera House was a few blocks away. “Neither did Elsa when she planned it out.”
“So it was her idea! I knew it.”
“Nina…be careful. She’s not done with you, not by a long shot. Okay, now we have talk about safety procedures.”
“Safety procedures?” Nina looked alarmed. “What safety procedures?”
“The paparazzi are going to be like a pack of ravenous wolves tonight. First, your brother gets out. A wheelchair will be waiting, and I have two associates who will help him. Think of the wheelchair as a…battering ram…even the paparazzi will give way to the injured. There will be a line of security guards on each side of the red carpet. Next, your mom and Rita and Kennedy get out. Once they are safely inside, I will personally escort you in and one of my associates will drive the limousine away. Let’s not forget that you have a ring worth a quarter of a million on your hand.”
“This thing is real?” Nina looked at it in horror. She had thought it was just a good quality fake, like everything else about her engagement.
Boris raised one eyebrow. “Well, the stones are genuine.”
Nina quickly explained the arrival procedure to everyone. She gave Reuben a kiss on the cheek. He looked handsome in his new charcoal suit. Too bad they had to slit along the seam of one leg of it to fit it over the cast.
“Thanks for being our armored assault vehicle, bro.” She turned to her mom, “And Mom, do not—I mean do not—under any conditions, no matter what anyone says or does, hit anyone.”
Vicki looked sheepish, “Yeah, yeah. I promise.”
“Okay, let’s do this.”
The door flew open and two huge men in suits deftly got Reuben out of the limo and into his wheelchair. They nodded, and the ladies got out one by one, to a blinding battalion of flashing cameras. There were ooos and ahs from spectators who’d lined up on the sidewalk to see what the party guests were wearing. Kennedy looked at the group proudly and wondered for a moment if she could put “DeVere Engagement Party” on her resume before they were all quickly hustled inside. Boris appeared at the doorway and offered Nina his hand. She scooted out, trying to maneuver with the tight sheath of the dress constricting her legs. It was the type of dress that looked wonderful while you were standing at a cocktail party, and was okay when you were sitting down, but it was not very well designed for transitioning between the two states.
She carefully extended one peep-toed pump out of the car, but unused to the height of the heels, she caught the heel of her second foot and started to pitch forward. Boris expertly intercepted her, but as he stood her up, Nina heard a terrible noise. The vent at the back of her dress had split. And the seam had split all the way to her butt. Damn that popcorn.
“Boris” she whispered, “We have a little problem.”
Boris peeked over Nina’s shoulder and saw the two pieces of her dress flapping where they should have been attached. She was still shielded by the car door and his rather large frame, and he puzzled for a moment as to what to do. “Okay, I’m going to take my jacket off and put it around your shoulders. It should be long enough to cover your…posterior. There’s a ladies room almost immediately inside the door, I will hurry you there and go get Kennedy. She has her sewing kit, yes?”
“Prepared for an emergency. And thank goodness you’re so tall.”
Boris wriggled out of his jacket and draped it around Nina, checking to make sure her backside was covered. He zoomed her inside the Opera House.
Dominique and Wilson stood near the front door of the Grand Lobby, greeting the arriving guests. Wilson was talking to Vicki, and Nina could only imagine about what as they stood among the Carrera marble columns. Kennedy and Rita were further down the lobby, under one of the gigantic crystal chandeliers talking to, well, a philanthropic mega-rock star. Reuben seemed to be in deep discussion with a well-known, performance artist. Dominique saw Nina and fluttered a hand in greeting but Boris steered her off into the empty ladies room.
“Stay here,” he growled, as he put his jacket back on. “I will go get Kennedy.”
Kennedy and Rita were engrossed in a monologue about mosquito nets and clean water supplies and saving lives in Africa. Boris knew an aging rocker trying to get into the knickers of charming young women when he saw one. He grabbed each of the girls by an elbow and pulled them away with a curt “excuse me.”
The girls turned on him, “What are you doing? Do you know who that is?”
“Yes,” Boris said, and added in his dry way, “And I know exactly what he wants. Right now, though, we have a problem.”
Back in the restroom, Nina tried not to fret. She reminded herself that every minute she spent in the Ladies Lounge, as it was euphemistically called, was a minute less dealing with the society crowd. As she sat on the velvet-upholstered, antique, fainting couch, she realized she now knew why her purse was called a clutch. She was hanging onto it like there was no tomorrow.