For the last decade I’ve successfully managed to, for the most part, avoid the galas and events, art galleries and parties and exclusive restaurants the entirety of our so-called high society seems to revolve around. Teddy is the one more suited to things like this. Even Andreas, who is also somewhat of a recluse, would be less a fish out of water than me right now.
But it’s me standing outside the hidden entrance to The Opal Vault, a charming, ivy-covered façade on a quiet Mayfair side street. If you didn’t know the restaurant was here, you’d probably walk right past it and never know that behind this door is a room filled with some of the city’s most elite. Celebrities. Politicians. Top models. Business tycoons.Being able to wrangle an invitation to The Opal Vault means you’re a somebody, and there’s nothing somebodies love more than being seen in a room full of other somebodies.
I knock twice on the door and it opens immediately. A stony-faced man steps out with a tablet and looks me up and down. Apparently the vibes I’m giving off label me as someone who belongs in an establishment like this, because the stony expression quickly disappears and is replaced with a cloying one.
‘Do you have a reservation, sir?’
I nod, tell him my name, and he scans the tablet for a few seconds before nodding approvingly. ‘Wonderful, Mr Vouvalis. Please come inside. It says you’re expecting a guest?’
‘She’ll be here soon.’
‘Excellent. Follow me.’
He leads me through a dark, dimly lit corridor that smells overwhelmingly of oud. It opens out into a deceptively large dining room with a vaulted ceiling with several chandeliers hanging from it. The room is buzzing with the hum of conversation, soft laughter, and the clinking of glasses and cutlery to plates. I spot a few vaguely familiar faces as I follow the maître d to my table.
There’s Sidney Morrow, a social media mogul, talking animatedly with a politician who has recently had his fair share of scandal. At a table near a window, there’s a woman I’m pretty sure is a top model (and also pretty sure she once dated Teddy) clinking champagne glasses with Nate Burnstone, a Formula One driver. There are also people I don’t recognisedotted around on different tables, but I can tell from the cut of their suits or the way they laugh, or even just the way they carry themselves, that they’re from money.
The maître d takes me to a table covered in a white cloth in the middle of the room, which wouldn’t have been my first choice but the decision doesn’t surprise me. As well as the tables nestled into dark corners in the room, there are also several private booths in the back with velvet curtains closing them off from the rest of us in the main room. If this were any other night, I would’ve preferred one of those but tonight isn’t about confidentiality or discretion. Tonight is all about being seen. Our fathers have made it abundantly clear, and Imani and I are more than happy to oblige.
A waiter appears just as I sit down and places two pristine glasses and a tall bottle of ice-cold water in front of me. He takes a step backwards, ready to disappear back into the shadows, but I stop him.
‘Would you mind bringing some sparkling water out too?’
He nods. ‘Of course, sir. Iced?’
I try to remember what Imani had in her glass that one afternoon and then nod. ‘Please.’
‘Very good.’ He disappears, leaving me alone. Although it doesn’t feel like it.
I fidget uncomfortably in my seat. It’s not as bad as it was after the incident at the gala, but I can feel several pairs of curious eyes on me. I wonder how many of these people follow @TrustFundTea – an account I still can’t quite believe actually exists – and how many of them saw the photo andthen, two days later, the video of Imani throwing her drink over me at the gala. I’ve rewatched it countless times now, and every time I notice something else.
The last time I watched it, it was the way Imani’s eyes widened as the drink made contact with my shirt, as if she couldn’t quite believe what she’d just done.
The time before that, it was the way her hips swayed in the few seconds of movement before she threw the drink. Hypnotising.
I pull out my phone to give me something to do while I wait and open my message history with Imani. I scroll up to a few days ago, after we’d both been told, in no uncertain terms, that we needed to fix things. Or, rather, that we needed to make a show of fixing things. I think it was her father who suggested The Opal Vault, so here we are.
Imani
Have you ever been to a restaurant and been sat by the kind of couple that just oozes ‘we should’ve broken up months ago’ energy?
Asher
… No… No, I don’t think I have
Imani
Oh come on, you definitely have!
Or maybe you’ve been sat by a couple on a first date that is going terribly?
I was sat next to a couple once and the guy kept going on and on about how his ex used to do this and do that, and he didn’t seem to realise his date was definitely not into it.
Pretty sure he called her the ex’s name too.
They got separate cars home, lol.
Imani
