V & V (wlw)

Chapter 11 - The one with the corporate dinner

"What if they ask questions? What do I say?"

"Make it up. Be vague. Be mysterious." Victoria sounded casual, but Ron knew she was anxious too, because her leg was jiggling.

"Tell me again what the point is."

"The point of the function?"

"The point of the everything."

Victoria's tone was tired. "We agreed that that wasn't necessary – "

"Well it's making my job very difficult," mimicked Ron, who had started to itch of irritation.

Vic looked at her, properly looked at her, and Veron screeched. "Watch the road."

"Can you not be difficult tonight – "

"Me? You're the one who hired a wife – "

Victoria interrupted with a sigh unheard since they were 18 years old. "Let's get through tonight. And I'll make the situation clearer afterward. This evening will help you understand better, anyway."

Veron held her tongue for the rest of the journey, until the trip ended and the valet took the car.

Walking into the grand hall, she muttered, "You still haven't told me what I was supposed to do."

"Pretend you love me," whispered Vic back.

They had entered innocuously, but they still drew glances from the other partygoers.

"This place is filled with executives representatives consultants analysts," said Victoria in one breath, making Ron's chest hurt. "It's all so very corporate. Pretend you care, especially about me. You and I are here to support the idea that I am in a happy, committed relationship."

An usher led them to their assigned seats – next to each other, thankfully – and as they sat down, Vic hissed, "Don't flirt with anyone."

"I wasn't going to," spat Ron back with equal fervor.

Veron looked around the function hall; high ceilings, too-bright lights, and lots of people milling about. The person to her left still hadn't arrived, so she had the opportunity to chat to Vic. "I'm being watched. Everyone is looking."

"Yes, there's usually only one dyke present." Victoria shot her a rakish grin. "Don't mind them. It's just finance guys and journalists with ghostwriters in the same black suits, wishing they had your charisma."

Veronika died minutely from this sentiment, awash with a pleasant sort of embarrassment. Putting that thought in the back of her head, she scanned the room again. There were very few women, as she could see.

"Victoria, what do you even do – "

Just then, the person assigned to her left arrived. A. Perez, according to the name on his plate. He was in the same slightly ill-fitting suit as the rest of them, bought off the rack and not quite altered to perfection. There was a woman with him, in a deep purple dress.

"Anton," said Vic.

"Victoria," said Anton, pulling a seat for the woman, who sat down and smiled at him.

"My fiancée," said Victoria, a hand on Ron's back.

"Veronika," she said, introducing herself.

"We've not met before," said the man, shaking Ron's hand. "My wife."

"Celine," said the woman, grasping her hand too, before moving to shake Vic's.

While they sat and waited some more, her seatmate was distracted and Ron leaned toward her contractual wife and said, "Where's everyone else's partners? I see a distinct lack of women, unless damn near everyone here is queer."