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The world swims and even the dim view through half closed eyelids is too bright for your taste. After closing your eyes tightly once again and focusing on ignoring the commingling tastes of copper and cotton in your mouth you notice that for some reason your hands are clammy and cold and that your shoulders are stiff and sore.

"This is going to be one hell of a hangover," you think grimly.

Your mind drifts back to last night, to the events of your 18th birthday. It was a party of unmatched proportions, seven of your best girlfriends and you, the birthday girl, the queen of the moment, crammed into a stretch limo on a VIP tour of London's club scene. The perks of being the ambassador's daughter are great, even if daddy doesn't always know what is going on all the time. You doubt he'd approve of what was going down last night, for sure.

The party had gotten crazy quickly, the heady combination of youth, beauty and copious amounts of ensuring things spiraled out of control. You seem to remember a couple of your friends drinking more than the rest and getting into a wild situation early on.