Wedding Night

scowl deepens. “She always goes on about that place. The calamari that was unlike any calamari in the world. And the secluded beach that was better than any other beach. I took her to Kos once, and all she could say was it wasn’t as good as the guest house.”
    “Oh, jeez, the guest house.” Lorcan nods in agreement. “I hate that place. If I have to hear Ben tell me one more time about how the sunset was like a mind-altering experience …”
    “Lottie went on about the sunset too.” Richard nods.
    “And how they all used to get up at dawn and do fucking yoga—”
    “—and the people—”
    “—the atmosphere—”
    “And the sea was the clearest, most turquoise, most perfect sea in existence,” I chime in, rolling my eyes. “I mean, get over it.”
    “Bloody place,” says Lorcan.
    “I wish it
had
burned down,” adds Richard.
    We all look at each other, immensely cheered. There’s nothing like having a common enemy.
    “So, we should go,” says Lorcan. He proffers the handle of my wheelie case and I’m about to take it when my phone rings. I check the ID: it’s Nico. At
last
.
    “Nico! Where have you been!”
    “Fliss! I know what you are thinking, and I am mortified—” As he launches into some long, rambling apology, I cut him off.
    “We haven’t got time for all that. They’re about to get it together on the beach. You need to move fast. Listen.”

17

LOTTIE
    This is the
perfect
setting for a wedding night. I mean, our own private beach! How cool is that?
    We’re in a secluded little cove that you reach from the main beach over stepping stones and there’s a D O N OT D ISTURB sign placed on a rock. Our two massage therapists led us here in a little procession, followed by Georgios and Hermes carrying champagne and oysters, which are waiting for us on ice. Now we’re lying on a huge double massage bed, while the two massage therapists, Angelina and Carissa, rub oil into our bodies. Billowing all around us are white curtains, so we’re totally private in our enclosure. The sky is that intense blue you only get at a certain point in the early evening, and scented candles planted in the sand are giving off a sweet aroma. Birds are swooping and calling. I can hear the tiny splash of waves on the sand, and the air has a salty tang. It’s all so scenic, I feel as though I’m in some arty pop video.
    Ben reaches out his hand to take mine, and I squeeze it back, wincing as Carissa tackles a particularly stubborn knot in my neck. Mmm. Ben and me and a canopied bed on thebeach, which we’ll have to ourselves for two hours afterward. The therapists have stressed that several times. “Two hours,” Angelina kept saying. “Plenty of private time. You will be relaxed as a couple.… All the senses will be stimulated.… No one will disturb you, this is guaranteed.…”
    She didn’t quite wink, but she might as well have. Obviously this is the open-air shagging service, which they’re too coy to spell out in the brochure.
    Carissa has finished with my neck. She and Angelina move to the head end of the bed and in synchronization begin a head massage. I’m relaxing more and more—in fact, I’d probably fall asleep if it weren’t that I’m also absolutely hopping with lust. Just the sight of Ben slick with oil and naked beside me was enough. We are going to use every minute of that two hours, I vow. We have
earned
this sex. He’ll only have to touch me and I’ll explode—
    Ting!
    I’m jolted out of my reverie. From nowhere, Angelina and Carissa have produced matching little bells, which they’ve struck above our heads in a kind of ritual.
    “Finish,” whispers Carissa, and tucks my sheet around me. “Now relax. Take it easy.”
    Yes! It’s over! Sexy private time, here we come. I watch through semi-closed eyes as Angelina and Carissa withdraw from our curtained enclosure. There’s no sound at all except for the cotton curtains, flapping gently in the breeze. I stare up at the blue, unable to speak, I’m so overcome by torpor and lust. I think this is the most blissful state I’ve ever been in. Post-massage; pre-sex.
    “So.” Ben’s hand squeezes mine again. “At last.”
    “At
last
.” I’m about to lean over and kiss him, but he’s too fast. Before I know it, he’s straddling me, holding a smallbottle of oil. He must have brought it along secretly. He thinks of everything!
    “I don’t like anyone massaging you but me.” He pours oil onto my shoulders. It