Wedding Night

list as bullet points
What You Learned from This
.
    After two hours on Yuri Zhernakov’s yacht, my bullet points would go as follows:
    • I am never having my lips done.
    • Actually, I wouldn’t mind a yacht.
    • Krug is ambrosia from heaven.
    • Yuri Zhernakov is so rich, it makes my eyes water.
    • Ben’s tongue was practically hanging out. And what about all those embarrassing sycophantic jokes?
    • Whatever Ben may think, Yuri is
not
interested in “joint projects.” The only thing he wanted to talk about was the house.
    • If you ask me, Yuri will get rid of the paper company altogether. Ben doesn’t seem to realize this.
    • I think Ben may be quite thick.
    • We should never, ever have come back via the beach.
    This was our big mistake. We should have got the boat to drop us a mile up the coast. Because, the moment we landed, we were seized by Nico.
    “Mr. and Mrs. Parr! Just in time for the gala ceremony!”
    “What?” Ben stared at him quite rudely. “What are you talking about?”
    “You know.” I nudged him. “Happy Couple of the Week.”
    There was nothing we could do to escape. Now we’re milling around with about twenty other guests from the hotel, drinking cocktails and listening to a band play “Some Enchanted Evening.” Everyone is gossiping about Yuri Zhernakov’s yacht being moored in the bay. I’ve heard Ben tell at least five sets of people that we were there earlier on, drinking Krug. Every time, it makes me flinch. And any minute we’re going to have to go up onto the platform and receive the Happy Couple of the Week trophy. Which is insane.
    “Do you think we could get out of it?” I murmur to Ben as conversation lulls. “Let’s face it, we’re hardly Happy Couple of the Week.”
    Ben looks at me blankly. “Why not?”
    Why
not
? Is he for real? “Because we’re already discussing divorce!” I hiss.
    “But we’re still happy.” He shrugs.
    Happy? How can he possibly be happy? I glare at him, suddenly wanting to hit him. He was never into this marriage. Never. It was just a diversion. A craze. Like the time Igot into Scandinavian knitwear and bought a knitting machine.
    But a marriage isn’t a knitting machine!
I almost want to yell this at him. This whole thing is a joke. I want to leave.
    “Ah, Mrs. Parr.” It’s Nico again, swooping down as though suspecting I was about to escape. “We are nearly ready for the trophy presentation.”
    “Great.” My sarcasm is so pointed that he winces.
    “Madame, may I apologize yet again for the inconvenience you have suffered on this holiday. As I said, I am pleased to offer you, in recompense, a deluxe weekend for two in one of our premium suites, to include all meals and one snorkeling experience.”
    “I hardly think that’s appropriate.” I glare at him. “You’ve ruined our honeymoon. Ruined our marriage.”
    Nico drops his eyes to the sand. “Madame, I am desolate. But I must tell you, this was not my own idea, this was not my own will. It was a huge mistake on my part and one that I will always regret, but the original idea, it came from—”
    “I know.” I cut him off. “My sister.”
    Nico nods his head. He looks so abject that I feel a pang of sympathy for him. I know what Fliss is like. When she gets into crusading mood, no one can refuse her.
    “Look, Nico,” I say at last. “It’s OK. I don’t blame you. I know what my sister’s like. I know she’s been sitting there in London like a puppet mistress pulling the strings.”
    “She was very determined.” He bows his head again.
    “I forgive you.” I hold out my hand. “I don’t forgive
her
,” I add quickly. “But I forgive you.”
    “Madame, I am not worthy.” Nico takes my hand to his lips. “I wish you a thousand happinesses.”
    As he walks away, I wonder what Fliss is doing now. Shesaid in her voicemail she was coming to the hotel. Maybe she’ll arrive tomorrow. Well, maybe I’ll refuse to see her.
    I take a few more sips of cocktail and have a conversation with a woman in blue about which spa treatment is the best value, while trying to avoid Melissa. She keeps trying to quiz me on what
exactly
Ben and I do for a living, and isn’t it a bit dangerous, keeping a gun in my handbag? And then, all of a sudden the band comes to a halt and Nico has mounted the stage. He taps the microphone a few times and beams down on the gathered throng.
    “Welcome!” he says. “We are delighted to see you all at our cocktail