Wedding Night

then—five stars each time. It’s the most spectacular place in the Cyclades and was voted Top Honeymoon Destination two years running.
    Since then, it’s already become
just
a touch tacky, truth be told. It’s been flooded with celebrity couples and
Hello!
magazine photo shoots, and it plays to the “honeymoon” market too strongly if you ask me. Still, it remains an amazing, world-class hotel. I’ll need to work hard to talk her out of it.
    “The only thing about the Amba is, you have to be on the best side.” I shake my head gloomily. “At such short notice, they’ve probably shoved you in that awful side wing. There’s no sun, and it smells. You’ll be miserable.” I suddenlybrighten. “I know! Wait a few weeks, and let me call in a favor. I can get you the Oyster Suite, I’m sure. Honestly, Lotts, the bed alone is worth waiting for. It’s massive, with a glass dome above so you can see the stars. You
have
to have it.” I proffer my phone. “Why don’t you call Ben and say you want to put things off, only for a few weeks—”
    “But we’ve
got
the Oyster Suite!” Lottie interrupts me joyfully. “It’s all booked! We’re having a bespoke honeymoon, with our own private butler and treatments every day and a day on the hotel yacht!”
    “What?” I stare at her, my phone dangling limply in my hand. “How?”
    “There was a cancelation!” She beams. “Ben uses some special concierge service and they fixed it up. Isn’t it great?”
    “Marvelous,” I say after a pause. “Super.”
    “Ikonos is so special to us.” She’s bubbling over. “I mean, it’s been totally ruined, I’m sure. When we were there, they didn’t even have an
airport
, let alone any big hotels. We had to get there by boat. But, still, it’ll be like going back in time. I can’t wait.”
    There’s no point pushing this one any further. I sip my champagne, thinking hard.
    “Have you got a vintage Rolls-Royce today?” I try a different tack. “You always wanted a vintage Rolls-Royce for your wedding.”
    “No.” She shrugs. “I can walk.”
    “But what a shame!” I put on a stricken expression. “It was your dream to have a vintage Rolls-Royce. If you just waited a bit, you could have one.”
    “Fliss.” Lottie gives me a gently chiding smile. “Aren’t youbeing rather shallow? The important thing is love. Finding a life partner. Not some random car. Don’t you think?”
    “Of course.” I smile back tightly. OK, leave the car. Try another approach.
    Dress? No. She’s wearing a lovely dress.
    Wedding-gifts list? No. She’s not that materialistic.
    “So … will there be any hymns at the wedding?” I ask at last. There’s silence. Quite a long silence. I stare at Lottie in sudden hope. Her face has tightened.
    “We’re not allowed hymns,” she says at last, and looks down into her drink. “You can’t have them at a registry-office wedding.”
    Yes! Bingo!
    “No hymns?” I raise a hand to my mouth in horror, as though I hadn’t known this all along. “But how can you have a wedding without hymns? What about ‘I Vow to Thee, My Country’? You were always going to have that at your wedding.”
    Lottie was in the choir at our boarding school. She used to sing solos. Music was a big deal to her. I should have started with this tack first.
    “Well. It’s not important.” She smiles briefly—but her whole demeanor has changed.
    “What does Ben think?”
    “Ben’s not really into hymns,” she says after a pause.
    Ben’s not really into hymns
.
    I want to whoop. This is it. Her Achilles’ heel. I have her like putty in my hands.
    “I vow to thee, my country,” I start singing very quietly. “All earthly things above.”
    “Stop,” she says, almost snapping.
    “Sorry.” I raise an apologetic hand. “Just … thinking aloud. For me, a wedding is all about the music. The beautiful, wonderful music.”
    This is untrue. I couldn’t care less about music, and if Lottie were sharper, she’d instantly realize I’m winding her up. But she’s looking away, lost in her own world. Are her eyes a little glassy?
    “I always imagined you kneeling at the altar in a country church with the organ playing,” I muse, rubbing it in. “Not at a registry office. Funny, that.”
    “Yes.” She doesn’t even turn her head.
    “Da-da
-daah
-da-da-da
-da-ah
-da …” I’m still humming the tune of “I Vow to Thee, My Country.” Obviously I don’t know all the words, but the