Wedding Night

add softly.
    My heart is pounding a little. I’ve never abused my power before, and it’s giving me a rush. Partly good, partly bad. This is how corruption starts, I reflect. Next thing, I’ll be exchanging reviews for suitcases of cash and Trident missiles.
    It’s a one-off, I tell myself firmly. A one-off with extenuating circumstances.
    Nico is quiet. I can feel his conscience rubbing against professional ambition, and I feel bad for putting him in this position. But it’s not me who began this whole charade, is it?
    “You’re a master, Nico.” I add some flattery. “You’re a genius at making things happen. If anyone in the world can do this, you can.”
    Is he persuaded? Am I nuts? Is he even now sending an email to Gavin?
    I’m on the point of giving up, when his voice suddenly comes low down the phone: “Fliss, I do not promise anything.”
    I feel a sudden bubble of hope.
    “I understand completely,” I reply, matching his tone. “But … you’ll try?”
    “I will try. Just for twenty-four hours. What is your sister’s name?”
    Yes!
    “Charlotte Graveney.” I’m almost gabbling with relief. “Although I guess she’ll be under Mrs. Parr. Her husband’s Ben Parr. They’re booked into the Oyster Suite. And I don’t mind what they do, as long as they don’t have sex. With each other,” I add as an afterthought.
    There’s a long silence, then Nico says simply:
    “This will be a very strange honeymoon.”

8

LOTTIE
    I’m married! My mouth is fixed in a permanent, gleeful smile. I’m so euphoric, I feel like I might float away. Today has been the best, most magical, most extraordinary day of my life. I’m married!!
I’m married!!!
    I still keep replaying the moment when I looked up from my desk to see Ben marching into the office, holding a bouquet of roses. His jaw was set and his eyes were flashing, and you could see he meant business. Even my boss, Martin, came out of his office to watch. The whole place was hushed as Ben stood at my office door and proclaimed, “I’m going to marry you, Lottie Graveney, and I’m going to do it today.”
    Then he lifted me up
—lifted me up
—and everyone cheered, and Kayla came running after me with my bag and phone, and Ben handed me the bouquet and that was it. I was a bride.
    I barely remember the marriage ceremony. I was in a state of shock. Ben practically jumped on each answer; I do remember that. He didn’t pause for a moment—in fact he sounded almost aggressive as he said, “I do.” He’d broughtalong some environmental confetti, which we sprinkled on ourselves, and he opened a bottle of champagne and then it was time to pack and leave for the airport. I haven’t even got changed; I’m still in my work suit. I got married in my work suit and I don’t care!
    I catch sight of myself in the mirror above the drinks bar and want to giggle. I look as flushed and giddy as I feel. We’re in the business-class lounge at Heathrow, waiting for the Ikonos flight. I haven’t eaten anything since breakfast, but I’m not hungry. I’m hyped up. My hands won’t stop trembling.
    I take a few slices of fruit and a sliver of Emmental, just for the sake of it, then jump as I feel a hand on my leg.
    “Fueling up?” comes Ben’s voice in my ear, and I feel a delicious shiver. I turn to face him and he nuzzles my neck, his hand traveling up discreetly under my skirt. That’s good. Oh, that’s good.
    “I can’t wait,” he murmurs in my ear.
    “Me neither,” I murmur back.
    “You’re so hot.” His breath is warm against my neck.
    “You’re hotter.”
    Yet again I work out how long we have to wait. Our flight to Ikonos is three and a half hours. It can’t take more than two hours to go through customs and get to the hotel. Ten minutes for them to take our luggage up … five minutes to show us how the light switches work … thirty seconds to put up the D O N OT D ISTURB sign …
    Nearly six hours. I’m not sure I can wait nearly six hours. Ben seems the same way too. He’s actually panting. Both his hands are roaming between my thighs. I can hardly concentrate on the fig compote.
    “Excuse
me
.” An elderly man pushes his way between us and starts forking Emmental slices onto his plate. He eyesBen and me with disfavor. “As they say,” he adds ponderously, “get a room.”
    I feel myself flush. We
weren’t
that obvious.
    “We’re on our honeymoon,” I shoot back.
    “Congratulations.” The old man looks