Wedding Night

swings open the door. Fliss was right: this is incredible. The whole place is designed like a grotto, with Greek pillars and low daybeds and statues of Greek gods on pedestals. The only immediate downside is that the TV is blaring out
Teletubbies
. I’ve loathed
Teletubbies,
ever since I had to watch about twenty episodes while babysitting Noah. Who on earth put that on?
    “Can we turn that off, please?” I say.
    “Of course, madame. Let me first show you the amenities. As well as the lift entrance, there is a dedicated front door.” Nico strides briskly through the marble-floored rooms. “Here we have the bathroom, with a walk-in rain shower. Here is your private spa room, kitchen with staff entrance, small library, sitting room with cinema screen.…”
    I’m trying to look interested as he demonstrates how to use the DVD player. But my head is fuzzy with desire. We’re here. We’re actually
here
. In our honeymoon suite. On our wedding night. And as soon as this guy finishes his spiel and leaves … in a matter of seconds, maybe … Ben will be ripping off my skirt and I’ll be ripping off his shirt, and … Oh God, I can’t wait a moment longer.…
    “The minibar is situated within this cabinet and works by electronic sensor—”
    “Uh-huh.” I manage a polite nod, but my whole body is pulsing with lust. I don’t care how the bloody minibar works.
Just stop talking and leave us alone to have sex
.
    “And through here is the bedroom.” Nico swings open a door. I take an expectant step forward—then stop in dismay.
    “Whaaat?”
I hear Ben exclaim beside me.
    The room is large and grand, with a domed glass ceiling. And under the dome are two single beds.
    “I … wh—” I’m so wrong-footed I can barely get out a word. “Beds.” I turn to Ben and point. “The beds.”
    “Yes, these are the beds, madame.” Nico gestures at the singles with a proud beam. “This is the bedroom.”
    “I
know
those are beds!” I’m gulping for air. “But why are they singles?”
    “On the website, it shows a super-king bed,” Ben takes over. “I saw a picture of it. Where’s that gone?”
    Nico looks baffled at the question. “We offer many different sleeping options for the suite. The previous occupants of the suite must have ordered two beds, such as you see. They are two very fine beds.” He slaps one. “Finest quality. Is this not satisfactory?”
    “No, it’s not bloody satisfactory!” snaps Ben. “We need a double bed.
One
bed. Super-king. Best you’ve got.”
    “Ah.” Nico pulls a regretful face. “A thousand apologies, sir. I am desolated. Since this was not ordered in advance—”
    “We shouldn’t have to order it in advance! It’s our honeymoon! This is the honeymoon suite!” Ben’s breathing hard. “What kind of honeymoon suite has two single beds in it?”
    “Please, sir. Do not alarm yourself,” says Nico soothingly. “I understand. I will order a double bed immediately.” He takes out his phone and launches into a stream of Greek. At last he switches off and beams again. “The matter is in hand. Again, my apologies. While we are sorting out this problem, may I offer you a complimentary cocktail downstairs at the bar?”
    I quell a snappy reply. I don’t want a cocktail at the bar. I want my wedding night.
Now
.
    “Well, how long is it going to take?” Ben scowls. “This is
ridiculous
.”
    “Sir, we will complete the substitution as quickly as possible. The removers will be with us as soon as— Ah!” There’s a knocking sound at the door, and Nico brightens. “Here we are!”
    Six guys in white overalls troop into the room, and Nico addresses them in Greek. One guy lifts up the end of a bedand looks at it doubtfully. He says something in Greek to another guy, who shrugs and shakes his head.
    “What?” says Ben in agitated tones, looking from one to the other. “What’s the problem?”
    “No problem,” says Nico reassuringly. “Perhaps I could recommend that you take a seat in your sitting room while we address this small matter?”
    He ushers us out and we find ourselves in the sitting room. The TV is still playing
Teletubbies
at full volume. I jab at it with the remote, but it doesn’t switch off. Nor does the volume control work. Is the remote out of juice?
    “Please,” I say shortly. “I can’t stand this. Could you turn it off?”
    “And it’s cold in here,” adds Ben. “How do we adjust the air-conditioning?”
    It
is
pretty