Honeymoon Alone: A Novel

by Nicole Macaulay

  As I scan the room nonchalantly, I don’t see one familiar face.

  “Looking for Oliver?” Cary asks smugly. I glance up at him and grimace at the smirk he’s wearing. “Come on.” He holds out his hand. “Let’s dance.”

  As Frank Sinatra croons “The Way You Look Tonight,” I take Cary’s hand and smile, allowing him to lead me to the dance floor.

  He pulls me into his arms and begins turning to the music. I look around, taking it all in…the cascading silver and black décor shimmering around me under the warm glow from the chandelier, the safety of Cary’s arms, our new friendship, this beautiful resort, the magic of London…

  “My trip is coming to an end,” I whisper to Cary, gazing up at him as the reality of those words starts to hit me like a sucker punch. “I’m going to miss you. I’m going to miss all of it,” I admit.

  He squeezes my hand reassuringly and in his gaze I detect understanding – and reciprocity. “Have you had fun?” he asks, his expression remaining serious, even as his eyes gleam knowingly.

  “You know it,” I say, smiling. “This trip is the best thing I’ve ever done.”

  “Well, it’s not over yet.” He pulls me closer to him.

  We twirl and swing and have a grand time as Frank Sinatra becomes Louis Armstrong and then, for a modern twist, Maroon 5. The sadness and nostalgia quickly give way to unprecedented joy. After all, I only have two days left. There’s no time to waste.

  “Hi.”

  I turn quickly and find myself face to face with Anne, who’s looking at Cary like a love struck teenager. “Anne,” I say, giving her an appreciative once-over. “You look fantastic.” Her hair is swept up in a ‘do straight out of the 1940s. Her pewter floor-length dress hugs her curves perfectly. A long pearl necklace droops low to her bellybutton.

  She finally looks away from Cary and looks at me. “Thank you, Lucy,” she says with a small laugh. She somehow looks lighter than every other time I’ve seen her. Like a weight has been lifted. Like she’s free. “I know you two are sort of undercover,” she says, winking. “But would it be possible for me to cut in for a song?”

  I smile at them both. “Of course.”

  Cary touches my arm as I turn to walk away. “Thank you.”

  I smile sincerely, reveling in his perfect moment. “Give me your phone,” I say. “This deserves a picture.”

  He pulls his phone from his pocket and hands it to me. The two of them smile at me and I take a photo that definitely will not require a filter. It’s perfect. Cary pulls Anne close, and begins dancing with her as I walk away.

  A waiter hands me a glass of wine as I approach the outskirt of the dance floor. I can’t help but stare at Cary and Anne. They are so cute. She says something that makes him laugh and kiss her on the cheek, and she cannot hide her happiness at the kiss. I shake my head, mesmerized. What took them so long to make that move to be together? They are just so clearly right for each other. I pull the phone up and take another picture of them.

  “So, here you are,” a familiar voice says and I jump. My God, this man has an uncanny ability to just appear out of nowhere constantly.

  I look up at Oliver and instantly feel my heartbeat quicken. He looks so handsome – and nervous. Shuffling his feet as he looks around the room at everything but me, I see he is dressed up for the party in a smart, dark suit. He emanates the class and ease of the men here who are dressed to the nines. His dark eyes are now glued on Cary and Anne curiously. When I say nothing, he looks down at me. Our eyes meet for the first time since our kiss. As my eyes lock with his, my mind goes completely blank. Any possible thoughts die on my tongue as I just look at him.

  “Did you have a nice day?” he asks casually. As his cheeks flush, I can see he feels uneasy, too. I can see he could not care less about how my day was. He’s just looking for something – anything – to say to kill the post-kiss awkwardness.

  “It was relaxing,” I say at last. “I didn’t do much of anything.” I cock my head sideways and smile at him. “Incidentally, I didn’t see you once sneaking around. You know, like you normally do.”

  He shrugs. “I was called away today,” he says quietly. “On business.”

  I shake my head. Because…really? A concierge called away on business? This is just ridiculous. We are both clearly lying! And…we clearly like each other. I think it’s about time to just get it all out in the open.

  “Oliver,” I say, in a rush. “We need to talk.”

  He looks downward, toward the dance floor, peers once more at Cary and Anne, and nods in agreement.

  “I think we need to clear the air,” I add softly, honestly, also looking at the dancing lovebirds.

  “I think that’s a good idea,” he agrees solemnly. But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t look at me. He’s just staring at the people on the dance floor almost longingly.

  “What?” I ask, following his gaze.

  “How about we dance,” he suggests. He releases a long breath, like just saying those words relaxes him a bit. He smiles tentatively at me. “And then we talk.”

  I smile and blush, slipping Cary’s phone into my purse. I take the proffered hand and try to ignore the butterflies in my stomach as we make our way to the dance floor.

  “It’s just that this is one of my favorite songs,” he explains. Is it me or does he sound nervous?

  I nod and smile. My head is buzzing so loudly, I can’t even hear the song he’s talking about. “Okay,” I say.

  When he stops, I turn to face him, and he’s staring down at me, a mix of emotions flitting across his expression as he tentatively pulls me close, takes my hand, and begins slowly swaying to the music amidst the throng of couples and families at the party. I feel just the lightest touch on my lower back. Suddenly, I feel a bit like a teenager as we begin to dance.

  It feels different being in his arms. With Cary, I felt secure and comfortable. The warm embrace of someone who’s become a good friend. With Oliver, I feel anything but comfortable. And yet, there’s a feeling of rightness about being this close to Oliver that makes my chest muscles constrict as if my heart is truly swelling.

  “I’m sorry about last night,” Oliver says halfway through the song.

  I shrug, looking at the other dancers on the floor. I gaze up at him finally. “It’s okay. If you felt—“

  “It’s hard to describe how I felt. How I’ve…been feeling.” He looks like he means that, too.

  I nod, looking up at him. “I know what you mean,” I say. “And I think that things will be clearer after we just talk about it. About all of it.”

  He nods and very subtly pulls me just a little bit closer. He’s holding me like he’s afraid if he lets go, we’ll lose everything. My heart is thundering against my rib cage. I wonder if he can feel it.

  “I hope so,” he says. He half-smiles at me as our eyes lock.

  “Burke,” a deep voice says from behind me. Oliver jumps, looking over my shoulder at someone. He drops my hands and takes a small step back, away from me like the junior high chaperone just ordered us to leave room for the holy spirit.

  I swivel around to see who’s gotten Oliver so spooked. I don’t recognize the man. He’s a thin, tall man with slanted blue eyes and graying hair. And he’s looking at Oliver with a grim expression.

  “What are you doing here?” Oliver asks, darting a quick, nervous glance at me, before looking once again at this man.

  “Who is this?” I ask Oliver.

  “Is this her?” the man asks. “Room 708?”

  Okay, this is getting weird. “How does he know my room number?”

  “You don’t understand,” Oliver begins saying to the man. But the man grabs my arms and pulls them behind my back.

  “Hey.” I look at Oliver in shock, and pull my arms free, seeing handcuffs in this guy’s hands. Was this man honestly just trying to handcuff me? Right here in public? And why does Oliver know him?

  “Oliver, what is going on here?” I ask.

  “
Karl, please,” Oliver says, taking a step toward me, toward this man.

  “I have been trying to call you,” the guy says to Oliver. “We got another lead a couple of hours ago from the hotel. It was the female half again. Said she’d be at the party at this time, with her husband. The phone call was made from Room 708. The credit card holding this hotel room was just reported stolen earlier today. You’ve suspected this woman the whole time—“

  “Oliver….” I look at him closely and feel like I’m seeing him for the first time. He doesn’t look like himself. He’s standing taller, looking (if it’s possible) more serious, more fierce than I’ve ever seen him look. I have no idea what these two are talking about, but it’s obvious that it’s that thing that Oliver has been lying to me about. “What is he talking about?” I finally ask him.

  Oliver doesn’t even look at me. He’s just looking at this guy with a dark expression on his face now – his face which had worn such a nervous, almost tender expression just minutes ago, while we were dancing.

  “What’s going on here?” Cary asks, walking up to us, Anne holding his hand, standing a bit behind him, looking on curiously. “Are you okay?” he asks me.

  “I’ve been telling you,” Oliver starts. But the guy takes a step toward him, cutting him off instantly.

  “I know what you’ve been saying. But I also know evidence, Burke. She’s been lying all along. You said that. The call was made from her room. Her credit card is a stolen one. I was sent here by Griffin to do what you can’t seem to do. To take the Honeymooners in before they can do anything else.”

  The man grabs my arms again, tighter this time. It feels like a grip of steel, but I feel almost numb. My head is swimming with the implications of the words I’m hearing.

  Those articles. That crazy duo, the Honeymooners. They think I’m one of them? My mouth falls open in shock, but no words come. In a flash it all becomes clear. Oliver – he’s a cop. He must be. I swivel my head around to face him – really face him – and our eyes lock as the truth falls down around us.

  He looks down at the grip on my arm and looks back at the guy. “Get your hands off her,” he orders quietly.

  “You’ll take her in then?” the guy asks, his grip on me loosening. “Because I really don’t want to take your case. I don’t.”

  At that, I look at Oliver, lost for words. Through the confusion, something is bubbling up in my chest. Hurt, I think. His case? That’s what this was? Hot tears of humiliation spring to my eyes as the room feels like it’s closing in on me. I can see a few other couples staring at us nosily. Oliver takes a step toward me but I take a step away as the hurt gives way to anger. A lot of anger.

  “Was that what you wanted to talk about – your belief that I’m one of the Honeymooners?” My hands ball into fists as I just stare at him and force him to hold my gaze. “The Honeymooners?” I repeat incredulously. “Are you serious?”

  I yank my arm free from that guy’s grasp and hit Oliver in the chest with both hands as hard as I can, knocking him into the other guy. They both move toward me, but Cary – who looks beyond confused, but definitely protective – rushes forward and knocks them both back forcefully.

  And then I run.

  know, I know…you shouldn’t run from cops! But I can’t even handle what just happened. Honestly. I cannot process it.

  As I fight my way through the crowded room and back into the main lobby, the last few minutes play themselves over and over in my head like some kind of nightmarish tableau. Oliver never liked me. He thought I was a criminal. An actual criminal. The kind that commits crimes.

  I head up the stairs, taking them two at a time. These boots were definitely not made for running. They’re killing me. New blisters scrape against the leather folds that are jutting into my heel, leaving my skin raw and aching. But I don’t care. I need to go home. Now. Charles was so right. I never should have left.

  I cannot believe that Oliver thought I was a criminal. How’s that for an answer next time my mother asks me why I’m still single: “Well, Mom, men seem to think I’m a traveling wacko on a giant thieving spree – who also happens to be a murderer – which, you know, creates trust issues.”

  I finally arrive on the seventh floor out of breath. I grab my key from my purse and head towards my door in a rush. I don’t know what I think I’m going to do. I mean, the cops are downstairs. I may have escaped, but I can’t fly. I have to go back down there. Who cares if I pack my bag at this point? I probably should have run outside and hailed a cab. See – this is why I couldn’t be a criminal even if I wanted to. I can’t even escape properly.

  I jump when I hear a door open as I put my key in the door. I turn and see Kiki and Dan laughing, all dressed up. They are clearly heading down to the party now.

  “Lucy,” Kiki says when she notices me. “Are you coming to the party?” she asks sweetly, holding her husband’s hand.

  Knots twist in my stomach as something dawns. What that cop said. The phone call.

  “You,” I say, taking a step toward them. “It was you.”

  Recognition dawns on Kiki’s face as I take another step toward them. Now she looks afraid. And she has every right to be.

  “You made the phone call from my room. You’re the reason the cops were just trying to take me to jail,” I say passionately. “You’re the reason they think I’m one of those Honeymooners.”

  Dan takes a step toward me and the moment I catch his eyes, I realize what I’ve just said. Because if I’m not one of the Honeymooners but the Honeymooners are here and the woman just planted a lead from my phone to out them to the cops, then that must mean that –

  “Oh, my God,” I whisper, taking a step back. But Dan is too quick. He grabs me and before I know it, he’s shoved me into his flat. He slams the door behind Kiki and turns around to face her.

  “What did you do?” he screams. I can’t even speak for shock. These two haven’t been able to be in a room together without making out without a care as to prying eyes. They’re The Honeymooners?

  And now it all makes sense. Kiki’s loneliness and sadness, her strange quirks, her constantly being on her own….

  And the places she mentioned traveling match the ones mentioned in those articles. It’s why those articles felt familiar. How did I not figure it out?

  I look at Kiki, who’s sobbing and looking both ashamed and just so defeated. And I realize why I didn’t figure it out. She doesn’t look like she could rob a Girl Scout, let alone a bunch of multimillionaires.

  “I want out of this,” she says dramatically, flailing her arms wildly, trying to appeal to her husband. “You said we’d stop. But we never did!”

  “You told on me?” Dan asks, shaking his head in shock. He seems like he’s used to always getting his way. And marrying a woman who would betray him like this is beyond shocking – it’s a crime to him. “After everything we’ve been through, you reported me to the cops?”

  “That guy in Florence died,” she argues. “What was I supposed to do?”

  “You didn’t complain when you got his wife’s three million dollar necklace.”

  I edge my way towards the front door. Because I need to get back downstairs. Tell Oliver that he was spying on the wrong side of the hallway all this time. And then go home. I just need to go home.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Dan asks, running toward the door before I can whip it open and run for my life away from these two. I trust Kiki not to hurt me. But Dan seems seriously unhinged.

  “It seems like you two are having a private conversation,” I explain. I hope I sound convincing and not like I’m terrified to be anywhere near him. Which of course is exactly how I feel right now. “I really don’t think I should be here for it.”

  He laughs at me like I just told the best joke. I almost feel like laughing myself actually. Because this is a joke. It really is. Me being suspected of their numerous crimes, which include murder, by the way, and the guy I like being the main cop on the
case, the one most suspicious of me. The fact that any of this is even happening because a psychic at an 80’s themed wedding basically said a couple of vague, silly words that she probably said to every other guest at the wedding – it’s comical.

  But I don’t laugh. Because while I was only mistakenly suspected for these crimes, Dan here is actually responsible for them. And he’s very scary up close. His white-blonde hair is so perfectly gelled that it looks like a helmet. His eyes are so dark, they are almost black. His skin is so pale, it’s nearly translucent. He looks kind of like a weasel – except totally built and muscular. And really intimidating.

  “You’ve just told me the cops are downstairs,” he says, lightly, like this is no big deal. “Do you honestly think I am going to let you go anywhere?”

  “Well, we can’t stay in here forever,” I point out. “You have to go down there eventually. They’ll still be there, no matter when you leave.”

  “And if I have you, they can’t hurt me,” he explains.

  Did I just go from suspected thief to unsuspecting hostage? My stomach coils. I feel a little sick. These kinds of things just don’t happen to normal people. And that’s me. I am normal. More than that. I’m boring. I’m just plain, old Lucy Gray. Miss Reliable. Last year on New Year’s Eve, I went out for drinks with Mary and at exactly one in the morning, I went home and curled up with Ricky.

  Dan physically blocks the front door to his flat with his body as he grabs his cell phone and begins dialing furiously.

  I turn around and take a couple of steps toward Kiki. She is crying less hysterically now. But she still seems upset. I sit down next to her on the bed and look around their place. Everything is so immaculately placed. There are no clothes overflowing the suitcases like in my flat. There are no coats dangled over chairs. It barely looks lived in and they’ve been here at least as long as I have.

  “I don’t understand,” I say to Kiki quietly after a moment. “You told the cops where to find him, but you didn’t tell them your names?”

  She looks me in the eye and bites back another sob. She is nervously ripping the tissue in her hands.