Wedding Night

by Sophie Kinsella

  “Am I stupid?”

  “So this is really happening.” My hands run down his back and even lower, cupping his two taut buttocks, and I fleetingly wish mine were that firm. “Mmmm.”

  “Mmmm.” He eases out of my grip and peels off his shirt. God, I fancy this man. And I know he’s a flake; I know he’ll be on to Sarah, or even some other girl, tomorrow. But for now—glorious now—he’s all mine.

  He’s slowly unbuttoning my shirt. Thank God I’m wearing an expensive, froufrou bra. Richard never took any notice of my underwear, just used to peel it off in a great hurry. Then I told him I was hurt by this and he went to the other extreme, always murmuring “Great bra” or “Sexy pants.” Dear Richard.

  No. Stop, Lottie. No Richard thoughts. They’re banned.

  Ben is doing delicious things inside my ear with his tongue, and I moan urgently, reaching for his belt, unbuttoning his jeans. I thought I wanted this to be long and drawn out and epic, the stuff of memories. But now that it’s happening, I realize I don’t care about it being long and drawn out. I want him now. Now. Now. Short and epic will suit me fine.

  Ben’s panting and I’m panting, and I can feel he’s as desperate as I am, and I have never wanted anyone so much in my whole entire life—

  “Madame? A drink?”

  What the fuuuck?

  We both leap so high, it’s as though we’re Irish dancers doing a pas de deux.

  I’m half undressed. Ben is half undressed. And Georgios is standing a meter away, holding a silver salver bearing a bottle of wine and several glasses.

  “What?” Ben barely seems capable of words. “What is it?”

  “A glass of wine? Or iced water?” says Georgios nervously. “Courtesy of the management.”

  “Fuck the management! Fuck the fucking management!” Ben explodes. “I put on the DO NOT DISTURB sign. Can’t you read? Can’t you see what we’re doing? Have you heard of the concept of privacy?”

  Georgios is speechless. He takes a step forward and nervously proffers the silver salver.

  “Fine!” Ben seems to reach the end of his tether. “Stay there! Watch!”

  “What?” I stare at him.

  “He’s not going to leave us alone. Well, then, he can watch us. We’re consummating our marriage,” he adds over his shoulder to Georgios. “Should be fun.”

  He reaches to unhook my bra and I clamp my hands over my breasts. “Ben!”

  “Take no notice of the butler,” Ben says fiercely. “Pretend he’s a pillar.”

  Is he serious? He expects us to have sex while the butler watches? Isn’t that against the law?

  Ben starts nuzzling at my cleavage, and I shoot a glance at Georgios. He’s put one hand over his eyes but is still holding out the salver.

  “Champagne?” he says, sounding distraught. “You would prefer champagne?”

  “Why don’t you just go?” I say furiously. “Leave us alone!”

  “I cannot!” He sounds desperate. “Please, madame. Stop for refreshment at least.”

  “Why does this matter to you?” I wrench Ben’s head up from my breast and turn to stare at Georgios. “You’ve been trying to stop us … you know … all honeymoon.”

  “Madame!” Another voice hails us, and I whip round incredulously. “Please! Urgent message!”

  I can’t cope with this. It’s Hermes. He’s also standing a meter away, holding out some bit of paper. I take it from him and read the words Urgent Message.

  “What urgent message?” I snap. “I don’t believe you.”

  “Come here, Lottie,” snarls Ben, who is clearly beside himself. “Ignore them! We’re doing this. We’re getting it on.” He rips my bra off completely and I scream.

  “Ben! Stop!”

  “Madame!” shouts Georgios impetuously. “I come to your rescue!” He puts down the salver and grabs Ben in a half nelson, while Hermes throws a glass of iced water over us both.

  “We’re not bloody dogs!” yells Ben. “Let go of me!”

  “I didn’t mean Stop, stop!” I say, equally livid. “I meant Stop, don’t take my bra off in front of the butlers!”

  Ben and I are both panting, but not in a good way. We’re both dripping too, but, again, not in a good way. Georgios releases Ben, who rubs his neck.

  “Why are you trying to stop us?” I glare at Georgios. “What’s going on?”

  “You’re right.” Ben is suddenly alert. “It can’t be coincidence, all these glitches. Is someone behind it?”

  I gasp. “Is someone telling you to do this?” My mind instantly flashes to Melissa. Maybe she wants this suite. She’s the kind of person who would try all kinds of dirty tricks. “Have you been deliberately trying to ruin our wedding night all along?” I demand.

  “Madame. Sir.” Georgios glances uncertainly at Hermes. The pair of them look like guilty schoolkids.

  “Answer us!” says Ben.

  “Answer us!” I echo furiously.

  “Mr. Parr.” The familiar tones of Nico interrupt the conversation. He glided into the room so smoothly that I didn’t even notice him arriving, but here he is, batting not an eyelid at the fact that I’m topless. He holds out an envelope to Ben. “A message from a Mr. Zhernakov.”

  “Zhernakov?” Ben swivels round. “What does he say?” He tears the envelope open and we all wait breathlessly, as though this will be the answer to everything.

  “OK, I have to go.” Ben starts looking around. “Where are my shirts?” He addresses Hermes. “Where did you put them?”

  “I will find you a shirt, of course, sir. Which color?” Hermes seems relieved to have something to do.

  “You’re going?” I stare at Ben. “You can’t go!”

  “Zhernakov wants to see me asap on the yacht.”

  “But we were in the middle of something!” I cry in frustration. “You can’t just bail out!”

  Ben ignores me and heads off with Hermes to the dressing area. I stare after him, quivering with rage. How can he leave? We were having sex. At least, we were about to. He’s as bad as these butlers, interrupting all the time.

  Speaking of which, where’s Nico?

  I spot him in the lobby of the suite and, clutching my shirt ineffectually to my chest, hasten after him. I intend to give him a piece of my mind, but to my surprise, he’s standing in the corner, whispering into his phone.

  “They have stopped. I assure you. They are apart.”

  I stiffen all over. Does “they” mean Ben and me? Who’s he talking to? Who the hell is he talking to? My mind is working frantically. He’s talking to the person behind it all. The person who’s been trying to scupper us. I know it’s Melissa.

  I studied martial arts at school, and just occasionally it comes in handy. Silently, I creep up behind Nico till my hand is poised, ready for action.

  “I am in the vicinity, and I can assure you that no coupling or intercourse of any kind will take place—oof!” Nico gasps as I neatly relieve him of his phone. I clamp it to my ear without saying a word and listen as hard as I can.

  “I’m nearly there, Nico. You’re doing a great job. Just keep them apart, whatever it takes.”

  A brisk, commanding, thoroughly familiar voice greets my ear. For a moment I think I’m hallucinating. My jaw has dropped. My head is spinning. It can’t be. It can’t be.

  Nico is trying to grab his phone, but I swing around, eluding him.

  “Fliss?” I say, and feel a sudden, white-hot bolt of fury. “Fliss?”

  25

  FLISS

  Fuck.

  Oh fuck.

  I feel hot and cold. I didn’t see this coming. I never thought that at this late stage she would find out. We’re on the island. We’re nearly there. We’re so nearly there.

  We’re standing outside the airport on Ikonos, our luggage assembled in a pile. Lorcan is at the taxi rank, negotiating a fare to the Amba Hotel, and I gesture to him to keep an eye on Noah.

  “Hi, Lottie,” I manage, but my voice has stopped worki
ng. I swallow several times, trying to regain my cool. What do I say? What can I say?

  “It was you.” Her voice is lacerating. “You’ve been trying to stop Ben and me from getting it together, haven’t you? You were behind the butlers and the single beds and the peanut oil. Who else would know about peanut oil but you?”

  “I …” I rub my face. “Listen. I … I just—”

  “Why would you do that? Why would anyone do that? It’s my honeymoon!” Her voice rises to a shriek of anguish and fury. “My honeymoon! And you ruined it!”

  “Lottie. Listen.” I gulp. “I thought … I was doing it for the best. You don’t realize—”

  “Doing it for the best?” she cries. “Doing it for the best?”

  OK. This is going to be tough to explain in the thirty seconds I have before she screeches again.

  “I know you’ll probably never, ever forgive me,” I begin rapidly. “But you were going to try for a honeymoon baby and I was so afraid it would be a mistake, and I know what it’s like on the other side, postdivorce; it’s absolutely miserable, and I couldn’t bear that to happen to you—”

  “I was about to have the hottest sex of my life!” she yells. “The hottest sex of my life!”

  OK, she didn’t listen to a word, did she?

  “I’m sorry,” I say feebly, dodging a man wheeling a huge suitcase bound with raffia.

  “You always have to interfere, Fliss! Just because you think you know best. You’ve always been the same, my whole life, interfering, telling me what to do, bossing me around.…”

  Suddenly her words sting me. It’s not as if I’ve done this for my own benefit.

  “Look, Lottie. I’m sorry to be the one to tell you,” I say, as calmly as I can manage. “But since we’re discussing it, Ben isn’t planning to be a faithful husband. He’s two-timing you with a girl called Sarah; Lorcan told me.”

  There’s a small, shocked silence. However, if I was expecting her to capitulate at this piece of news, I was wrong.

  “So what?” she lashes back. “So bloody what? Maybe …” She hesitates. “Maybe we have an open marriage! You didn’t think of that, did you?”

  I’m so stunned, my mouth pops open like a fish. She’s right. I didn’t think of that. An open marriage? Crikey. I never thought of Lottie as the open-marriage type.

  “And, anyway, what does Lorcan know about anything?” Lottie starts on a fresh tirade. “Lorcan’s a twisted control freak who’s been muscling in and wants to steal Ben’s company from him.”

  “Lottie—” I’m still so confused by this view of Lorcan that I don’t know what to say. “Are you sure?”

  “Ben told me. That’s why Ben’s selling his company, because Lorcan told him not to. So let’s not trust the word of Lorcan, shall we?” She spits out “Lorcan” as though it’s despicable.

  There’s another silence. I feel so many conflicting emotions I’m almost paralyzed. There’s a lingering astonishment at Lottie’s version of Lorcan. But the strongest feeling is remorse. Wave after wave of remorse. She’s right: I knew nothing about the situation. I assumed far too much.

  Maybe I really don’t know my little sister after all.

  “I’m sorry,” I say at last, my voice low and abject. “I’m so sorry. I just thought that you might not be over Richard yet. And that you might find Ben wasn’t the man for you. I thought you might suddenly regret marrying him. And I thought that if things had gone too far and you’d conceived a baby, then it would be the most almighty mess. But I was wrong. Obviously. Please, please forgive me. Lottie?” There’s silence down the phone. “Lottie?”

  26

  LOTTIE

  I hate her. Why is she always right? Why is she always right?

  Tears have sprung to my eyes. I want to pour out the whole sorry story to her. I want to tell her that Ben isn’t the man for me, and I’m not over Richard, and I’ve never felt so miserable in all my life.

  But still I can’t forgive her. I can’t let her off the hook. She’s the most controlling and bossy sister in the world, and she deserves punishment.

  “Leave me alone!” I say, a catch in my throat. “Just leave me alone forever!”

  I hang up. A moment later I can see her calling again, so I switch the phone off completely and hand it back to Nico.

  “Here,” I say shortly. “And you can stop taking calls from my sister. You can stop meddling in my life. You can bloody well leave us alone.”

  “Mrs. Parr,” begins Nico smoothly. “On behalf of the hotel, I would like to apologize for the slight confusion you have unfortunately experienced on your honeymoon. In recompense, I offer you a deluxe weekend for two in one of our premium suites.”

  “That’s all you can say?” I stare at him in disbelief. “After everything we’ve been through?”

  “The deluxe weekend for two will include all meals and one snorkeling experience,” says Nico, apparently not hearing me. “In addition, may I remind you that, as winners of our Couples’ Quiz, you and your husband are invited to our gala prize ceremony this evening, where you will be awarded your Happy Couple of the Week trophy.” He gives a little bow. “Congratulations.”

  “Happy Couple of the Week trophy?” I practically scream. “Are you kidding me? And stop looking at my chest!” I add, suddenly realizing my shirt has slipped.

  I pick up my bra and start hooking it on as Nico discreetly leaves. My mind is like a hurricane. Lots of thoughts and emotions are whizzing dangerously around, and I feel like some of them might do some damage. My marriage to Ben is a nonstarter. He couldn’t even see our consummation through. Fliss is an interfering COW. I still miss Richard. I really do miss Richard. I started the fire. It was me. I started it. I feel a pang of anguish and give an uncontrollable sob. That’s almost the worst thing of all: I started the fire. For fifteen years I’ve had that memory as a comforting prop whenever life has gone wrong: at least that time, I saved the day. But now I know I didn’t. I ruined the day.

  “Hi.” Ben enters the room, fully dressed, looking dapper and as if he’s squeezed in a quick shower.

  “Hi,” I say miserably. There’s no point sharing my thoughts with him. He wouldn’t understand. “Just so you know, we’re supposed to go to a prize ceremony tonight and get our trophy. We’re Happy Couple of the Week.”

  “I’m going to Zhernakov’s yacht,” Ben says, ignoring me. “They’re sending a boat for me,” he adds importantly.

  “I’m coming too,” I say in sudden determination. “Wait for me.” I’m not missing out on an oligarch’s super-yacht. I’m going to go along with Ben and find the bar and drown all my sorrows, one by one, in a series of mojitos.

  “You’re still coming?” He stares at me.

  “I’m your wife,” I say pointedly. “And I want to see the yacht.”

  “OK,” he says with bad grace. “I suppose you can come. But for God’s sake put some clothes on.”

  “I wasn’t planning to come in my bra,” I retort irritably.

  We’re arguing like an old married couple but we haven’t even managed to have sex. Bloody marvelous.

  27

  FLISS

  An open marriage?

  I’m so thunderstruck I’ve sunk down onto my suitcase, right in the middle of the hot, dusty pavement, ignoring the stream of passengers who have to divert around me.

  “Ready?” says Lorcan, striding up with Richard and Noah, his eyes squinting against the blazing Greek sun. “I’ve arranged the fare. We need to get going.”

  I’m too flummoxed to reply.

  “Fliss?” He tries again.

  “They’ve got an open marriage,” I say. “Can you believe it?”

  Lorcan raises his eyebrows and whistles. “Ben will like that.”

  “An open marriage?” Richard goggles at me. “Lottie?”

  “Exactly!”

  “I can’t believe it.”

  “It’s true. She just told me herself.”

  Richard is silent for a few momen
ts, breathing deeply. “That confirms it—I don’t really know her,” he says at last. “I’ve been an idiot. It’s time to put all this to an end.” He holds out his hand to Noah. “Bye, little chap. It’s been good traveling with you.”

  “Don’t go, Uncle Richard!” Noah flings his arms passionately around Richard’s legs, and for a moment I wish I could do that too. I’m going to miss him.

  “Best of luck.” I hug him. “If I’m ever in San Francisco I’ll look you up.”

  “Not a word to Lottie that I did this,” he says with a sudden fierceness. “She must never know any of it.”

  “Not even I love you, Lottie, More than a zloty?” I say, trying to keep a straight face.

  “Shut up.” He kicks my case.

  “Don’t worry.” I touch his arm. “Not a word.”

  “Good luck.” Lorcan shakes Richard’s hand. “Nice to know you.”

  Richard heads toward the taxi rank, and I quell a sigh. If only Lottie knew. But there’s nothing I can do about it. My only priority right now is to make the hugest apology in the world. I’ve got my groveling kneepads on, all ready.

  “Right, let’s go,” says Lorcan. He consults his phone. “Ben isn’t replying to my texts. Do you know where they are?”

  “No idea. They were about to have sex when I interrupted.” I wince at my own conduct. Gradually, my haze of lunacy is lifting. I can see quite how badly I’ve been behaving. So what if they have sex? So what if they conceive a honeymoon baby? It’s their life.

  “D’you think she’ll ever forgive me?” I say as we get into the taxi. I’m hoping that Lorcan will make some reassuring reply like, Of course she will; the bond of sisterhood is too strong to break with a mere bagatelle like this. Instead, he wrinkles his nose and shrugs deeply.

  “Is she the forgiving type?”

  “No.”

  “Well.” He shrugs again. “Unlikely.”

  My heart drops. I’m the most misguided big sister there ever was. Lottie will never speak to me again. And it’s my own fault.

  I dial her number and go straight to voicemail.

  “Lottie,” I say for the zillionth time. “I’m so, so, so sorry. I have to explain. I have to see you. I’m coming to the hotel. I’ll call you when I’m there, OK?” I put my phone away and drum my fingers impatiently. We’ve joined the main road but we’re going at a modest speed, by Greek standards. I lean forward to the driver. “Can we go faster? I need to see my sister, pronto. Can we go any faster?”