The Honeymoon Prize

by Jessica Hart

  The motherly woman at the till beamed at Freya as she handed over the magazine. ‘Getting married, love?’ she asked, smiling.

  Freya blushed scarlet. ‘No, it’s…er…it’s for a friend,’ she muttered, as if she had been caught red-handed buying dirty magazines.

  There was intrigue mixed in with her embarrassment, though. Secretly she couldn’t wait to say goodbye to Lucy and read Dream Wedding on the tube, and she was frustrated not to be able to find a seat until there were only three stops to go. Pulling it from her bag at last, she began to flick through it with what she hoped was a nonchalant air.

  ‘What kind of bride are you?’ the first article demanded. ‘A sexy bride? A romantic bride? Or a classic bride?’

  No bride at all, was the only answer Freya could give to that. This was one quiz she wouldn’t be able to fill in. Horrified to find a wistful sigh escaping her, she glanced up to find the couple opposite smiling at her.

  Smiling? Or sniggering?

  Freya slapped the magazine shut and shoved it back into her bag, her colour heightened. She would have to wait until she was on her own.

  Stopping off at the local supermarket on her way home from the tube, she found herself chucking chocolate biscuits and pickled gherkins into her basket along with the salad and the low-fat yoghurt. If she was going to indulge in a furtive treat, she might as well go all the way.

  She was sick of dieting anyway. All those hours in the gym and meagre lunches hadn’t got her very far, had they? Changing her life was too much like hard work, Freya decided, putting the salad back. She would go back to being a slob, at least for today.

  Standing by the frozen food cabinets, she was deliberating between chocolate chip and toffee crisp ice-cream, and had just reached in to take both, when a hand took her elbow in a warm clasp.

  ‘Freya!’

  Only one person said her name just that way, deep and slow with the suggestion of a smile.

  Freya swallowed, very conscious of her bare face and scruffy weekend clothes. ‘Hello, Dan.’

  ‘I didn’t get a chance to talk to you properly last night,’ he said. ‘I watched you, though.’ He smiled his lazy smile. ‘You seemed to be enjoying yourself.’

  She stared at him, wondering if he was being ironic, but he seemed quite serious.

  ‘I was getting quite jealous,’ said Dan. ‘You were having a great time with everyone but me. You weren’t ignoring me, were you?’

  Freya opened her mouth, then shut it again. ‘No,’ she said.

  Dan’s eyes rested for a moment on the tell-tale contents of her basket. Freya couldn’t help thinking about the way retailers pigeonholed you according to the contents of your shopping trolley. It wouldn’t take a degree in marketing to work out that her assortment of calorie-laden indulgences belonged to a sad singleton bent on consoling herself for a Saturday night in.

  ‘You’re not free tonight, are you?’ he said, unleashing the full force of his considerable charm. ‘I’ve got to go to a book launch, and it would be more fun with a date. And much more fun with you.’

  Freya hesitated. How many other people had he asked along to make things more fun for him?

  ‘We could have dinner afterwards,’ he went on persuasively. ‘Just the two of us.’

  He would pick her up at seven, he said, when they parted outside the supermarket. Just like a real date.

  There was no denying that it was nice to be wanted. Freya walked slowly home with her bags, a little puzzled by Dan’s apparent eagerness to take her out, but flattered too. Maybe the scenario Lucy had sketched out earlier wasn’t so farfetched after all?

  Max was out, much to her relief. Freya celebrated the change in her fortunes by opening the packet of chocolate biscuits and sitting cross-legged on the floor with a mug of tea and Dream Wedding. She had a real incentive to win that trip to Africa now, she thought, remembering the warm look in Dan’s eyes.

  Now, where was this competition?

  She began leafing through page after page of ideas for wedding gowns, photographs, hairstyles, shoes, venues, place settings, and even what luggage to take on your honeymoon, and before long was boggling at the choice on offer. Good God, she had had no idea what a complicated business it was organising a wedding. Dream Wedding gave a step-by-step planning guide for an entire year!

  Freya found herself turning the pages more and more slowly. Oooh, now that was a nice dress, she thought, lingering over an advertisement for a hand-beaded wedding gown in ivory silk and chiffon. She wouldn’t mind swanning up the aisle in that.

  Half closing her eyes, she imagined the scene. Her father would be bursting with pride, of course, and her mother weeping decorously in the front pew. The two little bridesmaids behind her—Freya toyed with the idea of having a couple of pageboys too and then dismissed it—would look charming in their quirky outfits. And there, waiting for her at the chancel steps, turning with a smile was…

  No, not Max. She pulled herself up short, annoyed. She couldn’t even get a fantasy right! Dan would be turning with the adoring smile.

  But she couldn’t get into the church service now. Freya sipped her tea with a slight frown and turned her attention to the reception instead. Should they go for a hotel, or a marquee in the garden? Freya pored over the advertisements for some lovely country house hotels, but in the end opted for the marquee. It was very English, so was bound to go down well with Dan’s American relatives.

  Thoroughly enjoying herself by now, Freya helped herself to another biscuit and settled herself more comfortably against the sofa. She chose a cake, a headdress, the flowers in the marquee and an outfit for her mother, and was tapping her teeth as she considered the knotty problem of who to invite when the sound of a key in the lock made her tuck the magazine hastily out of sight beneath her.

  Max came in, carrying a bulging briefcase. He looked tired and out of sorts. It was very odd, thought Freya. When it came to looks, he couldn’t hold a candle to Dan, yet somehow all he had to do was come into a room and all her senses sprang to instant attention.

  Dislike, she told herself.

  Max began unloading papers from his bag. ‘What are you doing?’ he asked, glancing at Freya, who was still sitting on the floor looking shifty.

  ‘Nothing,’ she said, a little too quickly to be convincing. ‘I’ve been thinking.’

  ‘Congratulations,’ he said in a dry voice. ‘How does it feel?’

  But Freya was determined not to rise to his bait. ‘What are all those papers?’ she asked.

  ‘We’re trying to get a grant from the European Commission towards the cost of setting up the road building project in Mbanazere. Kate and I have spent most of the week trying to write a report for them, but it has to be submitted on Monday, so I’ll need to check the figures over the weekend.

  ‘I want to get through most of it tonight, so I can rewrite our request for funding tomorrow,’ he went on, flexing his shoulders wearily at the thought. He looked at Freya. ‘You didn’t want to use the table tonight, did you?’

  ‘No, I’m going out. Dan’s taking me to a book launch and then out to dinner.’ It felt great to be able to say it so casually, especially when she remembered Max’s comments that morning.

  But she could afford to be generous now. Sliding Dream Wedding out of sight underneath the sofa, she got to her feet. ‘Would you like some tea?’

  Max seemed momentarily confounded by her offer. ‘Thanks,’ he said after a moment.

  That was the way to deal with Max, Freya congratulated herself smugly in the kitchen. Ignore his sarcasm and be polite and pleasant, so that he was the one to feel uncomfortable for a change. Really, it was turning out to be quite a day after its inauspicious start! A fantasy wedding, discovering the upper hand with Max, and a heavy date with Dan—and there was still a whole tub of ice-cream to look forward to!

  Freya made tea in a pot, set out the remainder of the biscuits on a plate and loaded it all onto a tray. She even remembered to put the milk in a
jug. Feeling a proper little homemaker, she carried the tray through to the living room, only to halt in dismay when she saw Max lying stretched out on the sofa right above Dream Wedding. Of all the places to sit, why did he have to choose there?

  She set the tray down on the low table, trying not to stare nervously at the magazine peeking out from beneath the sofa. At least Max wouldn’t be able to see it from his angle, she reassured herself. She could just imagine what he would say if he found it.

  ‘Is Kate coming over tonight?’ she asked to distract him as she poured out the tea.

  ‘No, she’s done enough.’ Max took his mug with a word of thanks. ‘She’s been working really hard all week, and she deserves a break.’

  As if in slow motion, Freya watched him put his mug down on the floor within easy reach, and she held her breath. Please don’t let him find it, she prayed, but just as she was about to relax, his hand brushed against the edge of the magazine.

  ‘What’s this?’ he said, pulling it out incuriously.

  ‘Oh, just something I was reading,’ she said quickly, and reached out a hand to take it from Max before he saw what it was.

  But he was turning it over, twisting it round to read the title. ‘Dream Wedding?’ he said incredulously, and then he laughed. ‘You’re not serious?’

  Forced onto the defensive, Freya was furious to find herself colouring. ‘Why shouldn’t I be?’ she countered.

  ‘I can’t keep up with this relationship,’ Max said, shaking his head as he flicked derisively through the magazine. ‘Cosmopolitan one day, planning your wedding the next!’

  Freya put up her chin. ‘That’s what happens when a relationship feels right.’

  He swung his feet to the floor and sat up. ‘Don’t tell me your precious Dan has popped the question?’

  ‘Not exactly,’ she said, unable to bring herself to lie outright.

  ‘What does that mean?’ he mocked. ‘Either he has or he hasn’t.’

  ‘It means that we both think we’ve got something very special,’ said Freya loftily.

  Max only grinned his disbelief. ‘Well, I won’t be ordering a toaster for you yet,’ he said. ‘Dan Freer didn’t seem to me like a man who would be keen to rush into commitment.’

  ‘I think I know Dan better than you do,’ she said, shaking her hair back defiantly. So much for getting the better of Max. That hadn’t lasted long, had it?

  ‘And now, if you’ve quite finished sneering,’ she went on as she twitched the magazine out of Max’s hands, ‘I hadn’t finished reading that.’

  She retired huffily to the corner of her sofa and opened Dream Wedding with deliberate hauteur. She didn’t see why she should scuttle off and hide in her bedroom. She was entitled to read what she wanted, where she wanted, and if Max didn’t approve, that was too bad!

  ‘I never thought I’d feel sorry for a journalist,’ said Max, resuming his full-length position on the sofa, ‘but my heart is bleeding for Dan Freer right now! He thinks he’s living dangerously out there, dodging bullets and corrupt politicians, when the real threat to his way of life is right here at home. I hope someone’s told him never to stand between a woman and a wedding!’

  Burrowing her head ostentatiously in the magazine, Freya tried to ignore him, but he had spoilt the fantasy she had been enjoying so much before he arrived. How could she concentrate on flowers and outfits for her bridesmaids with Max sitting there, making sarcastic comments?

  Reluctantly, she passed over an intriguing piece on stylish reception ideas and decided she had better find the competition which was, after all, what she was supposed to be doing. She flicked backwards and forwards in a fruitless search for the right page. If she wasn’t careful, she would have to break the habit of a lifetime and look up the page number in the contents…

  Ah, there it was! THE HONEYMOON OF YOUR DREAMS! A double page spread with lots of lovely photographs of sunsets framed by leaning palm trees, safari parks and romantic cities.

  After the phenomenal success of last year’s competition, when lucky couple Simone and Ian Bradshaw won the reception of their dreams, Dream Wedding, in association with Dreamtime Travel, is offering you the honeymoon you’ve always dreamt of—anywhere, any time! The Maldives? Venice? The Caribbean? You choose! The lucky winner will receive two return tickets to the destination of their choice, plus two weeks’ luxury accommodation in a honeymoon suite. All you have to do is answer the three questions below, and tell us about you and your fiancé and why you have chosen your destination as the perfect start to your married life.

  Freya read it again. It seemed too good to be true. There had to be a catch somewhere.

  But no, apparently not. All she had to do was answer a few questions and invent a fiancé, and that shouldn’t be too difficult. Invention had never been a problem for Freya. Dreary facts were a lot more difficult to get to grips with.

  Of course, it might be a bit tricky explaining why her supposed fiancé couldn’t come on the honeymoon, but Freya decided to cross that bridge when she came to it. The important thing was this could well be her best chance to win a ticket to Mbanazere. It might be a long shot, but she couldn’t afford to ignore any opportunity of proving to Max that he was absolutely and completely wrong. It was almost worth marrying Dan to do that.

  The questions were a doddle. Freya ticked the correct answers and turned her attention to the tie-breaker. Why did she want to go to Mbanazere? She didn’t think that proving Max wrong would go down too well with the editors of Dream Wedding. She would have to think of something more romantic.

  She sucked the end of her pen as she thought. She might have to come back to that one. Moving on to the section for personal details, she scribbled in her name and address, age and occupation, and then stopped, pen hovering over the space that demanded the name of her fiancé.

  What should she put down? She was tempted to put Dan’s name, but there was always a chance that someone at the magazine might have heard of him. Journalists were an incestuous lot. They might ring him up and congratulate him. Freya grimaced at the thought. No, better not do that. It could all get too complicated! Perhaps she should make a name up instead?

  A perplexed sigh escaped her. It was so hard to know what to do.

  ‘I hope there’s an article in there about dealing with phantom wedding syndrome,’ said Max snidely. ‘You’re going to need it!’

  Ting! A little light went on in Freya’s brain. Of course.

  ‘Actually,’ she said casually, ‘I’m finding it all very inspiring.’

  And a tiny smile curved her lips as under ‘your fiancé’ she wrote firmly: Max Thornton, 33, civil engineer.

  ‘Your friend Max doesn’t like me very much,’ said Dan as they walked down the street to his car, but he sounded amused more than anything.

  ‘Max doesn’t like anybody,’ Freya said crossly.

  Except Kate, she added mentally.

  She had spent the last few minutes on tenterhooks in case Max said something about her supposed wedding plans to Dan when he arrived but, although he had kept quiet on that front, he had effectively stopped her feeling grateful by being so sarcastic and unpleasant that Freya had picked up the envelope with her competition entry on the way out.

  ‘I’m sorry he was so rude to you,’ she apologised to Dan as she dropped the envelope into a post box. She hoped she won, if only because Max would so hate finding himself portrayed as her adoring fiancé.

  Serve him right, thought Freya defiantly.

  ‘I thought he might be a bit jealous that I was taking you out,’ said Dan. He took her arm in his warm grasp. ‘I know I would be if I was in his shoes. You look fantastic!’

  The flattering continued all evening. It was a novel experience for Freya, and she couldn’t quite rid herself of the feeling that she should be looking over her shoulder to find out who Dan was really talking to. He took her to a party to launch a first novel written by someone Freya had never heard of, but who was obviously some kind o
f celebrity judging by the number of famous faces she recognised. Lucy would have been beside herself, but Freya couldn’t help feeling out of place, and the wafer-thin women who were vying for Dan’s attention were making her twitchy.

  But for tonight, at least, it seemed as if she was the one he wanted with him. If Max could see her now he wouldn’t be so quick to sneer, thought Freya. He would hate the restaurant Dan took her to, though. She could just imagine him curling his lip at the trendy décor, turning up his nose at the pretentiousness of the food, and shaking his head in moral outrage at the prices. He would—

  But she wasn’t supposed to be thinking about Max when Dan was holding her hand over the table, and gazing at her over the rim of his glass with his deep, delicious brown eyes.

  ‘I’ve been thinking of you ever since I first saw you in that red dress,’ he said in his deep, delicious brown voice. ‘I’m glad you decided to wear it tonight. You look incredibly sexy.’

  Why couldn’t she feel sexy, then? Freya pulled herself together guiltily. She really must make more of an effort. She had lost her appetite…was that a good sign or bad? Pushing Max from her mind, she made herself concentrate on Dan, and it wasn’t that hard when she tried. He had to be the best-looking man she had ever met, with his square jaw and dark eyes and gleaming smile. His hair flopped endearingly forward over his forehead, and he had dazzling white teeth.

  Much better, Freya said to herself encouragingly, moving her mental assessment on to the rest of him. He wasn’t particularly tall, but he was compactly muscled and he had warm, experienced hands. Oh, yes, top marks all round.