Wedding Night: A Novel

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.