Wedding Night: A Novel

8

LOTTIE

I’m married! My mouth is fixed in a permanent, gleeful smile. I’m so euphoric, I feel like I might float away. Today has been the best, most magical, most extraordinary day of my life. I’m married!! I’m married!!!

I still keep replaying the moment when I looked up from my desk to see Ben marching into the office, holding a bouquet of roses. His jaw was set and his eyes were flashing, and you could see he meant business. Even my boss, Martin, came out of his office to watch. The whole place was hushed as Ben stood at my office door and proclaimed, “I’m going to marry you, Lottie Graveney, and I’m going to do it today.”

Then he lifted me up—lifted me up—and everyone cheered, and Kayla came running after me with my bag and phone, and Ben handed me the bouquet and that was it. I was a bride.

I barely remember the marriage ceremony. I was in a state of shock. Ben practically jumped on each answer; I do remember that. He didn’t pause for a moment—in fact he sounded almost aggressive as he said, “I do.” He’d brought along some environmental confetti, which we sprinkled on ourselves, and he opened a bottle of champagne and then it was time to pack and leave for the airport. I haven’t even got changed; I’m still in my work suit. I got married in my work suit and I don’t care!

I catch sight of myself in the mirror above the drinks bar and want to giggle. I look as flushed and giddy as I feel. We’re in the business-class lounge at Heathrow, waiting for the Ikonos flight. I haven’t eaten anything since breakfast, but I’m not hungry. I’m hyped up. My hands won’t stop trembling.

I take a few slices of fruit and a sliver of Emmental, just for the sake of it, then jump as I feel a hand on my leg.

“Fueling up?” comes Ben’s voice in my ear, and I feel a delicious shiver. I turn to face him and he nuzzles my neck, his hand traveling up discreetly under my skirt. That’s good. Oh, that’s good.

“I can’t wait,” he murmurs in my ear.

“Me neither,” I murmur back.

“You’re so hot.” His breath is warm against my neck.

“You’re hotter.”

Yet again I work out how long we have to wait. Our flight to Ikonos is three and a half hours. It can’t take more than two hours to go through customs and get to the hotel. Ten minutes for them to take our luggage up … five minutes to show us how the light switches work … thirty seconds to put up the DO NOT DISTURB sign …

Nearly six hours. I’m not sure I can wait nearly six hours. Ben seems the same way too. He’s actually panting. Both his hands are roaming between my thighs. I can hardly concentrate on the fig compote.

“Excuse me.” An elderly man pushes his way between us and starts forking Emmental slices onto his plate. He eyes Ben and me with disfavor. “As they say,” he adds ponderously, “get a room.”

I feel myself flush. We weren’t that obvious.

“We’re on our honeymoon,” I shoot back.

“Congratulations.” The old man looks unimpressed. “I hope your young man will wash his hands before serving himself any food.”

Spoilsport.

I glance at Ben and we both move away, to a set of plushy chairs. I’m pulsating all over. I want his hands back where they were, doing what they were doing.

“So. Um. Cheese?” I proffer the plate to Ben.

“No, thanks.” He frowns moodily.

This is torture. I look at my watch. Only two minutes have passed. We’re going to have to fill the time somehow. Conversation. That’s what we need. Conversation.

“I love Emmental,” I begin. “Don’t you?”

“I hate it.”

“Really?” I log this new fact about him. “Wow. I had no idea you hated Emmental.”

“I went totally off it the year I lived in Prague.”

“You lived in Prague?” I say with interest.

I’m intrigued. I had no idea Ben had lived abroad. Or hated Emmental. This is the great advantage of marrying someone without spending years living together first. You still have stuff to find out. We’re on an adventure of discovery together. We’ll spend our whole lives exploring one another. Unwrapping each other’s secrets. We’ll never be that couple sitting in dead silence because they know everything and have said everything and are just waiting for the bill.

“So … Prague! Why?”

“I don’t remember now.” Ben shrugs. “That was the year I learned circus skills.”

Circus skills? I wasn’t expecting that one. I’m about to ask what else he’s done, when his phone bleeps with a text and he pulls it out of his pocket. As he reads it, his brow creases angrily and I look at him in concern.

“Everything OK?”

“It’s from Lorcan. He can fuck off.”

Lorcan again. I’m dying to meet this Lorcan. I’m actually feeling quite grateful to him. If he hadn’t said whatever he did to Ben, Ben would never have rushed to my office and I would never have had the most romantic experience of my life.

I rub Ben’s arm sympathetically. “Isn’t he, like, your oldest friend? Shouldn’t you make up?”

“Maybe he was once.” Ben scowls.

I glance over his shoulder at the screen and catch a bit of the text.

You can’t run away from these decisions, Ben.

You know how hard everyone has worked, and to go AWOL now is simply

Ben moves the phone out of sight and I don’t like to ask if I can read the rest.

“What decisions?” I venture.

“It’s just some tedious, boring piece of crap.” Ben glowers at the phone. “And I’m not running away. Jesus. The thing with Lorcan is, he wants me to do everything his way. He got used to running the show with my dad. Well, things have changed.”

He types something short, his thumbs stabbing at the phone. Almost at once a reply arrives, and he curses under his breath.

“Priorities. He’s talking to me about priorities. I’m having a life. I’m doing what I should have done fifteen years ago. I should have married you then. We’d have ten kids.”

I feel a swell of love for him. He wants a big family! We’ve never talked about it before, but I was really hoping he wanted lots of kids too. Maybe four. Maybe six!

“We can make up for that now.” I lean in and nuzzle his neck. After a few seconds, Ben lets his phone drop onto the seat.

“You know what?” he says. “Nothing matters except us.”

“Exactly,” I breathe.

“I remember the moment I fell for you. It was that day you did cartwheels on the beach. You were sunbathing on that rock in the middle of the sea. You dived off the rock and swam to the beach, and then, instead of walking back, you did cartwheels all the way along. I don’t think you knew anyone was watching you.”

I remember that too. I remember the feel of the flat sand beneath my palms. My hair swinging. I was lithe and athletic. I had abs like a washboard.

And of course I knew he was watching me.

“You drive me wild, Lottie.” His hands are edging up my skirt again. “You always did.”

“Ben, we can’t.” I glance over at the elderly gentleman, who catches my eye over the top of his newspaper. “Not here.”

“I can’t wait.”

“Neither can I.” My body is pulsating all over again. “But we have to.” I check my watch yet again. Barely ten minutes have passed now. How are we going to last?

“Hey.” Ben meets my eyes, lowering his voice. “Have you been to the loos here? They’re big.” He pauses. “And unisex.”

I stifle a giggle. “You don’t mean—”

“Why not?” His eyes glint. “You up for it?”

“Now?”

“Why not? Still twenty minutes till boarding.”

“I … I don’t know.” I hesitate, feeling torn. It’s not exactly the way I pictured my honeymoon night—a quick encounter in a Heathrow loo. On the other hand, I didn’t realize I’d be so desperate. “What about our wedding night?” I can’t help clinging to my plan. “What about making it special and romantic?”

“Still will be.” His fingers are gently playing with my earlobe, sending starbursts of sensation down my neck. “This isn’t the main event. This is the preview.” His fingers have found my bra strap. “And, quite frankly, if we don’t soon, I’ll burst.”

“I’ll burst too.” I quell a gasp. “OK, you go first. Find us somewhere.”

“I’ll text.”

He gets up and walks swiftly toward the unisex washrooms. I lean back on my seat and try not to giggle. This place is so quiet and stuffy, I don’t know how we’ll pull it off.

I get out my phone to wait for his text and, on impulse, pull up Fliss’s number. She and I have always joked about the Mile-High Club. I can’t resist telling her. I send a quick text:

Have u ever wondered what it’s like doing it in an airport lounge loo? I’ll let you know.

I’m not really expecting her to reply. It’s only a silly, jokey text. So I’m gobsmacked when a moment later my phone pings with a reply:

Stop STOP!!!!!!!! Don’t! Stupid idea. Wait till hotel!!!!!!!!

I peer at the phone, baffled. What is her problem? I fire off another text:

Don’t worry, we’re married.

I take a sip of water, then hear another ping. This time it’s a text from Ben.

3rd cubicle on left. Knock twice.

I feel a delicious shiver and text back:

Coming.

As I pick up my bag, I see that Fliss has texted again:

Really, really think you should wait!!!! Save till hotel!!!!

This is getting annoying. I only texted her for fun, not to get some stupid lecture. What’s she worried about, that we’ll get caught and somehow people will link her to me and her precious magazine will be brought into disrepute? I send a cross reply:

None of your business.

As I cross the lounge toward the washrooms, I’m actually trembling with anticipation. I knock twice on the third cubicle door, and as Ben sweeps me in, he’s already half undressed.

“Oh God. Oh God …”

His mouth is immediately on mine, his hand is in my hair, now he’s unhooking my bra and I’m wriggling out of my knickers. I’ve never moved so fast. I’ve never wanted it so fast. I’ve never needed it so badly in my life.

“Shh!” we keep whispering to each other as we bump against the cubicle walls. Thank God they’re sturdy. We’re maneuvering into position as quickly as we can, Ben’s braced against the wall, we’re both breathing like steam engines, I can tell this is going to take about ten seconds.…

“Condom?” I whisper.

“No.” He meets my eye. “Right?”

“Right.” I feel an extra spurt of excitement. We might make a baby!

“Hey.” He suddenly pauses. “Have you got into any kinky stuff since we last did it? Anything I should know?”

“A bit,” I say breathlessly, hoicking my skirt up farther. “Tell you later. Come on.”

“OK! Give me a chance—”

Rap-rap-rap-rap!

The knocking at the cubicle door nearly gives me a heart attack, and I bash my knee on the cistern. What? What?

“Excuse me?” a female voice is calling from the other side of the door. “This is the lounge manager speaking. Is there someone in there?”

Fuck.

I can’t answer. I can’t move. Ben and I eye each other in panic.

“Could you please open the door?”

My leg is still wrapped round Ben’s back. The other foot is on the loo seat. I have no idea where my underwear is. Worst of all, my entire body is still throbbing with need.

Could we just ignore this lounge manager? Keep going? I mean, what can they do?

“Carry on?” I mouth at Ben. “Really quietly?” I gesture to make myself clear, and the loo seat creaks. Shit.

“If you don’t come out, I’m afraid I will have to use a passkey to gain access,” the voice is saying.

They have a passkey to the loos? What is this, a fascist state?

I’m still breathing as hard as ever. But now it’s with miserable frustration. I can’t do this. I can’t consummate my marriage with a lounge manager listening six inches away, the other side of the door, poised with a passkey.

There’s more knocking at the door. In fact, it’s becoming more like a pounding.

“Can you hear me?” the woman is demanding. “Can anyone hear me in there?”

I meet Ben’s eyes ruefully. We’re going to have to answer, before she bursts in with a SWAT team.

“Oh, hi there!” I call back, hastily hooking my bra up. “Sorry! I was just … fixing my … head.”

My head? Where did that come from?

“My husband was helping me,” I add, searching around for my knickers. Ben is pulling up his trousers. It’s over.

Dammit. I can’t find my knickers. I’ll have to leave them. I quickly brush back my hair, glance at Ben, pick up my handbag, then unlock the door and smile at the gray-haired woman standing outside the door, together with a younger brunette sidekick.

“So sorry,” I say smoothly. “I have a medical complaint. My husband has to help me administer a serum. We prefer privacy for the application.”

The woman’s eyes run over me suspiciously. “Do you need me to call a doctor?”

“No, thank you. I’m fine now. Thank you, darling,” I add to Ben, for good measure.

Her eyes drop to the floor. “Are those yours?” I follow her gaze and curse inwardly. My knickers. That’s where they were.

“Of course they’re not mine,” I say with cutting dignity.

“I see.” She turns to the sidekick. “Lesley, please tell a cleaner to come and refresh this cubicle.”

Oh God. Those knickers are by Aubade. They cost forty pounds. And they match the bra I’m wearing. I can’t bear for them to disappear into the bin.

“Actually …” I peer at the knickers as though suddenly noticing something about them. “On second thought … perhaps they are mine.” I scoop them up as nonchalantly as I can and examine a small rosebud. “Ah yes.” I stuff them in my pocket, avoiding the lounge manager’s steely gaze. “Thank you so much for your help. Keep up the good work. Lovely lounge.”

“May we compliment you on the buffet,” adds Ben. He holds out an arm and escorts me away before I can explode. I don’t know if I want to laugh or scream. How did that happen? How the fuck did they know?

“We were silent,” I mutter to Ben as we walk. “We were totally silent.”

“I bet it was the old man,” he mutters back. “He must have shopped us. He guessed what we were doing.”

“Bastard.”

I slump into one of the plushy chairs and look around disconsolately. Why don’t they provide facilities for sex, anyway? Why is it all about surfing the Net and eating grapes?

“Let’s have some champagne,” says Ben, and squeezes my shoulder. “Never mind. Bring on tonight.”

“Bring on tonight,” I agree fervently.

I check my watch again. Five hours, thirty minutes to go until we can put up that DO NOT DISTURB sign. I’ll be counting down every millisecond. As Ben heads to the bar, I pull out my phone and text Fliss.

We were found out. Someone shopped us. Bastards.

There’s quite a long pause—then her reply arrives.

Poor you! Safe flight. Xxx