The Honeymoon Prize

by Jessica Hart

  Freya scowled. He would be with Kate now, enjoying his lunch, telling her about the fine mess Freya had got herself into. She could just imagine them rolling their eyes at her presumption in pretending to be engaged to him, or laughing heartily at Max’s description of her stuttering and stammering like an idiot the moment he touched her.

  Except they probably had better things to talk about than her, Freya reminded herself despondently. She wouldn’t put it past Max to wipe her from his mind the moment he stepped out of the door. Somehow, this thought was worse than the idea of them snickering together about her.

  Unaccountably depressed, Freya drooped around the flat. She couldn’t settle to anything. She thought about going out, but then she might miss Max when he came back, and how could she get on with anything until she had sorted out this mess with Dream Wedding?

  Where was he anyway? It was a very long lunch, she thought crossly, and then made herself feel even worse by realising that they might not be having lunch at all. They could be in Kate’s bed, with the window open and the sounds of the street drifting in, oblivious to the passing of time. Or strolling lazily along the river somewhere, hand in hand. It was a beautiful summer afternoon, after all. Were they lying in some meadow, making love on the sweet grass? The fact that the chances of finding a meadow in London at all, let alone a deserted one, were as remote as…well, as Max falling in love with her, say…didn’t make any difference. Freya could imagine it all so vividly that when Max did eventually return, she found herself covertly studying his clothes for grass stains.

  Not that it was any of her business. She didn’t care what he and Kate had been doing, did she? The only dignified thing to do would be to maintain an aloof silence.

  ‘That was a long lunch,’ she said accusingly.

  ‘We didn’t spend long on lunch,’ said Max.

  There! She knew it! He had been with Kate all afternoon!

  ‘We spent all afternoon in the office,’ he went on, unaware of her mental interruption. ‘We’ve got another report to send off—to the United Nations this time—and we wanted to talk about the budget.’

  There was something constrained about him and Freya eyed him with mounting suspicion. That explanation sounded just a little too glib, as if he had rehearsed it.

  ‘You’ve been talking about a budget for three hours?’

  ‘I told Kate about this morning as well,’ said Max stiffly.

  Of course he had.

  ‘You needn’t worry,’ said Freya, hunching an irritable shoulder. ‘I’ll ring Emma on Monday and tell her it was just a joke.’

  There was a pause. ‘Are you sure you want to do that?’

  She stared at him. ‘Don’t you?’

  ‘Kate thinks we should go for it.’

  ‘She does?’ Freya’s mouth hung open as she boggled at Max, who was looking faintly uneasy.

  He prowled over to the window and stood looking out at the view with his hands in his pockets. ‘I wouldn’t need to wait for official permission if I entered the country as a tourist. I left my equipment there, and it would be easy enough to get someone to deliver it to the airport. You’ll be off with Dan anyway, and I could use those two weeks to finish the survey.’ He shrugged. ‘Kate thinks we might as well take advantage of a free trip.’

  Freya was getting a bit fed up with hearing about what Kate thought, as if hers was the only opinion that mattered.

  ‘It wouldn’t be that easy,’ she said more sharply than she had intended. ‘You heard what Emma said about sending a photographer along to the wedding. Does Kate think we should go as far as getting married?’ she added tartly.

  ‘Of course not.’ Max turned irritably from the window. ‘But, as she pointed out, a register office isn’t the same as a church. You’ve already said that the ceremony would be private, so all we’d really need to do is hang around outside Chelsea Town Hall looking smart. We could get Lucy to put on a hat and Kate would be there to chuck some confetti around. How is Dream Wedding to know that we haven’t just been married?’

  ‘What about the reception?’ said Freya, a little thrown by the enthusiasm with which Kate had obviously thrown herself into the idea. Didn’t she mind the thought of Max pretending to marry another woman, however unlikely? She must be very sure of him, Freya thought with a sudden pang.

  ‘I’m sure Lucy and Steve would lend us their garden.’ Max was still talking about how to convince Dream Wedding that they had really been married. ‘Luckily, you said it was going to be an intimate affair with just a few friends, so we could get away with opening a bottle of champagne for the photographer.’

  ‘Kate seems to have thought it all through,’ said Freya with a distinct edge to her voice.

  ‘I thought you’d be pleased,’ he countered, frowning. ‘You were the one who was so keen to go to Africa—or have you changed your mind?’

  ‘No,’ she said, faintly defensive. ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Well, then.’

  Freya sat on the arm of the sofa and fiddled with her watch strap. Max was right. It had been her idea, and she ought to be thrilled that he was even considering agreeing to go through with it, let alone sorting out all the practical arrangements. If only it hadn’t been Kate who persuaded him.

  ‘It’s just…do you really think we can carry it off?’

  ‘We seem to have convinced them so far.’ Max left the window and continued his restless prowl until his attention was caught by the photograph of the two of them at Lucy’s dinner party.

  Freya watched him pick it up and study it, and wished she had remembered to take it away after Emma had left. He’s not what I expected, the reporter had said dismissively of Max’s picture. Well, he wasn’t what Freya expected either. Shouldn’t he be banging the table, insisting that she ring up Dream Wedding there and then to confess the deception, not calmly proposing to take it a stage further?

  Max looked from the photograph in his hand to Freya, perched self-consciously on the arm of the sofa. ‘So this is what Lucy’s dinner was in aid of?’ he said expressionlessly.

  ‘Yes.’ She bit her lip. ‘I needed some photos to show Emma, and make it look as if we were a real couple.’

  ‘And that kiss Lucy insisted on?’

  That kiss. Why did he have to mention that now? The memory of the way they had kissed shivered and shimmered in the air between them, clenching the base of Freya’s spine and drying the breath in her throat. She could still feel his lips on hers, the touch of his hands, the drenching sweetness. Did Max remember how eagerly she had melted in to him? How she had clung to him until he had pushed her away?

  The colour surged into her cheeks. ‘Yes,’ she muttered. ‘I didn’t know about that, though. I thought Lucy was just going to take one of the two of us together. But it…er…it made a very convincing photograph. Emma’s taken it away to include in the article.’

  ‘I see.’ The lack of inflection in his voice made Freya cringe. It hadn’t been fair to Max, she could see that now.

  ‘I should have told you what was going on,’ she said. ‘It was just…I suppose I was afraid that you would think I was silly. I’m sorry,’ she finished in a muted voice.

  There was another short silence. Max put the photograph back on the table.

  ‘Since you’ve gone to so much effort, you might as well go through with it, don’t you think?’ he said brusquely. ‘I know why you’re going, so you don’t need to worry about me hanging around you and Dan. I’ll keep out of your way.’

  For some reason, Freya felt chilled at the prospect. ‘That might be a bit difficult when we’re sharing a hotel room,’ she said. ‘They’re bound to book us into a honeymoon suite.’

  Max shrugged. ‘I dare say you’ll be moving in with Dan soon enough.’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘You don’t sound very enthusiastic.’ He looked at her closely, the light eyes narrowed. ‘Don’t you want to go any more?’

  What could she say? After all the fuss she had ma
de, all the elaborate lies she had told, all the embarrassment she had caused him, she could hardly turn round now and say that she didn’t really feel like going to Mbanazere after all. The first thing Max would ask would be Why not? and what would she say then?

  Dan doesn’t matter to me any more?

  The thought of staying with you in a honeymoon suite makes me nervous?

  I don’t like the fact that it was Kate who talked you into going?

  No, not one of those would do as answers. They’d just lead to more questions, questions Freya wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answers to.

  Now Max wanted to go, everything had changed. After tricking him into kissing her and having his photograph taken and answering a lot of intrusive questions, a free trip to Africa was the least that she owed him.

  ‘Of course I want to go,’ she said.

  Freya tossed and turned in bed that night, unable to sleep. She was going to Africa. Incredible as it seemed, she was actually going to go.

  With Max.

  What would it be like? There would be no sirens whooping through the dark streets, no banging of car doors late into the night, no voices raised in argument drifting up from the pavement below.

  There would be just the two of them, alone, lying side by side in the honeymoon suite. Freya turned on her side and tried to visualise his shape, to imagine what it would be like knowing that he was close enough to touch…

  She turned abruptly the other way. She wouldn’t be sharing a bed with Max. She’d be off having a tempestuous affair with Dan Freer, being the envy of every female in the office. That was what she really wanted, that was why she was going.

  So why couldn’t she feel more excited about it?

  She and Max might have to spend one night together, at least. Dan was hardly likely to sweep her off her feet at the airport, so she would probably go to the hotel with Max and…and why couldn’t she stop thinking about Max? Freya wondered fretfully, thumping her pillow into submission.

  As far as he was concerned, it was just a practical arrangement that enabled him to go and survey his precious roads. He wasn’t interested in her.

  And she wasn’t interested in him, Freya told herself. OK, so Max kissed quite well. So the touch of his hand made her shiver with suppressed excitement. That didn’t mean anything. It was just an involuntary physical reaction, like someone running their finger down your spine.

  Anyway, it was too late to start being interested in Max now. He had a girlfriend, someone who was a million times more intelligent and stylish than she could ever be. Someone who was absolutely right for him.

  Someone who would encourage him to go through with a mock wedding for the good of the project. Roads for Africa must mean a lot to both Max and Kate if they were prepared to go to such lengths, thought Freya dully. She wished that there was something that meant as much to her. Being seduced by Dan Freer didn’t seem a very noble ambition in comparison somehow.

  Perhaps she could get the Examiner to launch a campaign on their behalf? Freya turned the idea around in her mind. Roads for Africa was a good cause. Raising some money for them might make up for the way she had tricked Max into pretending to be her fiancé and with any luck it would show him that she wasn’t quite as superficial and silly as she obviously seemed.

  Freya brooded on the idea for the rest of the weekend, and when Dan rang the newsdesk on Monday, she mentioned it to him, tentatively at first, and then with growing confidence when she heard how encouraging he was.

  ‘It’s time for a piece about success in countries like Mbanazere,’ he said enthusiastically. ‘You’ll need to clear it with the editor, of course, but I’m happy to write an article here, if you can set up a way to deal with the donations. Can you put me in touch with someone at Roads for Africa?’

  Freya had a number for Max, but she had never been to his office. She had always imagined him and Kate cooped up in some poky room together, and had prepared a fake Scottish accent just in case he picked up the phone. After all Max had had to say about Dan, she didn’t think he would be very cooperative.

  To her relief, the phone was answered by a very professional-sounding receptionist, who put her through to Kate. ‘I think it’s a brilliant idea,’ said Kate warmly when Freya explained what she had in mind. ‘Of course I’ll talk to Dan.’

  ‘I haven’t mentioned anything about this to Max yet,’ Freya said hesitantly, and Kate seemed to know exactly what she was trying to say before she said it.

  ‘Much best not to,’ she agreed. ‘He doesn’t like Dan for some reason. I can’t think why!’

  There was a ripple of amusement in her voice, and Freya wondered what was so funny. She held the receiver away from her ear and looked at it with a puzzled expression, as if it might somehow provide the answer.

  ‘Er…no,’ she said uncertainly.

  ‘I adore Max,’ said Kate, ‘but there’s no doubt he can be a bit tricky and high-principled about things like the media. We can tell him when the campaign gets going and we know how successful it’s been. You know what he’s like!’

  Yes, she knew what he was like, thought Freya heavily as she put down the phone, but Kate obviously knew him far better than she did. In spite of her teasing, there had been real affection and warmth in her voice when she talked about him. ‘I adore Max,’ she had said, and Max clearly adored her, too. They complemented each other perfectly.

  Freya bit her lip. She wanted someone who would like her as well as love her, someone who would tease her but never let her doubt how much he needed her.

  Someone like Max.

  No, not someone like him. Max himself.

  She froze with her hand on the phone as the truth hit her like a huge wave, catching her unawares, crashing over her and tumbling her out of her nice, safe existence where she could pretend that Max wasn’t important and didn’t really matter. Why hadn’t she seen what was happening to her? She had talked about Dan, but Max was the one she really wanted.

  What was she thinking of? Freya withdrew her hand slowly from the phone as if the world was about to shatter around her. Even if Max hadn’t thought of her as Lucy’s silly friend who made a fool of herself at every available opportunity, it would be hopeless. He had someone already, and there was no way she could ever compete with Kate.

  Why did it have to be Max? Freya asked herself bleakly. Why couldn’t she have fallen in love with Dan instead, who was handsome and sexy and fun, and who didn’t have a warm, friendly, intelligent, depressingly nice girlfriend in the background?

  But it was Max. It had probably always been Max, now that she came to think of it. Practical, exasperating, uncompromising Max, who would never be a pin-up and didn’t tell jokes and wouldn’t have all the girls in the office sighing with envy. Freya couldn’t explain it. She just knew at some deep, instinctive level that he was the one for her, the only one whose touch could set her on fire, the only one whose smile set bells ringing. Her heart turned over at the mere thought of Max smiling. It was hard to believe that it had taken her so long to recognise something so obvious.

  Max was the one, the one she needed, the one she wanted.

  The one she couldn’t have.

  Freya was subdued as she joined the crowds heading home that evening. She longed to see Max again, but dreaded it at the same time. She didn’t know how to behave around him any more, and was terrified in case he guessed how she felt. He would be appalled and embarrassed if he even suspected that she had fallen in love with him. Freya couldn’t bear the thought of him knowing.

  If only she hadn’t committed herself to this stupid wedding pretence! She stared bleakly out of the window from the top of the bus. Now she was not only going to have to pretend that everything was normal, she was going to have to do it while standing around in a long white dress, kissing him for the camera, having to look happy.

  Tonight was going to be bad enough. Max had e-mailed her to say that he had arranged for them to meet Lucy and Steve that evening, and that he
would see her at the flat. They might as well go together, he had added, but if she wanted to go straight from work, she should let him know.

  Freya had read and reread the brief message in the hope of finding some subtle meaning, but there was no subtext. It wasn’t flirty or even particularly friendly, just straightforward. Like Max, in fact.

  She wished they didn’t have to go out together tonight. She wasn’t sure she was ready to face Lucy’s sharp eyes yet. They would have to talk about the deception, that had turned into an even greater deception now. Pretending to be in love with someone you didn’t care about was much easier than having to pretend to pretend.

  Freya sighed. She wished she could call the whole thing off, but how could she? She had gone too far now. Pulling out would involve too many explanations. And Kate had told her how much Max’s free trip would mean to Roads for Africa. She couldn’t let them all down. No, she would have to go through with it now.

  She took a deep breath before letting herself into the apartment. Her world might feel as if it had fallen apart, but she mustn’t let Max guess that she was anything other than normal.

  After all that bracing herself, it was a bitter anticlimax to find the living room empty. Having dreaded facing him, Freya was perversely disappointed to find that he wasn’t there.

  ‘Ah, there you are.’

  Max’s voice behind her made her spin round, heart hammering in her throat. He had appeared from the kitchen and Freya almost staggered at the great whoosh of sensation that swept over her at the sight of him.

  ‘Hello,’ she squeaked in a high, tight voice.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked, puzzled.

  ‘Nothing.’ Still about three octaves too high. Freya cleared her throat and tried again. ‘Nothing,’ she growled.