The Honeymoon Prize

by Jessica Hart

  Max was looking at her curiously. No wonder.

  ‘You startled me,’ she managed in the closest she could get to a normal voice, i.e. wavering up and down the scale between high treble and double bass.

  ‘Weren’t you expecting me? I thought we’d agreed to meet here?’

  Why did he have to be so logical about everything? Freya was torn between the new, frightening love she felt for him and the much more familiar irritation. If only they would just cancel each other out, instead of intensifying the longing to tell him to shut up before resting her face against his throat and feeling his arms close around her.

  ‘Where are we meeting Lucy and Steve?’ she asked instead, avoiding his gaze.

  ‘At that Italian restaurant in the King’s Road Lucy likes so much. I said dinner was on me, given that we’re going to ask them to lend us their garden.’

  ‘Did you tell Lucy why we wanted to see them?’

  ‘No.’ A trace of wariness crept into Max’s voice. ‘It was all too complicated to explain on the phone.’

  ‘I’m surprised Lucy didn’t ring me to find out,’ said Freya. ‘Normally she’d be straight onto her mobile demanding to know what was going on.’

  ‘Perhaps she’s got better things to think about,’ said Max austerely.

  Freya looked doubtful. ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘I’ve booked a table for eight, but I told Lucy half-seven in the hope that for once she might get there on time.’ He looked pointedly at his watch. ‘We ought to be thinking about going soon ourselves.’

  ‘I’ll go and change.’

  Jumping into the shower, Freya congratulated herself on getting through the worst, first encounter. It had been a bit shaky at first, but Max hadn’t guessed that she was in love with him…had he?

  No, it had been fine, she reassured herself. They had had a normal conversation, so now she knew that she could do it without her tongue tying itself up into knots. And things would be bound to get easier from now on. They would go back to normal, and with any luck she would find that falling in love with him had been a momentary aberration.

  Well, she could always hope.

  She tossed her short skirts aside, not wanting Max to think that she was making a special effort because she was going out with him. On the other hand, she didn’t want him to suspect that she had deliberately dressed down, which would suggest that she cared what he thought…oh, dear, it was all so complicated now! In the end, she pulled on jeans and a T-shirt, and her old denim jacket, and left her hair hanging loose to her shoulders.

  Predictably, Max was pacing restlessly when she went out to join him. He hadn’t gone to any effort either, just changing his shirt for a pale blue one. He looked safe, sensible, utterly conventional. Why then did she ache with the longing to tug the shirt from his trousers and unbutton it so that she could press her lips to his chest and run her hands over his warm, bare back?

  Freya swallowed, just as Max turned to see her, and for a moment there was an odd, startled feel to the air. Then his dark brows snapped together and he reached for his keys.

  ‘We’d better go,’ he said abruptly.

  Max’s tactic of moving the time forwards half an hour had obviously worked, for Lucy and Steve were already ensconced at the table when they arrived at the restaurant. As soon as she spied them, Lucy jumped excitedly to her feet and gave them both a warm hug.

  ‘So, when’s the wedding?’ she demanded, standing back to beam at them.

  Taken aback, Max and Freya glanced at each other. ‘I thought you hadn’t spoken to her?’ he said, raising his eyebrows.

  ‘I haven’t. I didn’t say anything.’

  ‘I knew it!’ Lucy crowed to their surprise. ‘I knew it! I thought there was something going on when I saw the two of you together.’

  Beside herself with excitement, she turned triumphantly to her husband. ‘Didn’t I say, Steve? I said, I think Max and Freya might be falling in love, didn’t I? When I saw the way you looked at each other when you kissed that night, it was like a light went on and it suddenly seemed so obvious I couldn’t believe I’d never realised before how perfect you are for each other!’

  Barely pausing for breath, and oblivious to the appalled expressions on their faces, Lucy threw her arms round Max. ‘I’m so happy for you, Max! Freya’s exactly what you need. Does Mum know?’ she added excitedly.

  Noticing Lucy’s shrieks and exclamations, the manager of the restaurant glided over. ‘Some champagne for signor?’ he suggested with an unctuous smile.

  If Freya hadn’t been so aghast, she would have laughed at Max’s expression as he struggled to disentangle himself from his sister, beat off the manager and make himself heard.

  ‘No, we do not want any champagne,’ he snarled, removing Lucy’s arms from round his neck.

  ‘Of course we do,’ said Lucy, and turned her beaming smile on the manager. ‘A bottle of the best champagne you’ve got!’

  ‘We do not want any champagne!’ shouted Max. ‘I am not in love with Freya, Freya is not in love with me, and we are not, repeat not, getting married!’

  The entire restaurant stopped talking, and turned to look at them in the stunned silence.

  ‘Why don’t you say it a bit louder, Max?’ said Freya waspishly. ‘I think there are a few people in a restaurant at the other end of the street who didn’t quite get that!’

  Oblivious to their interested audience, Lucy was staring in disbelief. ‘You mean you and Freya aren’t…?’

  ‘No!’ A muscle was jumping savagely in Max’s jaw, and he spoke through gritted teeth. At least it was several decibels lower this time.

  ‘Oh.’ Lucy looked from Freya’s hot face to Max’s extremely irritated one, and put a guilty hand to her mouth. ‘Oops,’ she said.

  ‘Oops?’ Freya repeated furiously when she finally managed to drag Lucy off to the Ladies. ‘Is that all you could say?’

  ‘Well, how was I to know?’ Lucy countered reasonably. ‘First Max rings up all mysterious and suggests dinner with the two of you, and then you start talking about weddings—’

  ‘You started talking about weddings!’

  ‘OK,’ she acknowledged, ‘but then you looked at each other like that…you’ve got to admit that it was an easy mistake to make.’

  Freya wasn’t inclined to admit anything of the kind. She banged the door of the cubicle shut, wishing she couldn’t remember Max’s expression when he realised that Lucy thought he was in love quite so vividly. He had recoiled in horror from the very idea, and when she thought of the look on his face, a knife seemed to twist inside her.

  Lucy was washing her hands when she came out. ‘I don’t know why you and Max are both so cross,’ she said, glancing at Freya as she squeezed out extra soap. ‘I’d have expected you to laugh if I’d got it that wrong. It’s not such a big deal to have someone think that you’re in love—unless you really are, of course,’ she added slyly. ‘That was some kiss you two had the other night. You don’t think you were both a little too convincing?’

  ‘We were acting!’ Freya turned the tap on so forcefully that water sprayed everywhere, soaking the front of her T-shirt.

  ‘In that case, you’ve missed your vocation.’ Lucy handed her a paper towel to mop up the worst of it. ‘If I were you, I’d give up my job tomorrow and audition for RADA.’

  Turning round, she leant back against the sink and watched Freya washing her hands with fierce concentration. ‘Go on, Freya,’ she said persuasively, ‘you can tell me!’

  ‘There’s nothing to tell.’

  Lucy looked dissatisfied. ‘Are you sure there’s nothing going on between you?’

  ‘Of course I’m sure!’

  ‘It’s just that there’s a sort of…something…between you. I noticed it at dinner the other night, and it’s there again tonight. Even Steve noticed! I mean, you are living together…’ Lucy trailed off suggestively.

  ‘So?’ retorted Freya, retreating behind a hostile façade.

&nbs
p; ‘So…why not? I think you’d be great together, and there’s no reason why you shouldn’t…you know…is there?’

  ‘Apart from the fact that we’re both in love with someone else?’ Freya stuck her hands under the dryer and hoped Lucy wouldn’t notice that they were shaking.

  ‘Well, there’s Dan, I suppose,’ Lucy conceded, ‘but you’re not exactly committed to him yet.’

  ‘And Kate. She and Max make a great team.’

  ‘If she’s so special, why hasn’t he invited her to meet us?’

  ‘He wants her to come to this pretend wedding,’ Freya pointed out.

  ‘Yes, that’s a bit odd, don’t you think? I mean, even if I knew it wasn’t for real, I wouldn’t like to see Steve pretending to get married to anyone else and kissing them while I was watching.’

  ‘Kate understands why Max is doing it. I don’t think he would have thought about it if it hadn’t been for her. She’s very committed to Roads for Africa, and she knows there’s no reason for her to be jealous. If she comes, it’ll be to support Max and the organisation.’

  Lucy was less convinced. ‘Hmm, or to keep an eye on him,’ she said cynically, shaking the water from her hands. ‘If I’d seen Steve kissing someone the way Max kissed you the other night, I’d have plenty of reason to be jealous!’

  ‘Kate’s not like you,’ said Freya bleakly.

  Back at the table, Max and Steve had been discussing practicalities, but their minimalist plans for the reception were vetoed out of hand by Lucy.

  ‘I think we should have a marquee,’ she said. ‘I’m sure we could squeeze a small one onto our lawn.’

  ‘If we had the money to hire a marquee, we could afford our own flights to Mbanazere,’ Max pointed out astringently. ‘No, we’ll tell them it’s just going to be a small, intimate gathering of a few friends.’

  ‘But what about Mum and Dad, and Freya’s parents?’ his sister objected. ‘It’ll look a bit odd if they’re not there.’

  ‘Whatever you do, don’t mention this to Mum!’ said Freya in alarm. ‘She’s so desperate to marry me off, she wouldn’t care who was prepared to meet me at the altar. If she got so much as a whiff of this, she’d be down here like a shot, and before we knew what had happened, we really would be married.’

  ‘And we don’t want that,’ added Max, a slight edge to his voice. ‘It would cramp Freya’s style with Dan Freer.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I keep forgetting Dan,’ sighed Lucy.

  ‘Freya doesn’t,’ he said flatly. ‘He’s the reason she’s going through with this. If it hadn’t been for him, we wouldn’t even be talking about weddings and marquees.’

  They all looked at Freya, waiting for her to agree. What would it be like to be able to look them in the eyes and say no, Dan wasn’t the reason? To say that all she wanted was to be with Max?

  The words hovered on her tongue, but she bit them back. She didn’t want to see his expression change again to that appalled disgust. Putting up her chin, she smiled her best bright smile instead.

  ‘That’s right,’ she said. ‘I’m doing this for Dan.’

  CHAPTER NINE

  ‘LOOK, can we get back to the point?’ said Max impatiently. ‘We’ve already told Dream Wedding that it’s only going to be a small reception. We can say the parents are too old or something if they ask. The last thing we want is thousands of relatives and friends milling around.’

  ‘There’s no way you’re going to be able to keep Pel away,’ Freya put in.

  ‘He can come—and Marco—and Kate, of course, but that’s it.’

  Kate, of course, she noted miserably.

  ‘It’s not going to be much of a party,’ grumbled Lucy.

  ‘The photographer’s just going to want a picture of Freya in a wedding dress,’ said Max. ‘With any luck, he’ll take one, leave, and we can all go home.’

  ‘That’s no fun,’ Lucy objected. ‘If we’re all dressed up, we might as well have a party,’ she went on persuasively. ‘We could get everything set up just in case the photographer does want to come back with us, and if he doesn’t we can drink the champagne anyway.’

  Neither Max nor Freya looked overly enthused at the prospect, Max because he hated any kind of fuss, and Freya because she couldn’t think about anything except Max, and how close he was, and how much she wanted to touch him. She couldn’t take her eyes off his arm, which was lying on the table next to hers. It was as if she had never seen an arm like that before, never noticed the strong wrist, the fine, dark hairs on his forearm, the square brown hand with its capable fingers.

  ‘What do you think?’ said Max dubiously.

  Freya could feel her own fingers twitching with the longing to creep over and lace themselves with his. Snatching her hands off the table, she clutched them together in her lap to keep them under control.

  ‘Freya?’

  She started at the sound of her name. ‘What?’

  ‘Lucy has suggested turning our so-called reception into a party,’ Max repeated very slowly and clearly. ‘What do you think?’

  Think? All Freya could think about was the feel of his hands on her bare skin, about how warm and sure they were, about how much she wanted him to take her home and make love to her all night long.

  ‘Oh…er…yes,’ she said, but Max and Lucy were giving her such strange looks that it seemed something else was required. ‘I agree. Absolutely. Great idea.’

  ‘Well, if I thought you had a clue what you were talking about, I’d be delighted,’ said Lucy dryly. ‘As it is, I suggest you leave it up to me. Bags I be bridesmaid!’

  ‘Fine,’ said Freya absently.

  ‘Wake up, Freya!’ Lucy waved an exasperated hand over her face. ‘What on earth is the matter with you tonight? We’ve got serious things to discuss, like what you’re going to wear.’

  Freya forced her attention back to her friend. ‘Um, I hadn’t thought about it,’ she admitted. ‘I must have something…what about the bridesmaid’s dress I wore at your wedding?’

  ‘That is so not Chelsea Town Hall!’ Lucy shook her head firmly. ‘No, we’ll need to get you something really stylish.’ She brightened. ‘We’re just going to have to go shopping!’

  She called for Freya at ten o’clock on the dot the following Saturday. Max let her into the flat, where Freya was still finishing her muesli in the kitchen. ‘What are you doing being on time?’ she demanded in surprise.

  ‘We’ve got lots to do,’ said Lucy briskly. ‘We’re going to have a ball! Listen, I’ve drawn up a list of everything we’re going to need.’ She produced a piece of paper out of her bag with a flourish. ‘Shoes, hat—or possibly hair clips; we’ll have to see—jewellery, make-up,’ she read out. ‘Of course, we’ll have to start with the dress.’

  ‘It sounds like you’ve got everything under control,’ Max commented dryly as he sat down at the table and picked up his paper again.

  ‘Don’t worry, brother, you can leave it all to me,’ said Lucy. She eyed him speculatively. ‘Do you want me to buy you a nice cravat to wear on the big day?’

  ‘No, thank you,’ he said, refusing to rise to deliberate provocation. ‘I’ll provide my own clothes.’

  ‘You’d better look smart,’ his sister warned. ‘Freya is going to look fabulous!’

  She made it sound such a threat that Max laughed, and Freya’s heart did its usual stumble, nearly stopping altogether when he reached out and smoothed a strand of hair behind her ear.

  ‘Don’t let Lucy bully you,’ he said.

  Her mouth dried at his touch. ‘I won’t,’ she croaked, very aware of Lucy’s interested gaze.

  But the feel of his fingers grazing her cheek tingled through her veins and lifted her spirits so that the day seemed suddenly brighter. She and Lucy had a wonderful time, gossiping and giggling like the girls they had once been, wandering in and out of shops and stopping for ‘a little something’ at regular intervals. They were having such a good time that Freya began to forget just what she was doing the
re and let Lucy persuade her into trying on proper wedding gowns ‘just to see’.

  ‘What about this one?’ she said, coming out of the changing room and twirling dramatically so that the ivory silk skirt swirled and billowed around her.

  Breathless and laughing, she came to stop in front of her friend, only for her smile to fade as she saw that there were tears in Lucy’s eyes. ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘You look so beautiful, Freya,’ sniffled Lucy. ‘I was just wishing it was for real.’

  Freya looked at her reflection. It was a perfect wedding dress, clinging to her figure and slipping seductively over her skin, the kind of dress that made you feel beautiful, even if you weren’t. The kind of dress she would want to wear if she was marrying a man who loved her and wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.

  A dress that deserved better than a mock wedding and a pretend groom who had been talked into it by his girlfriend.

  ‘No, it’s not for real,’ she said flatly, and drew a breath. ‘I’ll take this off, and then let’s go and have some lunch.’

  They had a glass of champagne each to cheer themselves up, and lingered over lunch until Freya called for the bill. ‘We’d better get on with what we’re supposed to be doing,’ she said. ‘No more wedding dresses, Lucy. If I’m going to spend money on a dress, it’s got to be something I can wear again. It’s only Chelsea Town Hall, after all. I don’t need to turn up in a meringue.’

  Reluctantly, Lucy agreed that it was a sensible option, and they trailed round a few more shops before Freya found anything remotely suitable.

  ‘This will do fine,’ she said, slipping on a sleeveless dress in the palest aquamarine. It was very simple, with a scooped neck, and a skirt that fell in loose folds to just above her ankles, but the summer sunshine had left her arms and shoulders flatteringly brown, and the aquamarine brought out the green in her eyes.

  Lucy regarded her without enthusiasm. ‘I can see that it suits you,’ she admitted grudgingly, ‘but it’s so plain! No bride would ever wear anything like that.’

  ‘It’s perfect,’ said Freya stoutly. ‘At this rate, I don’t see me getting much use out of a wedding dress, and at least this I can wear again.’