“Why does this matter to you?” I wrench Ben’s head up from my breast and turn to stare at Georgios. “You’ve been trying to stop us … you know … all honeymoon.”
“Madame!” Another voice hails us, and I whip round incredulously. “Please! Urgent message!”
I can’t cope with this. It’s Hermes. He’s also standing a meter away, holding out some bit of paper. I take it from him and read the words Urgent Message.
“What urgent message?” I snap. “I don’t believe you.”
“Come here, Lottie,” snarls Ben, who is clearly beside himself. “Ignore them! We’re doing this. We’re getting it on.” He rips my bra off completely and I scream.
“Ben! Stop!”
“Madame!” shouts Georgios impetuously. “I come to your rescue!” He puts down the salver and grabs Ben in a half nelson, while Hermes throws a glass of iced water over us both.
“We’re not bloody dogs!” yells Ben. “Let go of me!”
“I didn’t mean Stop, stop!” I say, equally livid. “I meant Stop, don’t take my bra off in front of the butlers!”
Ben and I are both panting, but not in a good way. We’re both dripping too, but, again, not in a good way. Georgios releases Ben, who rubs his neck.
“Why are you trying to stop us?” I glare at Georgios. “What’s going on?”
“You’re right.” Ben is suddenly alert. “It can’t be coincidence, all these glitches. Is someone behind it?”
I gasp. “Is someone telling you to do this?” My mind instantly flashes to Melissa. Maybe she wants this suite. She’s the kind of person who would try all kinds of dirty tricks. “Have you been deliberately trying to ruin our wedding night all along?” I demand.
“Madame. Sir.” Georgios glances uncertainly at Hermes. The pair of them look like guilty schoolkids.
“Answer us!” says Ben.
“Answer us!” I echo furiously.
“Mr. Parr.” The familiar tones of Nico interrupt the conversation. He glided into the room so smoothly that I didn’t even notice him arriving, but here he is, batting not an eyelid at the fact that I’m topless. He holds out an envelope to Ben. “A message from a Mr. Zhernakov.”
“Zhernakov?” Ben swivels round. “What does he say?” He tears the envelope open and we all wait breathlessly, as though this will be the answer to everything.
“OK, I have to go.” Ben starts looking around. “Where are my shirts?” He addresses Hermes. “Where did you put them?”
“I will find you a shirt, of course, sir. Which color?” Hermes seems relieved to have something to do.
“You’re going?” I stare at Ben. “You can’t go!”
“Zhernakov wants to see me asap on the yacht.”
“But we were in the middle of something!” I cry in frustration. “You can’t just bail out!”
Ben ignores me and heads off with Hermes to the dressing area. I stare after him, quivering with rage. How can he leave? We were having sex. At least, we were about to. He’s as bad as these butlers, interrupting all the time.
Speaking of which, where’s Nico?
I spot him in the lobby of the suite and, clutching my shirt ineffectually to my chest, hasten after him. I intend to give him a piece of my mind, but to my surprise, he’s standing in the corner, whispering into his phone.
“They have stopped. I assure you. They are apart.”
I stiffen all over. Does “they” mean Ben and me? Who’s he talking to? Who the hell is he talking to? My mind is working frantically. He’s talking to the person behind it all. The person who’s been trying to scupper us. I know it’s Melissa.
I studied martial arts at school, and just occasionally it comes in handy. Silently, I creep up behind Nico till my hand is poised, ready for action.
“I am in the vicinity, and I can assure you that no coupling or intercourse of any kind will take place—oof!” Nico gasps as I neatly relieve him of his phone. I clamp it to my ear without saying a word and listen as hard as I can.
“I’m nearly there, Nico. You’re doing a great job. Just keep them apart, whatever it takes.”
A brisk, commanding, thoroughly familiar voice greets my ear. For a moment I think I’m hallucinating. My jaw has dropped. My head is spinning. It can’t be. It can’t be.
Nico is trying to grab his phone, but I swing around, eluding him.
“Fliss?” I say, and feel a sudden, white-hot bolt of fury. “Fliss?”
