Wedding Night

Wedding Night Page 57

“Does she not like the fellow?”

“She likes him very much.” I wince. “In fact, she’s kind of desperate to leap into bed with him. So it’s going to be a challenge to stop them.”

There’s another silence. I can only imagine Nico’s perplexed expression.

“Fliss, I’m afraid I cannot agree to this strange request,” he says finally. “I can, however, offer your sister a complimentary dinner at the chef’s table at our five-star seafood restaurant—”

“Nico, please. Please listen,” I cut across him desperately. “This is my little sister, OK? She was dumped by the man she loves and she rushed into marriage like a kind of revenge. She barely knows this guy. Now she’s talking about getting pregnant. I’ve never even met him, but apparently he’s a flake. Imagine if your daughter was letting her life be ruined by the wrong guy. You’d do everything you could to stop it, wouldn’t you?”

I’ve met Nico’s daughter, Maya. She’s an adorable ten-year-old with ribbons in her hair. Surely that will get to him?

“If they don’t have sex, the marriage can be annulled.” I spell it out for him. “It won’t be legally consummated. But if they do—”

“If they do, it is their business!” Nico sounds at the end of his tether. “This is a hotel, Fliss, not a prison! I cannot constantly supervise my guests’ whereabouts! I cannot monitor their … activity.”

“You’re telling me you couldn’t do it?” I throw down the challenge. “You couldn’t stop them from getting it on for twenty-four hours?”

The thing about Nico is, he prides himself on being able to solve any problem. Any problem. I bet he’s already imagining how he’d do it.

“If you can do this for me, I’ll be eternally grateful.” I lower my voice. “And of course I’ll express my gratitude by reviewing the hotel again. Five stars. Guaranteed.”

“We have already had the privilege of a five-star review in your magazine,” he bats me back.

“Six stars, then,” I improvise. “I’ll invent a new category, just for you. ‘The new world-class super-luxe.’ And I’ll flag the hotel on the front cover. Do you know how much that’s worth? Do you know how pleased your directors would be?”

“Fliss, I understand your dilemma,” Nico shoots back. “However, you must realize that I cannot possibly interfere with guests’ private lives, especially when they are here to enjoy their honeymoon!”

He sounds fairly resolute. I’m going to have to pull something pretty massive out of the bag.

“OK!” I drop my voice still lower. “Listen. If you help me out with this, I’ll publish a profile of you in the magazine. You personally, Nico Demetriou. I’ll call you … the secret of the Amba’s success. The most prized asset of the hotel. The go-to VIP manager. Everyone in the industry will see it. Everyone.”

I don’t need to spell out the rest. The magazine is distributed in sixty-five countries. Every CEO of every hotel at least glances through it. A profile like that would be his ticket to any job he wanted in the world.

“I know you’ve always dreamed about the Four Seasons, New York,” I add softly.

My heart is pounding a little. I’ve never abused my power before, and it’s giving me a rush. Partly good, partly bad. This is how corruption starts, I reflect. Next thing, I’ll be exchanging reviews for suitcases of cash and Trident missiles.

It’s a one-off, I tell myself firmly. A one-off with extenuating circumstances.

Nico is quiet. I can feel his conscience rubbing against professional ambition, and I feel bad for putting him in this position. But it’s not me who began this whole charade, is it?

“You’re a master, Nico.” I add some flattery. “You’re a genius at making things happen. If anyone in the world can do this, you can.”

Is he persuaded? Am I nuts? Is he even now sending an email to Gavin?

I’m on the point of giving up, when his voice suddenly comes low down the phone: “Fliss, I do not promise anything.”

I feel a sudden bubble of hope.

“I understand completely,” I reply, matching his tone. “But … you’ll try?”

“I will try. Just for twenty-four hours. What is your sister’s name?”

Yes!

“Charlotte Graveney.” I’m almost gabbling with relief. “Although I guess she’ll be under Mrs. Parr. Her husband’s Ben Parr. They’re booked into the Oyster Suite. And I don’t mind what they do, as long as they don’t have sex. With each other,” I add as an afterthought.