All morning, I feel aftershocks of embarrassment.At least I managed to streak from the taxi to my front door with no neighbors seeing me. I ripped off the purple dress, had the quickest shower known tomankind, then called Noah on speakerphone while I was trying to do speedy makeup. (There is no point in rushing mascara application. I know this. So why do I always fall into the same trap and end up wiping blobs of it off my cheeks and forehead and mirror?) Evidently Noah’s sleepover was a 100 percent rip- roaring, triumphant success. Wish I could say the same about mine.I couldn’t bring myself to call Lottie back, and anyway I didn’t have time.Instead, I texted her, suggesting drinks at seven P.M.Now I’m back at the office, speed-reading a review of a new luxury safari lodge in Kenya, which has just come in, about two thousand words over the limit. Clearly this journalist thinks he’s writing the next Out of Africa. He hasn’t mentioned the pool or the room service or the spa, only

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 s

Educational. It’s an educational trip. Yes.I haven’t asked permission. I haven’t given warning. I haven’t sat in the headmistress’s study and been lectured. I feel that in this instance the element of surprise is crucial.“Mrs. Phipps?” Mrs. Hocking puts her head round the door of the classroom. “You wanted to see me?”“Ah, hello.” I smile as confidently as I can. “Yes. Just a small matter. I’m going to have to take Noah out of school for a few days. To a Greek island. It will be very educational.”“Ah.” She frowns off-puttingly. “I’m afraid you’ll have to ask permission from the headmistress—”“I understand.” I nod. “Unfortunately, I don’t have time to ask the headmistress, as I understand she’s away today.”“Really? When were you planning to go?” “Tomorrow.”“Tomorrow?” Mrs. Hocking looks aghast. “But we only started term two days ago!”“Ah yes.” I act surprised, as though this hadn’t occurred to me. “Well, I’m afraid it’s an emergency.”“What sort of emergency?”A honeymoon-connec

I can’t stand it. I can’t stand it any longer. I’m going to be the first person who ever died from sexual frustration.I can remember long, unbearable waits as a child. Waiting for pocket money. Waiting for my birthday. Waiting for Christmas. But I’ve never had a wait as nightmarish as this. It’s been absolute torture. Five hours, four hours, three hours to go … All through the plane journey and the car ride from the airport, I’ve been silently chanting, Soon … soon … soon … It’s the only way to keep sane. Ben keeps fondling my leg. He’s staring straight ahead, breathing evenly. I can tell he’s as pent up as I am.And now it’s just minutes to go. The hotel is half a kilometer away. The driver is turning off the main road. The closer we get, the less I can bear it. These last moments of delay are killing me. All I want is Ben.I’m trying to look around and show an interest in our surroundings, but it’s only road and scrubby hills and garish billboards for Greek drinks with unfamiliar n

I don’t want to be negative. But if I could describe how I expected the morning after my wedding night to be, it would not be this.It would not be this.I always imagined my new husband and me nestled in a huge white cottony bed, like in a soap-powder ad. Birds singing outside. Sunlight gently passing over our faces as we turn to each other and kiss, remembering our fabulous time last night, and murmuring sweet nothings to each other before moving seamlessly into spectacular morning sex.Not waking up on a single bed, with a cricked neck, un-brushed teeth, the smell of last night’s room-service pizza, and the sound of Ben groaning on the opposite bed.“Are you OK?” I try to sound sympathetic, even though I want to kick him.“I think so.” He lifts his head with what appears to be a huge effort. He looks pretty green and he’s still wearing his suit. “What happened?”“You won a bet,” I say shortly. “Well done, you.”Ben’s gaze is distant and his eyes are moving back and forth. He’s clea