Honeymoon Alone: A Novel Read online

  Well, that’s just great. Why can’t a guy look at me and think something exciting, like that I’m in the witness protection program or something?

  “So what do I do?” I ask finally. “Am I a mime or something?”

  “A mime?”

  “I pretty much said nothing throughout the entire class, so they probably think I’m of the silent variety. There are so few professions for silent people.”

  He laughs. “I’m sorry if I talked too much. It’s just…I’m the actor. You were sort of like a prop.”

  “A prop,” I say, narrowing my eyes at him. I turn in my seat to fully face him. “This is getting more romantic by the moment.”

  “I’m the one who needs practice with improv and acting, because I’m hoping to make a career out of it. You aren’t.”

  “Fair enough.” I slouch in my seat and look at the scenery whisking by us just outside, a gnawing feeling in my stomach.

  “What’s wrong?”

  I look at him. “Oliver.”

  “Who?”

  “Concierge. Annoying. Nosy. Ring a bell?”

  “Ah, that guy,” he says quietly. He looks at me, waiting for me to continue.

  “He asks so many questions just like your class. He was onto me before you came, and even now that you’re here, he’s still so pesky every time he sees me. He’s obviously got issues with his dad and is just trying to impress him by catching me in a lie. It’d no doubt be the biggest drama The Chaizer has ever seen, and he’d be the star.”

  “Well, now you sound a little paranoid,” Cary says, smirking and doubtful.

  “I’m serious, Cary. He obviously thinks that I’m a honeymoon crasher, which I totally am, but that is beside the point.”

  “What is the point?”

  “I’ve checked online. There’s nowhere else to stay because it’s Christmas, without coughing up a fortune. I need him to back off. I just wish I were a little better at that whole improv thing.”

  “I didn’t think about it, but I guess you need to be,” he says, tapping his knee with the fingers of one hand, while the other coils around me. I know he’s just trying to get comfortable with me, get into the role. But I like to pretend, anyway, that it’s more than that – that he’s just…into me. He leans forward toward the driver. “Actually, can you take us to Oxford Street?”

  When the taxi stops, he pays the driver and offers me a hand, helping me out. “Let’s figure this out.” He looks around at the many shops and boutiques lining the street.

  “Figure what out?”

  He ignores me, still scanning the street. “Here we go.” He grabs my hand and leads me across the street to a small shop on the corner. The mannequins in the front window stare back at me with their haute couture gaze.

  “Cary—“

  “We are going to reinvent Lucy Gray.”

  “So, who are you?” he asks me, as we browse the racks at Blue Montgomery, UK, the clothing boutique. The clothes inside are even cuter than the ones being modeled in the store front.

  “Lucy Gray. Your make-believe wife.” I look at a price-tag hanging off a tee-shirt at the entrance. Seventy pounds. “Why exactly do I need a new outfit? My clothes are fine.”

  “You need to get into character,” Cary says firmly, noticing my apprehension. He leads me further into the store. “For starters, forget make believe. If you don’t believe it, Oliver won’t either.”

  I think about that as I grab a very pretty pale gray dress off of a rack and hold it against me in the mirror.

  Cary grabs it out of my hands. “How about something with a little color?”

  “My hair is all the color I need in my life,” I say. I’ve always been self-conscious about how red my hair is. “Earth tones are sort of my thing,” I explain to Cary. “They tame the whole picture – in a good way.”

  “Well, brighten the picture up a bit. Step outside your comfort zone. I mean – isn’t that what you’ve been doing since you arrived in London?”

  I stop and look at him, the dull gray dress clutched in his hands. “Since right before I left actually. Deciding to come here on my own was so far outside of my comfort zone that I’m still expecting to wake up in Haley at any second.”

  “You were trying something new,” he says. “That’s something most people are too scared to do. Ever. Because it’s not easy.”

  I nod slowly, my mind working fast. “Fine. No gray.” I turn to start scouring the racks again and sigh. “I guess I should look for polka dots and purple.”

  Cary’s smile lights up his gorgeous blue eyes. “That’s pretty random.”

  “Well my sister, Marian – “

  “ – Now she’s the one who really got married?” he asks, following closely behind me as I move to a new rack.

  “ – yes.”

  “Okay. Stop there. Marian is on her honeymoon right now, right?”

  “She’s on a Mediterranean cruise as we speak with Tom.”

  “So you’re not actually on her honeymoon?”

  “Of course not,” I say, like he’s the village idiot. “But Oliver thinks – “

  “Forget Oliver. Forget Marian. Do you like polka dots?”

  “God, no. After Marian’s wedding, I’ll never like them again,” I say.

  “This is why you can’t get into it. This is why you can’t get through those talks with Oliver.”

  “Because of the polka dots?” I ask doubtfully.

  He puts the gray dress away on a nearby rack. “Because you’re trying to be some kind of hybrid of yourself and your sister. Just focus on yourself. See, Boston Lucy wears gray colorless numbers. She’s single. London Lucy is married to me and she has a colorful history that you need to figure out. Base it on what inside of you drove you to take this trip, to try something so adventurous, in the first place.”

  “London Lucy, huh?” I think about that as he waits patiently for me to continue. “She is a bit of an adventurer I guess. I mean, she’d fly to another country at Christmastime just to get a stamp in her passport.” I grab a wool sweater with red and pink stripes. It’s very colorful and Cary seems to approve. “Just to have a story to tell someday to her grandchildren or her cat.”

  “What about us?” he asks, putting his hands in his pockets and looking at me like he’s incredibly interested in anything I might say on this matter.

  Knitted brows, crossed arms, and tilted head, I’m completely ready to come up with something elegant – something borne out of my girlhood romantic fantasies, but Cary stops me. “The first thing that comes to your mind. Now.”

  “I, uh…I first realized that I loved you when you sat by my side for days on end after I had knee surgery. And…you had to cancel loads of important appointments to be able to be with me.”

  “That’s kind of sweet. Did you really have knee surgery?” he ventures.

  “Yes, when I was sixteen. Nothing glamorous,” I add at his interested look. “Let’s just say that my family takes sledding very seriously.”

  Cary laughs, wincing a little.

  “I was out of commission for a few weeks, and while my mom took excellent care of me, I did sort of fantasize about a handsome love interest dropping everything to take care of me himself,” I admit sheepishly. I feel like my face has turned the color of the red and pink sweater I am clutching.

  Cary grins and rests back on his heels, bobbing his head once at my silly confession. “Very sweet,” he eventually says. “Staying on track, what was our first kiss like?”

  “That’s a big one,” I say, looking imploringly up at him. “As a girl, it’s my right to come up with something amazing – since I get to invent this bit of our romantic history myself. You already took all the magic out of our first meeting.”

  “What did you have in mind?”

  “We were…under the stars…and music was playing,” I start.

  He shakes his head. “Remember. This is real life.”

  “This is real life?”

  He smiles
. “You know what I mean. I’m looking for something a little more…”

  “…grocery store, aisle six, frozen food?” I offer.

  “A little more typical, yeah.” He hands me a dark emerald-colored dress that is casual yet surprisingly flirty. “Here. Try this on.”

  I walk into the dressing room and undress quickly, putting the dress on. It’s tighter than the clothes I normally wear. And much more vibrant. Immediately I’m self-conscious about how it looks, since I can’t see it. There are no mirrors in the dressing room – just outside where Cary is waiting.

  I step into the waiting area and Cary turns. He takes a step back to really appreciate the outfit as I take a couple steps to the wall where three mirrors stand, bridal-shop style.

  Immediately, I like the dress. It’s different. Pretty. And I feel sexy wearing it. “We had just gone to a movie,” I say, looking at Cary now through the reflection. “It was our first date and the conversation had been a bit awkward. I honestly thought that it was all over, that we had nothing in common. But when we stepped outside, you saw that I was cold and you gave me your jacket.” Cary nods, something in his eyes lighting, excited. I know the look. It’s how I feel when one of my students finally understands something they were struggling with. “You let your hands linger on my arms just a moment too long, and right when I thought you were about to let go and turn away, you bent down and…and kissed me instead. Right outside of the Cineplex.”

  I turn away from the mirrors to really look at him.

  “Very nice,” he says, looking mesmerized. He looks at me again, his expression clearing. He eyes the dress up and down. “Very nice,” he repeats. Only this time I know he’s not remarking on my story.

  “I think I’ll take it.” I look at myself in the mirror once more and smile. “It’s really London Lucy, don’t you think?”

  Three stores and two and a half hours later, Cary and I walk through the doors of The Chaizer. My credit card company is going to suspect theft for sure. The fraud department is probably calling my cell at this very moment. I just bought two new sweaters, a new skirt, and that dress. Cary is holding two boxes filled with Christmas decorations. We decided that since we are going to be together on Christmas, we should go all out. We might be in a flat that isn’t ours for the holidays, we might be lying about everything under the sun, and we might be far away from home…but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t fill the place up with holiday spirit anyway.

  “Hi,” Polly says, when she notices us. She closes Jane Eyre immediately and stares wide-eyed at Cary. “I didn’t catch your name the other day. It got sort of crazy once you started sucking face with your wife here.”

  “Tom,” Cary says smoothly. He holds his hand out. “Tom Bolton.” I’m pleased he remembers his name this time around. She takes his hand. Honestly, she’s acting like she’s just met Justin Timberlake.

  While she pumps him for pretty much every detail about his life, I walk away from the counter and place my bags down, looking at some of the lovebirds in the lobby right now. Kiki and Dan are nowhere to be seen.

  “No.”

  I jump at the sound of Oliver’s voice, feeling something in my stomach clench. I turn to see that the door is open a crack to the back office, behind the reception desk. It sounds like Oliver is talking to someone on the phone.

  “Would you let me alone? I know all of this. I just have to catch them.” Catch who? “Oh, sod off,” he says, sounding really angry at whoever he is talking to. A loud clang implies he ended that phone call pretty abruptly.

  I walk quickly back toward Cary, who is telling Polly about what it’s like to be an investment banker.

  After a moment, Oliver walks out of a back room looking very upset. I can see his jaw clenching and he runs a hand through his hair, trying to regain his composure. When he notices me, he stops in his tracks, his mouth falling open slightly. We just look at each other – in his eyes, I see it. Clear as day. He’s onto me. And he’s not stupid. He’ll catch me in my lie. It’s just a matter of time. And who knows what kind of trouble I’ll get in? I mean, is what I’m doing considered identity theft? I’m not sure.

  I wonder how well London Lucy can handle jail.

  he flat is all dressed for the holidays. Cary and I made sure to cover all the essentials: a colorful wreath hangs on the door, white twinkling lights trace the perimeter of the room, and a small, sorry-looking build-a-tree stands pathetically by the window. Plus, of course, mistletoe! After all, we are supposed to be honeymooners. Looking at this veritable winter wonderland, I almost forget that I’m a thousand miles from home this Christmas. Almost.

  “I’m going to see Anne for a bit,” Cary says, stepping out of the bathroom, clean-shaven and freshly showered. “To give her her Christmas gift. I forgot to give it to her earlier.”

  “Okay,” I say.

  He bends down, kisses my cheek and smiles. “Bye, darling.”

  I roll my eyes. “So long, sweetheart,” I reply, before closing the door.

  I turn, facing the empty room and think about what I can do to kill time. If I were at home, I would still be sleeping, Ricky snuggled up against me. And then I’d wake up and head over to the house I grew up in. Slowly the house would fill to the brim while Burl Ives and Brenda Lee crooned Christmas favorites in the background. It’s the same every year.

  Except this year.

  Okay, festively decorated or not, I can’t be here right now. I need a distraction. I grab my coat and leave the room quickly.

  Stepping into the lobby, I spot Oliver, doing what he does best. Sitting at a desk, pretending to read a magazine but totally people watching in that Barnaby Jones way of his.

  I take a deep breath for confidence and head his way purposefully. He’s as good a distraction as any. Feeling annoyed is better than feeling sad, any day.

  Oliver looks perfectly shocked as I approach him. And why not? Normally I speed walk past his desk, a hand cupping the side of my face.

  “Miss Gray,” he says, collecting himself and pushing his chair back.

  “Merry Christmas Eve, Oliver,” I say. “So, you seem to like coffee.” I admit it sounds random. He has every right to blink at me several times, confused about where I could be going with such a statement.

  “Sure.” He sits forward, crossing his arms, looking interested in the very least.

  “So how about it? You. Me. Coffee. At a London coffee house, since it was brought to my attention that we are in England, not America. You know what? We can go to your favorite coffee house.”

  “And here I thought you hated me, that spending time in my company would be physically painful,” he says, even as he stands and grabs his coat.

  “Well, it’s that charitable time of year.”

  “I see.” I follow him toward the door, and glance over to the reception area where Geoff is eyeing us suspiciously.

  “Don’t you have to tell anyone that you’re going?” I ask.

  In lieu of an answer, he opens the door, gesturing politely for me to go before him.

  “Oh, that’s right. Your dad owns this love nest,” I say before walking out.

  He smiles reticently at that, but bites his tongue.

  As we head down Kensington High, I feel more confident with Oliver already. Apparently my reinvention with Cary worked like a charm. Maybe it’s the new London Lucy wear. I’m keeping warm with my new deep green wool sweater, with a sailor collar and festive threads of silver strewn into the fabric. The silence isn’t uncomfortable, which surprises me. Oliver is walking, hands in pocket, a thoughtful look on his face.

  Why isn’t he with his family today?

  After a couple of blocks, he indicates that we are at the coffee shop. I immediately realize that it’s Hugging Mugs, the place I’d discovered the other day.

  “I love this place,” I say, happily walking in.

  “You know it?”

  “I’m full of surprises, aren’t I?”

  He shakes his head, looking a
bit taken aback, but smiling. He still says nothing. I stop to look closely at him. His usual arrogant face now appears sullen and pained, like he has the weight of the world on his shoulders.

  We order our drinks and he pays, which I wasn’t expecting. I thank him for the surprisingly kind gesture. After we take a seat he looks out the window. He scans the street, almost like he’s looking for someone.

  “You are a complete mystery to me,” I say finally.

  He shoots me the half-smile I am growing accustomed to. “Nonsense.” He sips his latte and shrugs at me casually. “I’m an open book,” he says.

  “I don’t even know your last name.”

  He shrugs. “Maybe I haven’t got one. Like Madonna and Cher.”

  “Ciccone and LaPierre.”

  He looks at me blankly.

  “Madonna Ciccone and Cher LaPierre.” I think for a moment and add, “Actually, Cherilyn Sarkisian LaPierre Bono Allman.” He stares at me, wide-eyed.

  “I’m a big fan. I’ve been to all her farewell concerts.”

  He laughs at that. “I can see why she opted for just Cher.”

  “Everyone has a last name,” I press.

  He looks down. I can see a muscle in his jaw clenching, like he’s trying to maintain control of himself – or the conversation. “Burke,” he finally utters. He looks back at me. “Satisfied?”

  “Oliver Burke.”

  “Do you approve?”

  “It’s a nice name.” I lean forward and drop my voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I think it should be used for good, not evil.”

  He seems amused, but still, as usual, says nothing. The man really keeps a tight lid on his thoughts.

  Maybe he just needs prodding. “So, do you like working at your dad’s hotel?”

  His smile fades so fast, I almost wonder if it was there to begin with.