Free Honeymoon in Paris: A Novella by Jojo Moyes Page B

the ceiling, which was white and as crisply ornate as a wedding cake. ‘What? Even though I’m ridiculously impulsive and my impulses are not to be trusted?’
    ‘Yes! I wish I was more impulsive. I would have married Andrew when he asked me and I’d probably be living in Spain now instead of stuck here in this office wondering whether I can sneak off at twenty to five to get my car tax sorted. Anyway – Oh, God, I’ve got to go. Besley’s just walked into the Ladies.’ Her voice lifts, changes tone. ‘Of course, Mrs Halston. Thank you so much for calling. I’m sure we’ll speak soon.’
    Liv rings off, just as David returns. He is carrying a box of chocolates from Patrick Roger.
    ‘What’s this?’
    ‘Supper. They’re bringing up some champagne to go with it.’
    She cackles with delight, pulls the wrapper off the beautiful pale turquoise box, pops one into her mouth and closes her eyes. ‘Oh, my God, these are amazing. What with these and tomorrow’s posh lunch I’m going to go home the size of a house.’
    ‘I cancelled the lunch.’
    Liv looks up. ‘But I said I –’
    David shrugs. ‘No. You were right. No more work. Some things should be sacred.’
    She pops another chocolate into her mouth, holds the box towards him. ‘Oh, David … I’m starting to think I overreacted.’ The afternoon, with its feverish pitch of emotion, seems so long ago. She feels as if they have been married a lifetime since.
    He pulls his shirt over his head. ‘You didn’t. You had every right to expect my full attention on our honeymoon. I’m sorry. I guess – I guess I’ve got to learn to remember there are two of us now, not just me.’
    And there he is again. The man she had fallen in love with.
My husband
. She is suddenly almost incandescent with lust.
    He sits down beside her, and she slides over to him while he keeps talking. ‘You want to hear the irony? I rang the Goldsteins from downstairs and I took a deep breath and I explained that I was very sorry but I couldn’t take any more time out this week, as this was actually my honeymoon.’
    ‘And?’
    ‘And they were absolutely furious with me.’
    The next chocolate stops halfway to her lips. Her heart sinks. ‘Oh, God – I’m sorry.’
    ‘Yup, properly furious. They asked me what on earth I thought I was doing, leaving my new wife alone to discuss business matters. “This is no bloody way to start a marriage,” I quote.’ He gives her a sideways grin.
    ‘I always liked the sound of those Goldsteins,’ she says, popping the chocolate into his mouth.
    ‘They said it was a one-off, a time of our lives that I’d never get back.’
    ‘I think I might even love them.’
    ‘You’re going to love them even more in a minute.’ He stands and walks over to the french windows onto the balcony, throwing them open. The evening sun streams into the little room, while below them the sounds of the rue des Francs Bourgeois, teeming with tourists and lazy shoppers, fills the room. He pulls off his shoes and socks and his trousers and sits down on the bed, turning to her. ‘They said they felt partly responsible for dragging me away. So, they’ve offered us the use of their suite in the Royal Monceau from tomorrow, to make it up to you. Room service, bath the size of an ocean liner, champagne on tap, absolutely no reason to leave the room whatsoever. For two nights. The reason I was downstairs so long was that I’ve taken a husbandly liberty and changed our return tickets. What do you say?’
    He looks at Liv, and even now there is a hint of uncertainty in his gaze. ‘Obviously it would involve spending a further forty-eight hours with a man who is, according to our friendly local billionaires, a bloody stupid idiot.’
    She regards him steadily. ‘Bloody stupid idiots are my absolute favourite kind of husband.’
    ‘I was so hoping you’d say that.’
    They fall backwards onto the pillows and lie there side by side, their fingers entwined.
    She gazes