Honeymoon with the Boss

‘I suppose not. God, what a mess!’

Tom cast a glance at the old man, who smiled encouragingly and beckoned them closer.

‘What are we going to do?’ asked Imogen in an urgent undertone.

‘We’d better bluff it out,’ Tom decided. ‘It’s too difficult to try and explain now. You’re sure it’s not a legal ceremony?’

‘It’s just symbolic.’

‘There you are,’ he said, taking her arm. ‘It won’t mean anything. Better five minutes of mumbo-jumbo than half an hour of awkward explanations.’

‘I don’t know…’ Imogen hung back, not at all convinced, but Tom was urging her forwards and suddenly she was looking into the old man’s face. It was very calm, and his eyes were wise.

‘Your name?’ he asked her, gesturing her into the circle.

‘Imogen.’

‘And Tom,’ Tom supplied quickly before he was asked and stepped into the circle facing Imogen.

The celebrant nodded. ‘You have come to celebrate your love for each other?’

‘Er…yes.’

If he was surprised at their hesitation, he didn’t show it. ‘There are just the two of you. That is good,’ he said. ‘This is about you and no one else. This is your circle. Stand inside it, share it. It binds you together. It represents oneness-your oneness with each other and with the earth. It represents your love.’

Imogen bit her lip. It felt all wrong to be deceiving him, but it was too late to go back now. It didn’t mean anything, she tried to remind herself, but as the old man’s gentle words of blessing fell, an invisible net seemed to drop over the circle where she and Tom stood in the sand, drawing the two of them tighter and tighter together and cutting off the rest of the world.

The sun was setting fire to the sea that stretched all around the sandbar. It was an extraordinary, dream-like feeling to stand there in that blazing golden light, to be astonishingly aware of the soft white sand beneath her feet, and of Tom’s hands holding hers in a warm, strong clasp.

Imogen didn’t want to look at Tom, but she couldn’t tear her eyes from his and she found herself hanging on to his hands as if he was all that could keep her anchored in reality.

The ceremony was very simple, and very moving. Held by the silver of Tom’s eyes, Imogen heard the old man talking about love, about commitment, about finding completeness together, and every word seemed right.

‘Imogen,’ he finished at last, ‘is this man, Tom, the man you love?’

She swallowed. ‘Yes,’ she said huskily, and her heart rang with the knowledge that it was true.

‘Tom, is this woman, Imogen, the woman you love?’

Tom’s voice was steadier than hers. ‘Yes.’

‘Imogen, take Tom’s heart, hold it safe. And, Tom, take the heart Imogen gives you and cherish it. Love each other, be true to each other, find peace in each other. Find joy in each other always.’

Ridiculously, Imogen felt her eyes sting with tears. ‘I will.’

‘I will,’ said Tom after the barest of pauses.

‘Promise this with a kiss.’

Imogen’s eyes locked with Tom’s. She saw something flare in the silver depths, and her breath caught.

He was going to kiss her. Of course he was going to kiss her. He had no choice but to kiss her.

At last-at last!-he was going to kiss her.

The corners of Tom’s mouth turned up very slightly as he let go of Imogen’s hands to cup her face between his palms.

‘I promise,’ he said softly, so softly that she wondered if she was even supposed to hear it, and then his mouth touched hers.

His lips weren’t cool at all. They were warm and firm and sure and so wickedly exciting that Imogen gave a tiny gasp, taken unawares by the intensity of the response that rocketed through her.

Tom’s hands drifted down to slide beneath her hair so that he could cup her head and deepen his kiss, and Imogen’s world dissolved into giddy delight as she let herself kiss him back the way she had so longed to do. Leaning into him, she slipped her arms around his waist and held tight to the sweetness of the moment.

It might turn out to be a mistake, she knew, but right then it felt utterly right and she murmured an inarticulate protest when Tom reluctantly broke the kiss and lifted his head.

Both of them had forgotten the old man, who was still standing there, watching them with a faint smile. Still reeling from the kiss they had shared, they barely noticed as he deftly looped their wrists together with a knotted twine made from shredded leaves.

He made a beautiful gesture with his hands. ‘It is done,’ he said simply and stepped back. ‘You are bound together, and now you are one.’

‘What have we done?’

All smiles, Ali had escorted them back to the dhoni, where Imogen had been greeted with a garland made of frangipani flowers. The heady fragrance was making her feel slightly sick as she and Tom were left alone in the prow at last. Or perhaps it was the way her senses were still spinning from the realisation of how much she loved him?

How much, and how hopelessly.

Now, as the sails unfurled and the boat dipped gently into the swell, Imogen held onto the rail, afraid that her trembling legs wouldn’t hold her up any longer.

‘We haven’t done anything,’ said Tom, unfastening the twine around their wrists. He hesitated, just for a moment, and then dropped it into the sea. ‘It was a ritual,’ he said. ‘It didn’t mean anything.’

Imogen watched the loop disappear and wanted to cry. It hadn’t felt meaningless. ‘We made promises,’ she said with difficulty.

Tom looked away. She was right. And wasn’t he the one who prided himself on always keeping his promises?

It had been the strangest of experiences, standing in that circle with Imogen. He had been feeling exasperated at the whole muddle, Tom remembered, but the moment he’d taken her hands and looked into those blue, blue eyes an inexplicable sense of relief had swept over him, as if, without knowing quite how it had happened, he’d found himself at exactly the right place at exactly the right time, doing just what he’d needed to do.

And then he had kissed her, and her sweetness had made him reel. The taste of her, the feel of her, the softness of her lips and the silkiness of her hair around his hands was still thrumming through him, beating insistently along his veins and making him feel…what? Edgy? Apprehensive? Excited?

Surely not.

‘It wasn’t real,’ he said, wishing he didn’t sound so much as if he were trying to convince himself. ‘We’re not really married.’

They couldn’t be married. Neither of them wanted to be married. It was ridiculous to think anything had happened on that sandbar.

‘No, of course not.’ Imogen mustered a smile. ‘I can hardly believe it actually happened, to tell you the truth. It was like a dream.’

‘This whole week has been like a dream,’ said Tom, coming to join her at the rail. ‘It’s as if we’re in a kind of bubble with no connection to life at home.’

She nodded. ‘Yes, that’s exactly what it feels like.’ She managed another smile, a better one this time. ‘It’s going to be a shock to wake up when we go home!’

‘We don’t have to wake up just yet.’ Succumbing to temptation, Tom took Imogen’s hands and turned her gently to face him. ‘We could keep the dream going a little bit longer.’

His fingers were warm and persuasive around hers, and Imogen felt dizzy at his nearness again. ‘The dream?’ she croaked.

‘That we’re here because we want to be together,’ he said. ‘We both know it’s not true, and that it couldn’t last even if it were. As soon as we get back to London, everything will be different. The dream will be over. We won’t be able to get it back, and we won’t want to.’

Was he making any sense? Tom wondered. He wasn’t sure if he understood himself what he was trying to say to Imogen, and part of him was already wondering if he was making the most terrible mistake. But another,