A five star honeymoon in Rome – what more could a girl want?

In Amy’s case, a husband might come in handy … but, with the cost of a cancelled wedding to mop up and no chance of a refund on the honeymoon, she’s jetting off to bask in the Italian sunshine alone.

Except no one seems willing to leave her alone. If it’s not nosy hotel guests, it’s famous movie stars desperate to exchange suites. How’s a girl supposed to wallow in misery when, under protest, she’s dragged off to shop till she drops, or to film premieres or intimate picnics à deux?

But why was the wedding called off? Where is the absent groom? And can movie stars really fall in love with the girl next door?

You’d be mad to miss out on this Roman holiday …

'Amy's Honeymoon is as perfect summer read, guaranteed to lift the mood'
Easy Living

'A splendid romp...plenty of delicious shopping, food & Roman delights to season the fast-paced story line.A great light read; pack this one for the beach' 
She

'A perfect beach read'
Elle

Extract from Amy’s Honeymoon by Julia Llewellyn

Chapter One

At eight in the morning, the tired-looking woman at the British Airways check-in desk barely glanced at Amy which was probably just as well because she would have thought her a complete divot for wearing sunglasses indoors.

‘Flying to?’ She yawned, scanning Amy’s passport through the machine.

‘Rome,’ Amy said.

A misty-eyed look came into the woman’s eyes. ‘Rome,’ she breathed, looking up. ‘Have you been there before?’

Amy removed her wraparounds. ‘No, never.’

‘You’ll love it.’ She looked away, smiling at some distant memory. Then looked back at her computer. ‘Oh, there’s a note here says it’s your honeymoon! I can’t think of a more romantic place to go.’

‘Really?’ Amy said, trying to stop her voice from wobbling.

‘Really. Before we were married, when I was working short haul, my husband and I used to snatch weekends there. Before the kids came...’ She smiled again, more ruefully now. ‘Enjoy yourself while you can, that’s what I say. Don’t be in too much of a rush to start a family Mrs...’ She peered at the name on the
screen. ‘Oh, I’m sorry! Doctor Fraser.’ Then, suddenly snapping out of her reverie, she grew business-like. ‘Now. Then. So. Where is the lucky Mr Fraser?’

Amy had been rehearsing the line all the way to the airport. ‘He’s on his way. Something... came up he had to deal with. He’s going to catch me up.’

‘Oh dear,’ said the check-in woman. ‘You poor love. When was the wedding, then?’

‘Yesterday. There was a problem with paying the caterers. He had to deal with it. So, like I said, he’s going to catch me up.’ Amy’s phone bleeped in her bag. Her heart leaped as she whipped it out, then plummeted like a diver from an Acapulco cliff as she saw the name Gaby on the text envelope.

How are you? she read. Immediately she deleted it.

‘That was him,’ she told the woman, who was looking increasingly curious. ‘He’ll be about half an hour.’

‘He’ll be cutting it very fine,’ she said severely, then seeing Amy’s tense face she softened, like butter in the sun. ‘Ah, bless. Don’t worry. He’ll make it.’ She tapped something into her computer, looked up and winked. ‘Bet he’ll be chuffed when he finds out he’s flying club class.’ The printer whirred and Amy’s boarding pass chugged out. The woman grinned as she scribbled on a card. ‘And here’s a pass to the lounge, so you can wait for him in style. Have a glass of champagne – though you probably had enough yesterday, judging from those circles under your eyes.’

Just a week ago if you’d told Amy this would happen, she would have shrieked with delight. Gaby had told her exactly how to behave to get an upgrade and for years she’d followed those instructions to the letter: dressing smartly, hinting to the check-in staff she was a VIP, not demanding a low-calorie halal meal. But she had never had a result until now. And now they could have packed her in a crate in the hold with a gorilla on heat for all Amy cared.

‘Thank you,’ she managed.

‘It’s my pleasure. Aah. Have a brilliant time. And don’t worry. Even if he does miss the flight we can put him on the next one. Enjoy Rome. Don’t forget to throw a coin in the Trevi fountain, then you’ll be sure to return.’

She asked a couple of questions about the contents of Amy’s luggage and did she pack the bag herself, and for once Amy felt no compulsion to say, ‘No my Afghan cousin did and actually, yes, he asked me to carry a few parcels for him and now you mention it I did hear a strange ticking.’ So the lady waved Amy off with several more entreaties to enjoy.

All about her, squabbling families were gathered round overladen trolleys. Businessmen and women pushed through them, moving unnaturally fast as if their mechanisms had jammed on the wrong setting. Amy glanced at her watch. A whole hour and a half until take off. A week ago, she would have been beside herself at the prospect of all these duty-free shops to browse in and the free champagne and canapés waiting for her in the lounge. Now all she wanted was to find an empty toilet cubicle
and hide.

‘You’re going to drink champagne,’ she told herself, ‘because it’s your honeymoon.’

Then she headed straight for the ladies, found an empty cubicle, sat down and cried.

‘I can’t go, I can’t,’ she moaned softly.

Someone knocked on the door. ‘Are you all right in there?’ Whoever it was sounded more outraged than sympathetic.

‘Fine, thanks,’ Amy shouted, over-shrilly. ‘Just got... something in my eye.’

She didn’t have to go. She could go back to the Heathrow Express, get on a train and be home again in an hour and a half. She could hole up there, ordering in meals, growing her hair down to her ankles and spending the rest of her life like a Howard Hughes recluse. Except she couldn’t, because in two weeks she’d have to return to work or she’d lose her job and then she wouldn’t be able to pay the mortgage and she’d be homeless. And, anyway, Doug still lived there...

Her phone began ringing. Snuffling, she snatched it again from her bag. It would be him, it had to be. But, oh no, Mum and Dad. She’d better answer it, she supposed, they were having a tough enough time without her disappearing.

‘Hello.’

‘Amy?’ came two voices in stereo. ‘How are you, sweetie?’

‘Where are you?’ ‘Are you with Doug?’ ‘What’s going on, sweetie?’

‘I’m at the airport.’

‘The airport?’ Dad exclaimed as Mum asked. ‘What on earth are you doing there?’

‘I’m going on honeymoon.’

‘On honeymoon?’ Mum gasped as Dad interrupted, ‘But Amy, you’re not married.’

‘Well...’

‘You and Doug made it up?’ Her mother sounded so hopeful,

Amy couldn’t bear it.

‘Um.’

Her tone changed from anxious to suspicious. ‘You haven’t gone and got married behind our backs, have you?’ Her father chipped in, ‘Oh, Amy, you know how much I wanted to walk you up the aisle.’

‘No, don’t worry. There hasn’t been a wedding. I just need to get away for a bit.’

‘But, Amy, love,’ said Mum, sounding utterly bewildered, ‘I don’t understand, aren’t you going to tell us what happened? Granny’s so upset. You know how much she loves a knees-up.’

Amy couldn’t stand this conversation. Her family had always wanted so much for her, she hated to let them down. ‘Not now, Mum, my flight’s being called. I’ll be in touch. Bye.’

She sat for a minute on the loo seat, listening to the chatter of other travellers. ‘So I need to buy some deodorant.’ ‘Hurry up, we must get some euros before we board.’ ‘Hi, sorry, signal’s terrible... Yeah, yeah, I’m on my way to Zurich. No, I’ll be back tomorrow. Yeah, meeting. I know, boring as shit but it’s got to be
done.’

It’s got to be done.

Inhaling deeply, Amy stood up. Her legs felt as if they were full of San Pellegrino. She unlocked the door. Even though she hadn’t peed, she went to the basin and washed her hands like the conscientious doctor she was. Puffy eyes stared back at her from the mirror, under perfectly plucked brows and navy-tinted lashes. She’d been so organized, getting them done a week in advance in case of any allergic reaction just like Brides magazine advised.

‘It’s got to be done,’ she said aloud this time, making the woman standing next to her in a head-to-toe hijab jump.

Then she walked out of the toilets, pushed her way through a gaggle of noisy Lithuanian pensioners on their way home after a cultural exchange and followed the signs to departures.