The alarm went off. Mary's hand darted out to silence it. As it did every morning, her mind ran through what she had to do that day. With a groan, she buried her face in her pillow, throwing the duvet over her head.
After yesterday's briefing, today was the day she was going to meet her new, pre-assigned boyfriend. The closer the idea came to being a reality, the weirder it seemed. She'd tried to explain to her few close friends how it was going to work, but soon realised that she still didn't quite know herself.
Matthew, on the other side of London in his modest studio apartment, had much the same feelings. His mother hadn't been pleased with the strategy at all, but her husband had tried to convince her that it was for the good of the country – in an indirect way, at least – and that had somewhat appealed to her humanitarian nature. The one thing that Matthew clung onto was the fact that this 'relationship' was merely temporary. Given how quickly things had been moving in the political world recently, he was hoping that a month at most would suffice. After all, if people gave up caring about celebrity marriages after a few weeks, then why would they remain interested in a pseudo-political romance for any longer than a month?
Yes, this would all blow over in a couple of weeks, tops. And then his life could return to normal, he thought, slipping on his Converse before leaving the small flat.
...
"He's late." Mary complained drily, leaning back in her chair. "What happens if he turns up late for all our fake dates? It won't be very convincing, will it?"
"People in real relationships turn up late to events too, you know." Nigel retorted casually, although he was pacing up and down in front of the window. He was keenly awaiting Matthew's arrival so that this ingenious plan of his could commence. "Ah, here he is!" He exclaimed, rushing to the door.
With a sigh, Mary reluctantly dragged herself to her feet. She'd been hoping this guy wouldn't turn up and then they could call the whole thing off. She automatically smoothed her hands over her dress and bounced her hair to give it volume, although she didn't know why she bothered. It's not as if she was eager to impress this nobody. He was an accountant, for heaven's sake! He'd barely even been photographed during the election campaign – an indication of his innately boring nature, she guessed – so she wasn't sure what he looked like. Nigel and Eric had assured her that he was attractive, but of course they had a vested interest in her being amenable to 'Operation Brangelina', as the spin doctors had dubbed it this morning. Apparently, the combination of Mary and Matthew would prove as potent in the political realm as the pairing of Hollywood's most famous couple. Needless to say, Mary's eyes practically rolled themselves out of her head when she heard this.
Matthew walked up to the back door to Robert Crawley's house. Former house, in fact. Robert and Cora Crawley had moved into 10 Downing Street the previous afternoon. Higher powers had decided that his arrival at the Prime Minister's residence would attract too much attention, given that a swarm of photographers were now permanently parked outside all entrances to the house. Eric had therefore suggested that Matthew arrive through the back entrance to the Crawley family's townhouse in Chelsea, which was now largely neglected as the media presumed the whole family had moved out.
Matthew was rather surprised to be confronted by two middle-aged men as he raised his hand to knock on the door.
"Matthew! Come in!" Eric greeted him enthusiastically, clapping him on the back as if they were old friends.
Nigel similarly smiled broadly at him and shook his hand. "Will your aide be arriving shortly?" He asked, peering behind Matthew to see if Jacob was in tow.
"Er, no, actually. He won't be coming. My father told me to come on my own." He explained. Reginald was determined to keep this business as low-key as possible and had batted away Jacob's arguments that it was a matter for the respective public relations teams to co-ordinate. Let Matthew and Mary arrange it between themselves and then they'll be more comfortable, Reginald had said.
Now, Matthew could see that Robert Crawley's party took a slightly different approach.
"Oh, right. Well, I suppose the National Party like to do things with a bit more decorum." Eric laughed light-heartedly in order to cover up his dig at the Workers' League. Seeing Matthew's unimpressed expression, he continued, "Anyway, all our differences are being put aside now, eh? Let's get down to business."
Matthew winced at his rather crass choice of phrase. For the first time, he noticed Mary Crawley stood a little further inside the room.
Mary had had the advantage of being able to observe Matthew while he was talking to Nigel and Eric, so he wasn't able to see her initial reaction to him. Not that she ever let her thoughts display on her face, mind you. It appeared, however, that this Matthew Crawley fellow was substantially less talented than her at keeping a poker face. As his eyes landed on her, they widened and his mouth dropped open. She smirked internally. At least he realised that he was punching well above his weight in this faux-romance.
He was fairly handsome, she conceded, just not her type at all. She would never be pictured in the papers or magazines with someone like him. He was too...normal looking. Too boy-next-door. Still, at least he wasn't as unattractive as his job suggested he might be.
"So, here we are, then." Nigel had a cheery grin plastered to his face but it was quite clearly devoid of any real cheer. How could anyone be genuinely cheery in such a bizarrely uncomfortable situation? "Mary, this is Matthew." He gestured needlessly towards Matthew, pausing as he expected Mary to say something in greeting. She didn't. "Matthew, Mary." He added for the sake of having something to say.
Awkwardly, Matthew approached her, smiling lop-sidedly. He wasn't sure how to greet her – he half-felt like he should kiss her on the cheek but that seemed too forced. The longer he hesitated, the higher Mary's eyebrow raised at him. God, this wasn't a good start. Finally, he opted for a clumsy handshake, which did nothing to bring that judgmental eyebrow of hers back down.
After all the fuss about photoshopping that he'd read about, he'd been certain that the various pictures of Mary that he'd seen had been altered to flatter her. Now he realised that they actually didn't do her justice. She hadn't even said anything to him yet but she had an air about her that he'd not come across before. It was elegant and refined, which made sense, he supposed, in light of her background. There was something else there too, though, that he couldn't quite place a finger on...
"Nice of you to dress up for the occasion." Mary's first words to him dripped with practiced sarcasm. Her eyes slowly and deliberately travelled over him, and he was suddenly terribly conscious of his un-branded polo shirt, slightly faded dark jeans and battered Converse shoes.
Ah yes, he realised. That's what else is in her air. Arrogance.
Nigel and Eric forced amused laughs out of their mouths in order to diffuse the tension in the room. "She's a sharp one, this one." Eric nodded his head towards Mary, who promptly shot a glare at him. Eric cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Right, well, I suppose we should leave you to it."
Again, Matthew winced. What exactly did these aides expect him and Mary to 'get down to'? What was the 'it' that they were being left to?
"Mary, you have our numbers if you need us." Nigel said, although he also seemed unsure of what questions he could possibly be asked.
This whole scenario was very, very strange.
The two men had exited the house, leaving the young couple stood opposite each other in total silence. Matthew wanted to say something but could think of literally nothing. He glanced around for inspiration. He looked at the plush furnishings. He looked at the ornate chandelier hanging from the high ceiling. He looked at the mahogany cabinet. "Erm," He said, to pierce the deafening silence. He noticed a framed picture on the wall of Mary with her parents at her graduation from university. "That's a nice picture – what was your degree in?" He asked politely.
"Don't act like you're even remotely interested in my life." Came the cutting reply.
Matthew turned to her sharply. "I'm sorry?" He asked, thinking he must have misheard her.
"The only reason you're here is because your father ordered you to be. And guess what? The only reason I'm here is because my father ordered me to be."
Her bluntness was, frankly, quite startling. Matthew had expected some niceties, at least. After all, from what he'd heard, this woman had been to finishing school and had dined with the Royal family on several occasions.
"So please, let's not try to pretend that we actually give a damn about each other's lives or personalities. I don't want this stupid 'Operation Brangelina' thing to interfere with my life any more than it absolutely needs to." Mary finished, crossing her arms.
"'Operation Brangelina'?" Matthew asked, confused.
"Yes, that's what they're calling it in Downing Street now." Mary replied, rolling her eyes at the memory of it. "They think that our 'relationship' will do for British politics what Brad and Angelina did for Hollywood – provide it with 'a sense of security and glamour', or some nonsense." She quoted Nigel's earlier explanation.
Matthew couldn't help but laugh at this. Mary's face remained as hard as stone. "Come on," he appealed, "I find this situation as odd as you do, but you've got to have a sense of humour about it."
"Do I?" Mary questioned. "I don't see what's so humorous about my life being used as a pawn in my Dad's workplace."
"Your Dad's 'workplace' is the government of the United Kingdom." Matthew remarked. "It's hardly a normal environment. These peculiar PR strategies are bound to pop up every now and then."
"I'm sure you're the expert on what's 'normal'." Mary said with a hint of disdain, purposefully glancing at his muddy shoes again.
"Yes, well...you must be the one who's providing the 'glamour'." He eyed her expensive-looking day dress and heels. "I must be the one providing the 'security'." He said, attempting to be light-hearted, although her insulting attitude was beginning to get under his skin.
"I certainly agree with your first statement." Mary said as if it was the most obvious fact in the world. "But why is it impossible that I would provide security too?"
"Because from all accounts you're quite fickle when it comes to men." Matthew blurted out before he realised what he was saying. He immediately regretted it, seeing Mary's stunned expression. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that-"
"Do you believe everything you read in the papers, Matthew?" Mary asked, her voice as cold as ice. "Are you one of those gossip-mongerers who enjoys reading character attacks on young females in the media, and judges them without even knowing them?"
"You want to talk about judging someone without even knowing them?" Matthew snapped back, really quite annoyed by this woman, "You've clearly already decided that you're above me just because I have muddy shoes! It's raining outside, for Christ's sake!" He cried defensively and gestured outside the window, where it was in fact perfectly sunny. "At least, it was when I got the bus over here..." He said awkwardly.
"You haven't answered my question." Mary persisted.
"What does it matter even if I do believe the stories about you, hm?" Matthew challenged. "I thought it didn't matter whether we knew each other's personalities or not."
"Alright, fine." Mary said assertively, holding her hands up as if to put a stop to this conversation. Some part of her brain acknowledged that she had been as judgmental of Matthew as he had been of her, and that she couldn't be angry at him without being hypocritical. Yet, the larger part of her brain made a distinction between her judgments, which had been borne of nothing but meeting him in person, and his judgments, which had been borne of what the media had been saying about her. To her, the latter seemed much worse. Nevertheless, she didn't feel it was worth wasting her time with this man. Not right now, anyway. She had a lunch to attend in Mayfair in an hour's time. "Let's just forget about all of that and focus on what we're meant to be doing?"
Matthew began to nod in agreement until he realised he didn't know what she was talking about. "Um, what exactly are we meant to be doing?" He hadn't been informed of any particular purpose to this meeting other than introducing themselves.
Patience wearing thin, Mary huffed. "So you turn up twenty minutes late and you don't even know why you came here?"
"Look, I'm sorry, but the bus was late and then there was an accident at the roundabout-" Matthew began.
"It doesn't matter." Mary waved her hand to get him to stop. She had no experience of travelling on buses and she wasn't in the least bit curious about the obstacles that face its passengers. "I'll fill you in on why we're here, Matthew, seeing as your team aren't organised enough to do it themselves." Matthew tensed at her under-hand jibe. He, alongside their millions of supporters, was worried about whether this coalition was workable, as the National Party was known for looking down their noses at the Workers' League. The National Party were for the landed classes, the nobility. The Workers' League were for the people who worked on the land, the labourers. It seemed not much had changed, at least in Mary Crawley's eyes.
"It isn't our fault if your team make decisions without taking the courtesy of telling us about them." Matthew said, determined to make it clear that he wasn't going to tolerate anyone treating his father's party as inferior.
"We're supposed to practice kissing."
Mary had ignored his comment and simultaneously rendered him speechless.
"We...er...I – what?" Matthew spluttered.
Mary rolled her eyes dramatically and put her hands on her hips. God help Great Britain if this is what half the government was going to be like. "Do you at least know about the event we're supposed to be attending tomorrow night?" She laced her words with as much condescension as she could muster.
That rang a bell. "Oh yeah, the fundraiser for the victims of the floods in Somerset?"
"Well done." Mary replied sarcastically. "Our genius strategists have decided that we have to turn up together and make some sort of public display of affection to announce our relationship to the world."
"So several hundred people either die or lose their homes in a natural disaster and we're using it as an opportunity to make out in front of some cameras?" Matthew frowned. Politics was dirtier than he'd thought.
"Apparently so, yes." Mary said impatiently. "Anyway, we're supposed to practice how we're going to kiss so that it will seem natural when the time comes."
Matthew shifted awkwardly on the spot. At twenty-six years old, he still grew nervous when kissing women for the first time. And the women he usually kissed were far less hostile than the one stood before him, looking at him expectantly.
"Alright." He said with more confidence than he felt. Seeing that she was waiting for him to make the first move, he slowly approached her. She straightened up and tilted her head upwards slightly. As he drew closer, she noticed a layer of stubble on his jaw. Her instinctive reaction was that he hadn't even bothered to shave this morning, but then she thought that it lent him a more rugged look than she'd first seen in him. "Is this OK?" He asked quietly. They were now only inches apart, and he had just placed one hand lightly on her waist.
"Hm." Mary assented, suddenly taken by how startlingly blue his eyes were. He was really quite good looking, on closer inspection. Maddeningly unrefined and judgmental, but still good looking.
"OK...well...I'll kiss you, then." Matthew swallowed, his heart pounding against his chest with nerves. His brain told him he was being an idiot – he didn't need her to enjoy this kiss. In fact, after all the insults she'd thrown his way, he didn't want to provide her with any pleasure at all. Still, he didn't want to confirm her opinion that he was an uncouth bore.
Just as he started leaning in, increasingly aware of her fragrant, feminine scent and how pink and soft her lips looked, she leaned back marginally. "No tongue." She ordered quietly.
Now he rolled his eyes. "I'm not planning on making this any saucier than kissing my Aunt Elizabeth, don't worry." He replied drolly.
He licked his lips before leaning back in again, and Mary felt herself heat up ever so slightly. It had been a while since someone had kissed her, she told herself. That's all it was. The anticipation built up between them, and she closed her eyes in preparation.
Matthew quickly dipped his head and barely pressed his lips against hers before backing away.
Mary was staring at him incredulously. "What the hell was that?"
"A kiss!" Matthew said defensively. "What was wrong with it?"
"Number one: if any of the photographers blink they would all miss it. It needs to last more than a nano-second so that it can actually be photographed, Matthew. Otherwise what's the point? Number two: we're supposed to be boyfriend and girlfriend. Not a couple of pigeons pecking at each other."
There was that bloody infuriating patronising tone again. Let's just get this over with, Matthew thought. He didn't want to be in her presence much longer.
He stepped towards her again, this time firmly placing both hands on her waist before bowing his head.
His lips froze for a moment, simply pressed against hers, before they started to move slowly. They were soft, and gentle, and Mary felt herself leaning in to him as his hands moved along her waist. She reached a hand up to grasp his shoulder while the other touched his neck. Their lips captured each other and glided together for a while – a relatively long while, which Matthew realised in the recesses of his brain. He pulled away.
He was surprised to see Mary's eyes were still closed for a second or two after the kiss had ended. It made him feel rather smug. She'd been enjoying it.
"Will that do?" He asked, now with genuine confidence as he observed the rose-coloured flush on her cheeks.
"It was a little long." Mary said, clearing her throat. Thank goodness she'd inherited her father's political ability to recover quickly in the face of embarrassment. She deliberately made her tone accusatory, as if implying that Matthew had taken liberties by kissing her for longer than he needed to.
The small smirk that had graced Matthew's lips now fell. "You should have pulled away, then." He bit back.
"I tried to but you were clamping my waist too tightly." Mary remarked, smiling to herself as Matthew's ears grew pink. In truth, she could have easily moved if she'd wanted to, but Matthew's grip on her had tightened as the kiss went on so she chose to blame her immobility on him.
"How short does the kiss need to be?" Matthew decided to brush over her comment.
"Somewhere in between the two we just did."
"OK..." Matthew wasn't sure if he was supposed to try again, or rely solely on her verbal instructions now that they'd already done it. Mary wasn't giving him any indication either way, so he decided to go for it. He hoped that he'd get it right this time and then he could leave. He had some tax returns to do.
His hand brushed against her waist again and he angled his head. Mary automatically placed her hand back on his neck and angled her head the other way. Perhaps this 'practicing' idea was worthwhile – they already seemed more comfortable with each other. His lips captured her bottom lip before releasing it slowly and capturing her top lip, then pulling away. It was a much sweeter kiss, and Mary almost tutted in annoyance at the faint goosebumps she could feel on the back of her neck. It was just her monthly hormones, that was all.
"That was better." Mary said after they straightened up, adopting a more business-like manner.
"Cool." Matthew said as casually as he could.
"I think you're supposed to meet me here at 7pm tomorrow and we'll travel together in a cab. Don't be late again." She said pointedly.
"I won't be." Matthew said firmly, his prior irritation beginning to re-emerge. He had to leave this woman before he developed the urge to punch a wall. "I'll see you then. Enjoy the rest of your day." He threw over his shoulder as he turned to leave.
"You too." Mary returned with no sincerity whatsoever. It was only once Matthew had closed the door behind him and she tried to move that she realised her legs felt slightly weak.
A/N: thoughts, please! I loved hearing your responses to the first chapter, thank you so much. I have no idea how long or short this story will be so I would really appreciate some more reviews! Thanks for reading xxx