The lights flickered in front of his eyes. Dozens of cameras lined up behind a set of railings, aggressive photographers jamming their protruding lenses into whatever gap they could find in order to capture the arrival of the young couple on film. Matthew didn't know where to look.

"What are you doing?" Mary murmured out of the side of her mouth. She somehow managed to say this while maintaining her placid smile, slowly rotating her head from left to right to ensure that each paparazzo received his fair share of her beauty. "Stop scrunching your face up like that."

"The camera flashes are really bright!" Matthew murmured back in his defence. He couldn't understand how she was able to withstand the irregular and overlapping flashes of light without feeling like she was gradually being blinded. Then again, he supposed, she was fairly accustomed to arriving at events by walking down a red carpet between walls of photographers and interviewers.

"For God's sake," she muttered, her smile dropping as the annoyance she felt at him seeped into her expression. "Haven't you ever had your photo taken before? Wait, what am I saying - of course you haven't." She topped off her sarcastic remark with a dazzling smile directed at him for the cameras. Her ability to swap personalities so effortlessly was beginning to alarm Matthew. He'd been about to give her a look to indicate how unamusing he found her comment, when he'd remembered that their every movement was being documented and - as Nigel and co had reminded him numerous times when he'd gone to pick Mary up an hour earlier - all it took was one dodgy-looking photo and the entire plan would be ruined. "Ceaseless romance!" had been the exact order from Eric.

Aside from the fact that he wasn't sure exactly what it meant, it was proving to be an incredibly difficult order to follow. For one thing, Matthew wasn't used to having cameras poised on him at all times or having his behaviour scrutinised so closely, and it was making him hyper-aware of his movements to the point that he couldn't remember how to look natural. The second, more significant obstacle was that Mary was being deliberately obnoxious towards him at every possible opportunity. The entire cab journey had been spent with her either ignoring him in favour of looking out the window or checking her hair, or berating him for not being experienced in making public appearances. He'd tried pointing out that the majority of the United Kingdom lacked such experience, but she didn't seem to think this a valid argument. She'd suggested that, perhaps if he tried to be a more interesting human being, he might gain more attention and therefore skills in handling the media. Matthew had muttered something under his breath about her being a walking stereotype of a socialite and things had gotten even worse. He could be seen as having set her off in the first place, he mused; upon his arrival at her house she'd been finishing off her make-up - he'd remarked off-handedly that he'd been expecting a bevy of coiffeurs and make-up artists to be surrounding her and that he was surprised she was "doing her own special effects". He'd chuckled as he said it, to indicate that he'd been joking, and even added that he thought she looked nice to reinforce the indication. It had fallen flat, however, and he quickly realised that he'd be faced with an irate Mary Crawley for the remainder of the evening.

Back on the red carpet, Matthew slid his arm around her waist in an effort to make themselves look more like a couple. The paparazzi seemed to be eating it up.

Mary flicked her hair over her shoulder as they shuffled down the carpet to pose for the next set of cameras. In all honesty, as irritating as he was, Matthew wasn't doing too badly for his first big public event. She wouldn't ever admit it to him, though. Nor would she ever admit - to anyone - that she'd been left a little breathless when he'd walked into the house to pick her up. He scrubbed up rather well. He'd shaved, his hair was neatly combed and his suit hugged him in all the right places. The suit didn't even look as cheap as she'd expected it to. His insistence on painting her as nothing but a shallow socialite, however, had dashed all hopes he might have had of her being civil to him during the evening. If there was one thing that she hated more than anything else, it was being judged by her looks and her wealth. She'd had to contend with these judgments all her life. She enjoyed looking her best and she enjoyed her status, so she wasn't about to concede either of those facets of her life, but it didn't render it any more justifiable for other people to think that was all there was to her. And if this Matthew Crawley fellow was going to be another one of those people, then she would give as good as she got.

"OK, now kiss me." Mary quietly commanded. They'd reached the entrance to the old hotel where the fundraiser was taking place, and this was where the greatest number of photographers were located.

It took Matthew a few moments to register what she'd said, and Mary had to pinch him hard to evoke a reaction. "Ow! Calm down, I'll kiss you in a second." He replied, frowning at the pain he felt on his waist.

"Stop frowning!" Mary hissed while she smoothed her palm over where she'd just pinched him, as if in a loving caress. She was quite good at this charade, Matthew thought to himself as he tried to style his frown out by coughing and gesturing to his throat. "Well done, very natural." Mary rolled her eyes out of the sight of the cameras. "Just get on with it so we can go inside."

"Fine." Matthew huffed. As they'd practiced the previous day, he settled his hands on her waist, dipped his head to meet hers, and kissed her. It lasted no more than three or four seconds, but it was enough to send the photographers into a frenzy. If he'd thought there'd been lots of camera flashes before... "Good Lord." He breathed, observing the wall of light, from which came a few whoops and cheers from the paparazzi who were glad to have been given some kind of scoop.

"That's our job done, then. Come on." Mary grabbed his hand and tugged him along behind her, into the relative calm of the hall.

"They really fell for that?" Matthew asked, relieved to be marginally less inhibited now that they were inside. There were still cameras around, but only from the BBC and ITV as opposed to sleazy tabloids and gossip magazines. He'd agreed to go along with the whole 'Operation Brangelina' thing, but hadn't really expected it to work. He found himself quite impressed with the respective PR teams that the media did seem genuinely interested in this so-called relationship. "That's good, right? Hopefully it means some of the negative press about the Coalition will begin to settle down now."

"Fat chance." Mary scoffed, grabbing two glasses of champagne from a waiter.

"What do you mean?" Matthew asked, taking one glass from her.

"The media's interest in our 'romance' has no bearing on their doubts in our fathers' politics." She explained, her eyes perusing the room to look for their table. "This might distract them for a while but, fundamentally, if the Coalition isn't strong enough then it won't matter. It's the relationship between Robert Crawley and Reginald Crawley that needs to be convincing, not the one between us."

Matthew looked at her with interest. She did express herself quite eloquently, he noted, and she seemed astute. At least he wasn't stuck spending the evening with an air-head.

"By the way, I think it's ridiculous that our fathers have such similar names. The newspapers are having to use their full names all the time because neither 'Mr Crawley' nor 'R. Crawley' work. Doesn't your father have a middle name he can use instead?" Mary asked, leading the way to their seats.

"Why can't your father use one of his many middle names?" Matthew enquired as he followed behind her. All posh people had about ten names, didn't they?

"Because my father got the most votes." Mary threw back over her shoulder. Matthew rolled his eyes and took his seat next to her.

"Don't we need to mingle, or something?" Matthew asked, looking around the room. Most attendees were stood amongst the tables, introducing themselves to each other. It seemed important in the current circumstances that representatives from the Workers' League and the National Party meet and engage with each other.

"Be my guest!" Mary scoffed. "If schmoozing and plastering false platitudes all over people you can't stand is your thing, then please go ahead. But I'm going to sit here and drink my champagne." She said resolutely.

Matthew weighed his options but he could practically sense the brown-nosing from across the room, and he didn't particularly want to partake in it. "On second thought, maybe we should leave the networking to the experts and not take any more duties upon ourselves?" He suggested.

"A very wise decision." Mary nodded solemnly, prompting Matthew to smile. This was the least hostile she'd been to him all evening.

"Hey - why does your dad's name come up first?" Matthew asked, nodding his head towards the large screen, on which a projector shone the words: 'The Rt Hon Lord Robert Crawley MP and The Rt Hon Reginald Crawley MP welcome you to the Somerset Society's fundraising evening'. "Shouldn't it be in alphabetical order? So my dad should come first?"

"Yes, but my dad got the most votes." Mary repeated herself with a mischievous smile that made Matthew grin.

"Why do I get the feeling that this is going to be a recurring theme in our conversations?" He said, chuckling to himself when Mary shrugged innocently. He was about to ask whether the fact that her father was a Lord made her a Lady, but he didn't want to seem like he was obsessed with talking about her background - not when she finally seemed to have lightened up a bit.

"Lady Mary!" A booming voice from a few tables away answered his question for him.

Matthew turned to see a tall, broad man approach them with a wide smile on his face, whom he recognised as the new Home Secretary in the National Party. There was a younger, blonde woman on his arm and an even younger redhead following behind.

"Mr Cosgrove." Mary stood to greet him, and Matthew followed suit.

"Please, call me Michael." The man said, taking Mary's hand in his and placing a small kiss on the back of it.

"Only if you stop calling me 'Lady'." Mary smiled back at him, prompting the man to laugh.

"You're far too refined to be referred to like any other person." He said, and Mary laughed politely. Matthew suddenly realised that he didn't know what Mary's genuine laugh sounded like. The only laughs he'd heard from her so far were fake ones or sarcastic ones. His thoughts were interrupted as the man turned to address him. "Forgive me, where are my manners - I'm Michael Cosgrove."

"Matthew Crawley." Matthew shook his hand. "Pleased to meet you." He added. Crikey, he was getting good at being fake, too. He loathed this man. His elitist policies were infamous within the Workers' League.

"This is my wife, Belinda." Matthew shook the blonde woman's hand. "And this young lady is Megan McDonald." Michael gestured to the redheaded woman, who meekly waved from behind Belinda.

"Oh, so you're the famous Megan whom we're all hearing so much about!" Mary said with a smile. Matthew looked on, confused. He hadn't heard anything about her whatsoever.

"Yes, yes, that's her - she's too modest to boast about herself so I'll do it for her." Michael replied, and Belinda and Megan duly laughed. "Especially for the benefit of our friend in the Workers' League." Michael winked at Matthew, who clenched his fist by his side. God, this man was nauseating. "Megan is the new shining star in the National Party. We're hoping to have her be the new Environment Secretary. That is, if your father, Matthew, doesn't get his way by having that Goodwin character push his way forward."

Matthew raised his eyebrows at this. Megan couldn't be much more than thirty, and all the other cabinet ministers were in their fifties, at least. Being the Environment Secretary in a risky endeavour like the Coalition was a huge responsibility for anyone, let alone someone so young and, he presumed, inexperienced. "I'm afraid my father is determined to have some say in this government, Mr Cosgrove." Matthew smiled tightly, managing to stop himself from blurting out, "It's a bloody coalition, you fool."

"Please, please, call me Michael!" Came the jovial reply.

"Anyway, it was lovely to see you again, Mary." Belinda interjected, clearly not keen for any political arguments to kick off. "And lovely to meet you, Matthew."

"Likewise." Matthew replied, addressing all three of them.

"You look after her, alright?" Michael jerked his head towards Mary with another wink. Matthew supposed that this was meant to be a joke, as presumably all cabinet members knew about the fixed relationship, so he forced a chuckle. He watched as the trio walked away, before he and Mary resumed their seats.

"So have you known 'Please, Call Me Michael' long?" He asked, taking a swig of his champagne.

To his surprise, Mary laughed. Genuinely. "I can tell you absolutely adored him." She giggled. Her smile was infectious. It lit up her whole face, making her look even more attractive than normal. "I must admit, he has a certain manner that you need to get used to."

"I'm not sure I want to take the time to get used to it." Matthew replied drily.

"Well, you might have to. This government is all about compromise, remember?" Mary echoed the main soundbite from her father's first speech. "To answer your question - yes, he's known Dad for about twenty years now. They rose through the ranks together so they're pretty close."

"Hmm." Matthew merely hummed in response, taking a sip of his champagne. He hadn't met Robert Crawley yet. From all accounts, he was a reasonable, relatively amiable man. After all, his father wouldn't have agreed to go into government with someone difficult or pompous. Yet, he wondered exactly what Robert was like if his trusted friends were people like Michael Cosgrove and Nigel the PR man.

Mary eyed him with a knowing smile. "You only have your father to blame if you're finding this whole experience uncomfortable, Matthew." She said light-heartedly. "You're going to have to get used to meeting people like Michael because, from what I've heard, the National Party are going to be dominating this coalition."

Matthew met her gaze in a challenge. "We'll see." He smirked.

...

"A dramatic day for politics, indeed. Who would have thought we'd see the first female cabinet member for the National Party, in its 300-year history, and the youngest cabinet member in British politics for almost 50 years in the same cabinet, let alone being the same person? Couple that with the recent relationship of Lord Crawley's and Reginald Crawley's respective offspring, and it looks like this Coalition is going to be a very interesting government. Back to the studio."

Matthew flicked over the channel with a sigh. That bloody Megan McDonald got the position. After the fundraiser, which was now a week ago, he'd gone home and researched her. It turned out she'd had a relatively impressive career given her age, with a lot of experience in local government as well as being an environmental consultant for a large corporation for a couple of years. However, she still came nowhere near matching the credentials of Will Goodwin - the Workers' League candidate for the post - and neither Reginald Crawley nor his party were very happy about it.

"Are they still talking about it?" Mary asked as she walked in the room. "God, is there really nothing else happening in the world?"

"I don't see why you're complaining." Matthew retorted. "This is good news for your lot."

Mary narrowed her eyes at him. "Will you please stop referring to the situation as 'our lot' and 'your lot'? We're not mortal enemies, you know. Not anymore, at least. To be honest, we're doing you a favour."

Matthew's eyebrows raised at this. "Excuse me?"

"Let's face it, Matthew. The Workers' League have some nice policies that sound lovely and pleasantfa but in practice they're completely unworkable. Why do you think they've been struggling to get votes all these years? They needed the National Party to bring them into government otherwise they'd have never had a chance of getting anywhere near this kind of influence. So I don't see why you're so bitter about losing this one post." She concluded, folding her arms. She observed Matthew's stunned expression. "Or are you just annoyed that the position has gone to a woman?" She added for good measure. She highly doubted that Matthew would object to this step forward for gender-equality - he came across as a very liberal, forward-thinking man. But he was being annoying and she felt like saying anything she could to rile him up. It was rather enjoyable, she found.

"You're unbelievable." Matthew shook his head. "I'm not going to dignify that with a response." He reached for his jacket. "Let's go." He said curtly, turning to walk out of the door. A smug Mary followed behind him.

They were attending a garden party, hosted in the grounds of the house of the Chancellor of the Exchequer, who was another National Party minister named Lawrence Winterbottom. Over the week since the fundraiser, they'd met on another two occasions, which were both low-key affairs. First, they went to the cinema in Chelsea, so they could be photographed leaving together and getting into Matthew's car after the paparazzi were inevitably tipped off on Twitter by a fellow cinema-goer. They hadn't had to do anything besides hold hands, after spending thirty minutes bickering over which film to watch, settling on a film that neither of them wanted to see as a compromise, and then complaining about said film throughout its duration. Secondly, they went for a walk in St James' Park. Again, they didn't have to do much besides wrap their arms around each other and kiss each other on the cheek a couple of times as they walked. This meeting was slightly less volatile, and they managed to talk about their plans for the summer and moved on to discuss where they'd traveled to in the past.

It was odd - they'd only known each other for a week but had quickly become accustomed to each other's company, however irksome they each found it. They'd also fallen into something resembling a routine. Matthew would arrive at Mary's place to pick her up, he'd end up waiting for the best part of an hour while she finished getting ready, and then they'd leave together in Matthew's car or a taxi.

Those past two meetings had been enough to ensure that they were copiously mentioned in the press, with photos of them being circulated around the internet and commented on by gossip-hungry observers. Many people seemed supportive of this relationship between two young, good-looking people, while others were more sceptical and questioned how the relationship had even come about. Nevertheless, the various PR aides assured both sides that this was a promising start.

Today's event was more high-profile, given that it was to be attended by almost one hundred guests from both sides of government - the majority of whom were unaware that the relationship was a hoax - and there would be a couple of pre-approved photographers stationed in the grounds. Matthew and Mary were therefore under instructions to be more couply and to speak to as many people from both parties as possible.

Once they arrived at the house, they were greeted by many guests who seemed eager to meet them. Matthew left it to Mary to expertly dodge the more pointed questions about how they met and how they got together, before she finally extricated them both from the gathering crowd so that they could find their parents.

"We don't really have to find our parents." Mary whispered to him as they walked away. "I just wanted an excuse to leave."

"Good thinking." Matthew replied. Alas, they were soon separated from each other before they were able to properly escape, each being pulled by various politicians and their families to mingle.

Mary had forgotten how exhausting it was to have her society-face on for extended periods of time. At least during the election campaign she hadn't had to offer more than a few soundbites and smiles at the camera as she posed with her family and applauded her father's speeches. Now that he was actually running the country, more was expected of her. A little while passed and she began to wonder how Matthew was faring. If she was finding it difficult to dodge the intrusive queries, even with all her years of experience, how on Earth would he be handling it? To her surprise, she saw, he was doing rather well. She noticed that a small group of women had gathered around him as he spoke, with a few others - including married women - looking on from a distance. They appeared to be hanging on his every word, laughing delightedly at his remarks and finding every opportunity to touch his arm or shoulder as they did so. One young lady, whom she recognised as the daughter of Lawrence Winterbottom, seemed particularly smitten. She was desperately trying to drag him away from the group so that she could 'give him a tour of the house', Mary overheard. The other women promptly shot daggers at her and managed to keep Matthew where he was, where they could all enjoy his company and gaze at his blue eyes and dirty blonde hair.

Interestingly, and worryingly, Mary felt pangs of jealousy in her stomach. She quickly attributed this to the fact that she had a naturally possessive nature, rather than to the fact that she cared for Matthew at all. She didn't like anyone else encroaching on what was hers and, for all intents and purposes, Matthew was her boyfriend. It was quite uncouth for them to be shamelessly flirting with him when they knew - or, at least, believed - that his girlfriend was close by and that, in some cases, their own husbands were just as close!

"Matthew," She called out sweetly as she approached him. The gaggle of women reluctantly parted down the middle to allow her access. "Let me show you that fountain I was telling you about." Matthew frowned at her in confusion. He really wasn't the sharpest tool in the box, was he? "You know - that ornate Baroque fountain that I was telling you about earlier?" Mary emphasised through slightly gritted teeth. Thankfully, realisation dawned on his face.

"Oh, right - yes, sounds good. Excuse me." He said to the group, and Mary noticed a few crestfallen expressions as they watched him leave. She promptly held his hand as she led him away.

"You're welcome." She said to him once they had reached a safe distance.

"For what, exactly?"

"For rescuing you from those women." Mary replied, peeved that he didn't seem more grateful.

"I was perfectly fine, actually." Matthew said. "They're the first nice people I've spoken to from the National Party, in fact."

That's only because they're bored aristocrats who fancy a bit of middle-class totty. "There are plenty of nice people in the party, thank you very much." Mary said instead. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Lawrence Winterbottom's determined daughter making a beeline for Matthew again.

"If you're talking about yourself then I'm not so sure-" Matthew began, but was cut off by Mary's lips suddenly crashing against his. He spluttered at first and instinctively tried to move away, but her hands were on his head to keep him still. Slowly, her fingers found their way into his hair, sparking a tingling sensation over his scalp and down his neck. Her lips moved against his passionately and he couldn't help but respond, his hands automatically reaching for her waist.

All she'd needed to do was give Matthew a quick peck and that probably would have been enough to send Miss Winterbottom on her way, Mary thought to herself. Yet, for some reason, she couldn't seem to stop what she was doing. Alarmingly, before she could check herself, her tongue darted out to lick the underside of Matthew's top lip. She felt him squeeze her waist in shock, but he didn't pull away. She coaxed his mouth open and ran her tongue alongside his repeatedly, enjoying the sensation a little too much. It was only when she became aware of the increasingly loud mutterings of the guests around them that Mary broke the kiss. Leaning back, she opened her eyes slowly, and in a rush of sensations she noticed the butterflies in her stomach, the weakness of her knees, the fullness of her lips, the blueness of the wide eyes staring back at her and, finally, the dozens of people gawping at them.

Straightening up, she forced her placid smile back on her face, patted Matthew's chest affectionately and walked away. Where she was going, she had no idea. Swearing to herself under her breath, she legged it inside. Shit! What the bloody hell did you do that for? It was one thing to act amorous with her supposed boyfriend, but quite another to eat his face whilst surrounded by senior members of the government of the United Kingdom and their families. Something had come over her to make her do that. Whatever it was, she needed to rein it in to ensure she didn't embarrass herself further.

Matthew, meanwhile, remained planted to the spot, slightly bewildered and almost dangerously turned on. Mary had just stuck her warm, wet tongue into his mouth while her dainty fingers ran through his hair. And she'd tasted marvellous. With a sudden wave of self-awareness, Matthew noticed the dumb-struck people who were still stood around him, staring. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Nigel, Eric and Jacob from both PR teams, who all looked torn between being shocked and being pleased with what they'd witnessed. Deciding to take a leaf out of Mary's book, Matthew chose to escape inside the house.

The people he passed in the hallway hadn't seen the spectacle outside, so they merely greeted him with a smile, and a few of those whom he hadn't met yet stopped to introduce themselves. As politely as he could, Matthew made his excuses saying that he was looking for Mary. This seemed to work well, as nobody seemed to want to stand in the way of the young lovers who were beginning to unite the Coalition in the eyes of the public. Truthfully, though, Matthew didn't want to see Mary yet. He had no idea what had compelled her to kiss him like that, but he reckoned that she probably needed a few moments to figure that out for herself, judging from the way she practically ran away from him. It was odd - even though she wasn't quite as obnoxious towards him as she had been a week ago, she still seemed to dislike him. The only rational explanation was that she was acting under some special instruction from Nigel and Eric. Matthew wasn't always privy to their discussions. Yes, that must be it. The only concerning aspect of the scenario now was how affected Matthew was by it. His trousers had become significantly tighter around the groin area...it had been a while since a beautiful woman had kissed him like that - in fact, he didn't think he'd ever kissed a woman as beautiful as Mary - and he needed a moment himself to calm down.

He went upstairs in an effort to find one of the bathrooms. The house was enormous and he wondered whether he'd even be able to find his way back out to the garden. There were a few people milling around upstairs, and he bumped into a couple of women on the landing. One of them he recognised as Belinda, Michael Cosgrove's wife, and the other was the wife of the Workers' League's defence minister. He smiled at them both and said hello as they passed by each other. At least the spouses of the Coalition members seem to be getting along.

Finding himself in a more deserted area of the house, with still no indication of which rooms were bathrooms, Matthew tried randomly opening doors. The first door he opened was a study, with a huge, ornate writing desk that looked like it would equal the value of Matthew's entire flat. Shaking his head in wonder at how the other half live, he tried another door.

This one was a bedroom with a large, four-poster bed in the middle of it. Sat on the edge of the bed was Michael Cosgrove, his trousers undone in a pool around his ankles. In his lap was a head of red hair, bobbing up and down.

Matthew's jaw dropped open and he shut the door before Michael could see who it was who had walked in on him. Fuck.

A/N: thank you so, so much for all your sweet, supportive reviews! I'm glad being are able to get on board with the strange concept of this story. I'm having so much fun writing it! You may have noticed that I borrowed the last bit of the chapter from The Line of Beauty, but I thought it was a good way to bring some drama into the story. Please let me know your thoughts! xxx