Husband Sit (Husband #1) (18 page)

I
keep sobbing, more quietly now, and Missy Lou said, “Her father left when she was
nine and they lost their house. Her mother was sick and they couldn’t afford
rent. It was ugly for a while. Our parents all helped out, but nobody wants to
be the charity case. Eventually Jill’s grandmother moved to town to look after
Jill and her sister, and soon after that, Jill’s mother died.”

“
Fuck,
”
he said softly.

That
made me cry harder. I loved hearing him swear. I wasn’t sure why. But even
though I was embarrassed to have my sordid past revealed, I loved being in his
arms. I knew it would end. No decent guy wants to be with a girl who gets paid
to fuck seventy times in a fortnight. But something about the two of us
together was
right
, and I was just grateful that I could enjoy the
comfort of his presence while it lasted. Not much longer now, I suspected.

Missy
Lou opened the door. “We have to leave soon.”

“Okay.
I’ll get her dressed.”

“Thank
you.”

The
door closed behind her and I shuddered a breath to halt the flow. Then I wiped
my cheeks with my white hospital gown, getting mascara smears all over it. “I’m
fine,” I said.

“You’re
such a bad liar.”

“Fine
enough.” I couldn’t look at him as he straightened and dropped his hands to his
sides.

“Where
are your clothes?”

I
shrugged, then waited while he looked in the ensuite, then in the wardrobe
beside my bed. I saw a flash of pink—side of sight—then looked away as he put
the dress on the end of my bed and something else on the floor. He went into
the ensuite so I slid to the edge of the bed and pulled my hospital gown off,
then hurriedly pulled the dress over my head and was poking my hands into
cardigan arm holes when he came back with a towel. One edge was wet.

“Head
up,” he said, and when I obeyed, he held my chin gently while he wiped the rest
of my smeared mascara off, then dabbed my face dry. At last, he looked into my
eyes, his own big and green and God help me, suspiciously dewy. That made my
chest ache even more. “I watched you sleeping before. You’re beautiful when
you’re not telling me off.”

“Was
I dribbling?”

His
smile was slow to come. “Yeah.”

“Damn.”

“I
wiped it up for you.”

“Thanks.”
I found a smile then. This was goodbye. I suddenly wanted it to be nice. “I am
in love with you,” I said, and he went very still, as if he’d caught his
breath. “But you know, sometimes shit happens. There’s nothing you can do about
it.”

He
tilted his head forward, as if he was listening intently. “Loving me is shit
happening?”

I
nodded. “It doesn’t work...for me.”

“Because
I’m married?”

“There’s
that as well.”

“If
I was single...?”

My
heart pattered faster then, in ridiculous hope. But, “You’d tell me to stop
husband sitting.”

Five
agonizingly slow seconds ticked over before he said, “I don’t even know why
you’re doing it.”

I
swallowed down recklessness and reminded myself that my loyalty lay with
Brittany. I’d promised her I wouldn’t tell
anyone
. If I ever wanted to
have a decent relationship with her, I had to be reliable, because she sure as
hell wasn’t. So I came back to the original sticking point. “
Are
you
single?”

He
took even more time answering. “No.”

Disappointment
spiraled through me like barbed wire, cutting away all the stupid hope I’d let
in, and it hurt. I turned away to hide my face and stepped into my sandals
which Finn had put on the floor beside the bed, along with my handbag.

When
I couldn’t delay any longer, I looked up to find him watching me with an
expression that twisted the knife. He expected to be kicked in the guts. I
could see it in his frown, in the emptiness behind his eyes. This was going to
make me cry, but not here. Not now. I deliberately pushed my shoulders back.
“I’ll pay my own hospital bill. They can give you a refund.”

“I
can afford it. I want to.”

“I’m
not your mistress.” I stared him down and finally added, “No is no.”

“Okay.”
He nodded. “Can I at least kiss you goodbye?”

I
should have said no to that as well, but some desperate part of me wanted a
last happy memory from Finn. Something to hold on to because he was as close to
perfect as I’d found in my life, unfaithful though he was. I swallowed down
misgivings and nodded. “Sure.”

“Because
this is goodbye, isn’t it?”

I
don’t want it to be
.
I desperately wanted to keep him coming into my life, letting me feel the
incredible warmth and security of having him close. I wanted the aliveness of
imagining how great it would be to have those very sexy eyes look at me over
the dinner table every night, knowing we were both thinking about what would
happen later when the lights went out.

But
that was a fantasy. He was a married man who wanted me as his
bit on the
side
. There was nothing perfect about that, so I said, “Some things are not
meant to be.”

He
didn’t argue, he just stepped up and pulled me into his arms and, despite my
misgivings, I flowed into them like a fish sliding into the water. His lips met
mine, warm and soft, and the taste of him pushed me past excited into aroused.
I couldn’t help myself crushing my breasts against his chest, running my hands
across his shoulders and kissing him back, making it count, making myself
crazy, trying to ignore the bittersweet ache that was telling me the tears
weren’t done with. We kissed for so long, when he pulled back I could barely
think for the throbbing sensations he’d ignited.

“Your
friend is waiting,” he whispered and rested his forehead against mine.

I
forced myself to pull back and look into his eyes. I’d told him I loved him.
And I’d told him that didn’t matter. The big things had already been discussed.
I didn’t want to pick over the details. An emotional hangover was coming and I
really just wanted to sleep through it. “Thanks for coming when I called,” I
said, sincerely. “I’ve appreciated that.”

“Appreciation.”
He smiled his sexy self-deprecating smile. “My life is worth living.”

“And
you’ve got a really big cock,” I added. “I’ve appreciated that too.”

“Fuck.”
He shook his head. Then his voice came out low and husky, “We don’t have to end
this. It’s barely started.”

Hope
fizzed inside me like bubbles in champagne but I wouldn’t let it sway me. There
was no point in baring my soul, because he’d only offer solutions I couldn’t
accept. Better to let him think he was wrong for me so I could leave with my
self-esteem intact.

I
stepped back, putting some distance between us. “Great memories.” I even
managed a smile. “Every girl needs a story about
the one that got away
.”

Someone
had to be strong. I just wasn’t sure why it always had to be me.

“Okay.”
Something was happening behind his eyes, and I wasn’t sure what it was. It
looked like determination. “But I’ll text you my address here. I’m at Bondi
Beach.”

I
nodded, trying to keep it casual. “Hence the tan.” I hadn’t imagined him as a
surf swimmer, but clearly, there was a lot I didn’t know about him. What I did
know, however, was enough to close the door on future contact. He could text
all he liked. I’d said it was over. I was sticking to that. I just needed to
make sure I didn’t get drunk and think it would be a good idea to ring him.

Twenty-four
hours cooped up with Missy Lou in her Rose Bay mansion wasn’t the best way to
avoid alcohol, but that led to the very clever option of deleting his details
from my phone, which I would do as soon as I was alone.

I
held out my hand. “So goodbye.”

He
took it solemnly and shook it. “For now.”

Whatever.

I
stayed where I was, watching him leave the room, his lanky stride, his wide
shoulders and slim hips, his large hand on the doorknob. He didn’t look back,
and my last glimpse of him was a stray dreadlock wavering as he went out of
sight and the door closed.

A
second later—well before I’d had a chance to regroup—it opened again and Missy
Lou stuck her shiny blonde head in. “I’m leaving now.”

I
nodded. “I’m coming with,” and after snatching up my handbag, I followed
carefully behind her out the door and down the corridor, still not trusting my
wobbly legs a hundred percent.

She
glanced back once and saw me wall-walking, then returned to my side, linking my
arm with hers. I’m sure we looked like we’d stepped back in time, girlfriends
strolling together. That was one thing I admired about Missy Lou—she could care
less what people thought about her. Yet she cared a great deal what she thought
about herself, and for that reason she’d always wanted the best: best husband,
best house, best car. I’m sure that’s why she’d never had kids. She couldn’t
guarantee they’d be perfect.

One
side of my brain wondered if any of it had made her happy, but the other side
assured me she was kicking goals, so perhaps that’s all that really mattered in
life. Happiness was so wretchedly fleeting, it seemed pointless trying to grab
onto the slippery damned thing!

At
the nurses’ station I signed out and received a copy of my pathology report.
Pure alcohol, no drugs. So Rohypnol hadn’t been part of the equation. That made
me feel good. Then Missy Lou walked me to the main reception where I signed
more forms and paid the bill—two grand—goodbye bonuses, which I’d been keeping
as a buffer. Still, I felt better when I told them to refund Finn. Before you
could say
fast exit
, we were out in the late afternoon sunshine and
someone was handing Missy Lou the keys to her silver Bentley.

I
hadn’t even realized they had valet parking at hospitals. And maybe they
didn’t. Maybe Bentley drivers could organize extra service wherever they went.
I was just glad to be quickly on the road, incredibly impressed with the plush
comfort of the cream leather interior, the polished wood and the pure wool
surrounding me. Less impressed with Missy Lou’s silence as we drove. It felt
condemning. I knew I should be grateful to her for bailing me out, but in
truth, I just wanted to escape Sydney the way I’d escaped Surfers Paradise. And
I had a hotel booked.

“Are
you sure you can’t just drop me back to my car so I can go to Newcastle?”

Her
eyes never came off the road. “No. I’ve told Marcus you’re coming. He’s making
a vegetarian dinner.”

Damn
it.

I
could feel resentment surfacing. It always did when I was forced into
something. And just as predictable as the resentment was my petty impulse to
annoy Missy Lou. I opened the glove compartment and was further impressed to
see it lined with the same cream leather that surrounded it. A black glasses
case and a book sat inside. I reached forward, but Missy Lou—who still didn’t
take her eyes of the road—said, “Touch that and I’ll tell Ange you kissed Daniel
on the night of their wedding.”

My
mouth fell open in indignation as I turned on her. “We all kissed him that
night. So did half the waitresses at the reception.”

“You’d
rather Ange knew that?” A beat of silence followed before she added, “Shut the
glove box.”

Bitch
.
Why did girlfriends
always have to have something on you?

“I
was looking for food,” I lied, and wanted to slam it, but it had soft-close
hinges so it slid shut in silent, slow motion. “My stomach is
very
empty.”

“We’ll
be home in ten minutes. You’ll just have to wait.”

I
crossed my arms and glared out the window.

When
I didn’t reply, she added, “If you hadn’t spent so much time saying goodbye to
your boyfriend—”

“He’s
not my boyfriend!”

The
moment the words were out of my mouth, I wanted them back. But I was still
angry with him for thinking there should be something between us, and me
wanting there to be, when it was broken before it started. When would I learn
not to blurt things out?

Predictably,
Missy Lou said, “Then who is he?”

“Just
some guy I fucked.”

“Don’t
swear.”

That
made me crankier still, reminding me of Damien and people like him, thinking
they could boss me around.

“Since
when do you arc up about swearing?” I turned my best glacial stare at her, arms
still crossed. “You swore more than all of us put together in high school.”

“Times
change.” Her gaze remained fixed on the road ahead, her peaked sunglasses
impenetrable.

I
frowned and went back to looking out the window at the leafy street, and only
then realized we were cutting through Paddington on our way to Rose Bay.

Simon.

Sickening
guilt filled the space where my anger had been. It was late afternoon—I glanced
at the dashboard clock—five-forty-five. The dragon would be home by now,
probably making his dinner, talking about her trip, asking about me and how
that went. I couldn’t help wondering how he’d respond, whether he’d be cool
about it, or if he was still upset about what we’d done and how it had made him
feel. I wanted so much to not care, to think it was his problem and not mine,
to be professional. But I was a soppy twit, so on top of all the shit with
Finn, I ached about having hurt Simon and wished things could have ended
differently.