As well as being selfish, Danny was a terrible flirt, but I assumed he’d settled down by now, and none of us had any evidence that he’d actually cheated on her. He just liked to think he was sexy, when in reality he was an overgrown Indian version of Donny Osmond. Half the time Fritha and I called him Donny instead of Danny, but he was too wrapped up in his own world to notice.
I devoured the cheese platter and Missy Lou drank the wine. I’d had one sip of mine and it had felt sour all the way down, so I’d discretely slid it behind a potted Cyclamen on the table. She didn’t seem to notice. At no point did she lower her guard, so my further questions about her situation went unanswered.
Just after eight, Marcus called us to dinner—he was a great cook and never seemed to mind the task—and by nine, my belly was full of his fabulous cauliflower and Brie risotto. After a leisurely shower, I tucked myself into the antique walnut four-poster bed in what I thought of as ‘my’ guestroom, wearing a borrowed nightgown from Missy Lou—an Oscar de la Renta number that had probably cost her five hundred bucks.
As I stared up at the Irish linen canopy above my head, I didn’t know what to think. So much had happened. Too much had happened. This time last night, I’d been on fuck number sixty-eight with Simon. Since then I’d bum-fucked a twenty-two year old, overdosed on alcohol, kissed Finn and pushed him away irrevocably, and found out that one of my three best friends was living a terrible lie.
As the backwash of emotions flowed over me, I realized Missy Lou’s revelation was the thing that worried me the most. She’d always been so strong, the one we all relied on, but tonight she’d seemed…brittle, as if the years of pretending had worn her thin. I suddenly feared that someday a stiff breeze rushing off the harbor would shatter her.
Her vulnerability made me even more determined to protect our friendship. I’d never planned to ask her for money to pay Brittany’s hospital bills, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to now, especially when I had the perfect job—distasteful though it was—to cover those costs. Missy Lou needed me to be reliable right now, and I was damned well going to do whatever it took to convince her I was there for her.
The thought of her two rooms away, lying in bed beside Marcus, made me squirm, wondering if she had just enough alcohol in her system to blur the hard edges, ready to comply if he wanted his conjugal rights. And why? What possible reason could she have to stay?
I shook my head on the cloud pillow, tempted to go over the past in my mind and try to track a moment where I should have seen what was happening for her, but my eyelids were too heavy. Despite all the sleeping I’d done under anesthetic, I was exhausted.
Having your stomach pumped would probably do that.
So I succumbed, thinking tomorrow would provide answers.
CHAPTER NINE: What The Fuck?
As usual, I was wrong. No answers. Just Missy Lou waking me up—with some difficulty, as I was super groggy. She gave me the fake smile to shoo me along to breakfast which I shared with Marcus. She ate nothing, again. After that, Marcus offered me a lift back to my car in King’s Cross because today was the Bentley’s scheduled clean and vacuum, and the car detailers arrived at eight am sharp.
It sounded like an excuse for Missy Lou to get out of telling me more, but what choice did I have? I waved her goodbye from the front seat of Marcus’s silver Ferrari. As we backed out of the driveway onto the road, I felt so low to the ground I should have been worried about the danger of getting gravel rash on my butt, only I was hopelessly distracted, thinking about Louella and what a bad friend I’d been—not noticing her life was so terrible that she’d turned into an alcoholic.
Not only that, I’d completely forgotten to ring Brittany yesterday, and I needed to do that later in the morning when it was after breakfast in Bangkok. The added guilt of forgetting my own sister made my burden of feel-bad emotions even heavier.
Marcus nudged me with an elbow. “No teasing about my new ride?”
I refocused on my surroundings and noticed we were purring down the road that hugged the harbor. Sunlight sparkled on clear blue water that had launched a thousand postcards, its glittering surface dotted with yachts. I wondered if Marcus had aquatic toys as well.
I sniffed with affected displeasure. “That your vehicle is ostentatious goes without saying. Not to mention that it’s slightly pathetic.”
“In what way?”
“Mid-life crisis.”
“Is that all you’ve got?” He slanted me a glance over the top of his sunglasses. Today he was in a classic grey flannel suit, looking every inch the sartorially savvy mogul.
“Pretentious.” I waggled a finger at him. “No one likes a showboat.”
He smirked and looked back at the road. I’d never understood why he wanted my barbs, but they seemed to content him. We drove in silence after that and I realized I still liked Marcus. It wasn’t his fault that he was gay. Maybe he hadn’t discovered his sexuality properly until after they were married. By all accounts, he’d been faithful to her. That counted for something. And he seemed so happy with her. That was the weird part. How could Missy Lou be so unhappy when he seemed fulfilled? It didn’t make sense.
We finally arrived in the laneway where I’d parked, and I couldn’t wait to head off for my hotel in Newcastle where I could change into clean clothes. Missy Lou had given me underwear, but I was still in the same sundress I’d vomited in yesterday. It didn’t smell bad—that I noticed—but I wanted out of it.
I shoved the door open and got out. It was a long way up from that low seat to be standing on the footpath beside him. I felt every one of my thigh muscles. Then I leant down and said, “Thanks, Marcus. You’re not bad for a pretentious ass.”
He grinned. “And you’re my favorite trashy drunk.”
I had to grin back. Then I noticed for the first time that his respectful gaze—which stayed on my face rather than drifting to my exposed cleavage—probably wasn’t old-fashioned manners, but simple lack of interest.
When I would have straightened, he said, “So there’s no chance you’ll get back with Doug, eh?”
“What?” What was with these people and matchmaking?
“Louella told me you just broke up with someone else.”
I said slowly and clearly, “Doug is off my radar. Permanently. I will never get back with him.”
“Pity.”
“Why?” A sudden intuition made me ask, “Did you like Doug?”
The question caught him unawares, and while I watched, a slow blush crept up from his neck. He ignored that to shrug. “He’s funny. Self-deprecating.”
The perfect match for a showy mogul. Only, Doug wasn’t gay—that I knew of.
I shrugged back. “No reason you can’t keep in touch with him,” I said casually. “It won’t worry me.”
He quickly shook his head. “Louella wouldn’t let me. She’d say it was disloyal.”
“I’m saying it’s not disloyal.”
He stared at me then, and I could almost see the cogs going around inside his brain. “Well, I’m having cocktails next weekend. I’d hoped to invite the two of you, if you were back together.”
Did that make it safer for Marcus, having a guy he liked—liked—as part of a couple? He could still enjoy Doug’s company, but not risk anything on either side. It would have been cute, but…“Doug’s probably got a girlfriend by now. It was months ago we broke up.”
“No, he’s single.”
The blush came back and I crouched to continue the conversation, super-intrigued by now. “You’ve kept in touch with him.”
“Promise you won’t tell L.”
“I promise.”
“It was all about you—”
Of course…
“—and seeing if I could matchmake you back together again.”
I had a sudden clear memory taking Doug to visit them. We’d stayed for the weekend, and the first night Missy Lou and I had crashed at about ten pm, but the boys had kept drinking and I hadn’t any id
ea when Doug had come to bed. He’d had a hell of a hangover the next morning, and had been particularly sheepish. I’d thought that was embarrassment at getting trashed on his first visit with them, coupled with his obvious awe at their wealth. He was an electrician with a modest three-bedder in suburban Brisbane. Any odd behavior that weekend I’d put down to ‘fish out of water’ nerves.
But what if it had been something else entirely?
“Did you ring him?” I asked.
“Email. Then phone.”
Several contacts.
“Okay.” I nodded. “I’m not upset. I mean, you guys can have a friendship quite independent of me.” He opened his mouth to refute that, but I held up a hand to stop him. “I’m just telling you, I’m not getting back together with him. I’m in love with someone else.”
Finn had spoilt me for any other man—at least in the short term. And if I hadn’t been content to settle for Doug before, why would I now, having discovered I was capable of so much more than lukewarm affection? My feelings for Doug had been a trickle in a dried-up creek bed compared to the roaring torrent of emotion I felt around Finn. But as previously stated, my love life was officially in drought status until the husband sitting job could be sidelined. And when it was back on track, I wouldn’t be getting involved with any married men!
When I refocused on Marcus, he was frowning at me, and at last he said, “So…do you want to bring this ‘someone else’ to cocktails?”
I could tell he wasn’t interested in the idea at all.
“No, we broke up, remember?”
“Right.” He nodded, then glanced away and seemed to take stock of his surroundings. “Look at the time. I’ve got to fly, Jill.”
I was relieved to say, “Sure. Thanks for the ride.” Then I straightened and closed the passenger door. It didn’t look like I was going to get an invite as Suzi Solo. Just as well, I’d be working again by then. My next husband was a thirty-eight year old supermarket manager who played up with the checkout girls. I was tasked with keeping him away from them while his wife visited her family in New Zealand. It sounded boring and easy. I certainly wasn’t planning anything dramatic with that job. I really needed to keep my emotions under control for a while.
Marcus waved at me through the windscreen before pulling out and purring off down the lane and I quick-marched to my car, let myself in and then locked the doors again. King’s Cross wasn’t family-friendly, and for all I knew there might be addicts roaming about looking to rob someone so they could buy their morning fix.
It was testament to Marcus’s distraction level that he hadn’t waited to see me get into my car. He always did that. Thoughts of Doug had clearly distracted him. Or so I imagined. I could be completely wrong. And anyway, what business was it of mine?
Focus on yourself, Jill.
Frith had quoted enough pop psychology at me to clarify that fixing other people’s problems was just a way of avoiding your own. So I set off for the beachside hotel in Newcastle where I’d booked a few days, trying not to think about anything beyond the morning traffic, and plans to catch a few rays by the pool when I arrived. I was barely out of Sydney an hour later, heading north, when my phone rang. It startled me, as I usually had it on silent. But Frith had made me promise to keep it on top ringer volume since my unfortunate incident at the nightclub. She wanted to be able to reach me whenever she felt worried.
I dutifully pulled over and fished it out of my handbag, but the caller ID wasn’t hers. I answered with a cautious, “Hello, Jill speaking.”
“Jill, this is Nadine. I’m afraid I have to cancel our booking for next week.”
“I see.”
This was a first, and I wasn’t sure what to do—couldn’t remember for the moment if I had a cancellation clause in the contract she’d signed.
While I was thinking, the silence lengthened, and eventually she blurted, “He’s run off with one of the girls.”
“Oh. I’m…sorry.”
How awkward! I wasn’t sure how much sympathy was warranted in the circumstances, us being virtual strangers and all.
“Please keep the two thousand dollar deposit. That will come out of his settlement.”
“Oh. Thank you.” It seemed incredible to me that she was bothered with finances at such a time, but I guess we all handle grief in our own way. Some people like to focus on details. Whatever. I was appreciative. “Are you still going to New Zealand?”
It was none of my business, but I remembered how much she’d been looking forward to seeing her mother and grandmother again.
“Yes, I am. Thank you for asking Jill. You’re a kind person. I wish he’d been happy to…stay at home with you. I wouldn’t have minded that.”
“Oh. Thanks. Well…good luck.”
“And you too.”
She hung up and I put the phone down and stared out the windscreen at the freeway with its cars racing back and forth, full of people getting on with their lives—like Marcus, heading happily to work with no idea that he’d left a critically unhappy wife at home.
Nadine would be having a very crappy day, and I felt sorry about that. But in the end, she was better off without him. She’d been a genuinely nice person, unlike Katinka or Molotov or Simon’s mother. Nadine deserved to be happy.
And she thought I was a kind person. That made me smile. Plus, I’d just earned two grand—replacement for my recent hospital fees—for nothing more than showing up in their home for an interview. That was fabulous, only now I was wondering how I would fill my next fortnight. I’d have to spend the afternoon going over my enquiries. I wanted Brittany home before she could get herself into any more trouble.
There was also the Fuck one man to forget another program running in the back of my mind, because Finn’s visit to the hospital had stirred up all my romantic angst. Now that I was away from Missy Lou’s house, her problems were fading from my mind. That brought Finn flowing back into it like a warm, seductive wave that threatened to pull me under and drown me in unrequited love. Desire had definitely been reciprocal, and I could see he was even jealous about the other husbands, but love… He was staying married, and that was enough to convince me it was all about sex.
So I tried to push him out of my mind by counting cars on the road or singing loudly and off-key with the radio, but he determinedly stayed front-of-mind with those large hands and that sexy smile as he gazed into my eyes, telling me about every dirty thing we were going to do together. It was cruel punishment, especially when I felt my body responding to those naughty thoughts. I needed to get it into my head that he was gone, but that was hard.
By the time I reached the outskirts of Newcastle, it was past midday and I was hungry and emotionally exhausted. I decided to check in to the hotel, eat and have a nap, either poolside or in my room. I could worry about booking my next husband sit when I was calmer.
The place I’d booked loomed over the surrounding hotels on the tourist strip across from Newcastle Beach with its iconic white sand and brilliant blue water. As I pulled into the circular drive outside reception, the ivory marble, blue carpet and stainless steel decor looked every bit as clean and fresh as it had on the Internet—no doubt in homage to the sandy beach across the road.
The concierge came to help me with my bags and then offered to valet park my dusty old Ford, and I thought, Why the hell not? I was too tired to worry about another ten bucks here or there.
A smartly dressed bellhop in black pants and crisp white jacket put my bags onto a trolley and followed me inside.
“I’ll just check in,” I said to him, feeling crumpled and old in comparison.
Luckily for me, the hotel had received my text about putting the booking back a day, and I’d been allocated an ‘ocean view room’ on the sixth floor. The receptionist was just handing over the key, and I was thinking ahead to what I might order from room service when I heard, “…your boyfriend Mr. Walters has booked into the adjoining room already.”
I blinked a few times and
said, “Pardon? Boyfriend?”
The receptionist, with her perfectly straightened ponytail said, “Mr. Walters, who signed for your account.” She was blinking back at me, as though she wasn’t quite sure I was the right person.
I took a deep breath and said, “Would that be Mr. Finn Walters?”
Of course it fucking was. How many Walters do you know?
“Jill.”
I continued to stare at the receptionist, but the skin on the back of my neck prickled in an uncomfortable way. He was right behind me, and any second I expected him to touch me.
I heard him say, “Thanks, Melody,” to the receptionist, who smiled brightly at him as if he was the customer, and I was his plus-one. When in fact, I’d made my own booking using my own credit card. So where did he get off, thinking he could swoop in and slap his down, as he if owned me.
I swung around to confront him, to tell him he was a presumptuous stalker, but he was so close, and I got such a shock at his appearance, my handbag fell out of my hand onto the floor along with my room key.
“Finn…”
CHAPTER TEN: Off Again, On Again, Finn Again
He’d cut his hair. The dreadlocks were gone, and in their place was a short finger-combed cut in sun-bleached caramel with one lock falling forward onto his forehead. It made his green eyes look amazing, and revealed cheekbones I hadn’t even known he had.
He was tanned and toned, and so drop-dead gorgeous in a long-sleeved white shirt and jeans I wanted to lick him all over.
He leant in slow, as if I was a skittish animal he was scared of frightening, and kissed my cheek. I could smell the ocean on his skin, and some sort of light aftershave that caught me low and made my insides quiver in reaction. I felt light-headed and horny and incredibly confused. He pulled back far enough to look into my eyes and said, “You blabbed about where you were coming. I had to see you again.”
Husband Sit (Husband #1) Page 17
