Husband Heel (Husband #3)

by Louise Cusack

“I thought that just meant you didn’t want to talk about it. You didn’t say we couldn’t keep in touch with him.”

  We? Shock was spiraling into outrage but the waiter turned up with our coffees so I had to smile stiffly while he placed them on the table. The second he was gone I snapped, “Are the other girls keeping in touch with him as well?”

  Fritha said nothing, but her face was completely transparent. She simply could not lie. At least, not to me.

  “Fritha?” I warned.

  She guiltily met my gaze. “I think he’s helping Angela with Lizzie. That bitch Sieu walked out for good this time—”

  “How does he have time for all this?” I glared at a young couple who were avidly eavesdropping at a table nearby. But that didn’t distract me from the fact that I was furious with Nicholas for worming his way into my circle. It was one thing to tell the girls that he loved me, and quite another to try and ‘win them over’ in my absence. “Doesn’t he have clients to—”

  “He can’t work at the moment. Because of you,” Fritha added, as if I should be guilty about that.

  “What? That’s ridiculous. He—”

  “He can’t concentrate for shit,” she said, getting worked up herself now. “And that’s a direct quote. He has to concentrate to keep people alive. And he’s a mess. You made him into a mess.”

  She was cranky with me, but that actually deflated my anger. Fritha was always barracking for the underdog. It didn’t mean she loved him more. She just had empathy. Way too much empathy. It was one of the reasons she was so lovable, and I tried not to hold it against her when it didn’t suit me.

  So I crossed my arms. “You think I’ve got it all together?” I gazed back at her as steadily as I could. “Fritha, I’m in Rome with you. I’m on a holiday with you. Do you imagine I’d do that if I was in my right mind? If I was concentrating?”

  That threw her off guard, but she rallied. “You wanted an adventure.”

  “I wanted to take my messiness somewhere that other people couldn’t see it.”

  She stared at me for several seconds while she took that in, then she broke out into a radiant smile. “You love me,” she declared. “Enough to share your messiness with me.”

  I simply could not be mad with her, so my shoulders relaxed. “Correct.”

  And her smile softened. “You’re not messy.”

  “Not on the outside.”

  “So you love him.” It wasn’t a question.

  And with no forethought at all I said, “Yes I do.” Because somewhere between crying over lunch and writing my list of emotional baggage, the truth had come out. I hated that he’d tricked me into sex, but that didn’t stop me remembering all the other wonderful moments, and how the warm kernel of happiness in my chest had blossomed when we were together.

  I shrugged. “I’ve had sex with him. I’ve sobbed on him. I’ve yelled at him. And I’ve laughed with him.” When I catalogued the changes he’d wrought in me, they were amazing. “I’ve never done that with anyone else.”

  “And you trust him?”

  I shook my head.

  “Because of the big bad?” Thank goodness she didn’t know about that.

  “Correct.”

  “But before that,” she insisted. “Did you trust him with all the secrets of your heart?”

  Her big brown eyes were wide with childish romance, which should have been sweet, only realization was settling on me like a suffocating blanket. I didn’t trust him with all the secrets of my heart, because if he knew about The Rocks Spa, he wouldn’t like me, let alone love me.

  Fritha poked my shoulder. “You’re frowning.” So was she.

  “I don’t trust him with my secrets,” I said softly, then I had to look away.

  “Louella,” Fritha said, uncharacteristically stern. “What have you done?”

  “Something bad,” I replied, having no intention of telling her that either.

  “Worse than what Nick did to you?”

  I looked back at her then, shocked out of my own train of thought. Worse? The two things were so different, but when I was forced to compare them I could easily see…

  “Yes. What I did was worse.” I’d physically harmed someone. Nicholas had only given me pleasure—albeit at an incredibly awkward time—but he’d done something life affirming that had distracted me from grief. He’d given me pleasure and love, and I’d thrown that back in his face.

  “But,” I added, “I didn’t do the bad thing to him.”

  I wanted that to be the end of the conversation, and I certainly didn’t want to discuss details while the couple at the next table were still eavesdropping, but Fritha was getting that determined look on her face that I knew from experience was completely intractable.

  I held up a hand. “There’s nothing you can say that—”

  But she shook her head. “You’re going to have to tell Nick.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  “I’m not telling Nicholas,” I said for possibly the hundredth time.

  “You promised.”

  “I did not.”

  It had been almost a week since Fritha’s demand in The Burrows restaurant in Rome. We were now in Florence, but she would not let go of the idea that I ‘owed’ Nicholas an explanation of my bad behavior.

  She had no idea what it was, and I’d told her repeatedly that it had nothing to do with him, but still, because I knew about his ‘bad thing’, she believed I had to tell Nicholas about mine.

  There was absolutely no logic to her argument, but that was Fritha.

  “Look.” I pointed to distract her. “Rowers.” The Arno River that flowed through Florence was less muddy than usual, and with a bright blue sky above us, and the golden stonework of the ancient Ponte Vecchio spanning the river in front of us, the day appeared sublime.

  Fritha leant over the stonework railing to scope out the rowers. “That one looks like Benny.”

  “Pardon?”

  “From Finn’s wedding. Remember his cousin?”

  Benedict Walters. An academic from Oxford. Rowing team. I remembered that detail because Fritha had told me several times on the night that rowing was the reason he’d had such a ‘stacked’ upper body. I’d remembered him as tall, classically handsome, but solemn. I frowned at the rower Fritha was pointing to and shook my head. “Benedict was in his thirties. That boy looks lucky to be twenty.”

  Superficially they were similar—same dark hair and muscular shoulders—but as he rowed past us on the river, surrounded by other rowers, the differences were obvious.

  “Wish I could have fucked him,” Fritha said wistfully.

  An Indian couple who’d stopped beside us to photograph the rowers against the backdrop of the river turned to us and frowned.

  There was no point explaining, or apologizing, so I simply hooked my arm into Fritha’s and set off for the bridge, or ponte as it was called in Italy. “Gelato?”

  “Of course.” She grinned. “Coconut ice flavor this time.”

  As part of my commitment to adventure, I’d been letting Fritha suggest food, and the gelato at every opportunity policy was actually fun. “At least that’s non-alcoholic.”

  Fritha’s obsession with the local liqueur, limoncello, on the other hand, had degenerated into an anything limoncello flavored policy that resulted in more than a few hangovers. Still, the trip was anything but dull.

  “And today,” she said smiling, “is the day you tell Nick about the big bad and clear your conscience.”

  I forced myself not to sigh. “No it’s not,” I said patiently.

  “Yes it is,” she said smugly, “because I invited him to dinner.”

  I pulled to a halt just shy of the entrance to the bridge which, as usual, was crowded with tourists, taking photos and checking out the glittering window displays of the various jewelers who lined both sides of the bridge.

  Not that tourists were the reason for my suddenly racing pulse. “Here in Florence?” I was determined not to show how much sh
e’d startled me, but when she nodded, I couldn’t stop myself snapping, “What part of stop texting him did you not understand?”

  “I rang him.”

  “Fritha!” She wasn’t getting away with it.

  But before I could drag her over the coals for her very clear breach of girlfriend etiquette, she said, “Stop pretending to be upset. You want to see him.”

  I stared into her knowing brown eyes and said, “No. I don’t.”

  She sniffed the air. “Someone’s pants are on fire.”

  “Shut up.” I turned away, knowing it was a childish gesture, but my cheeks were hot and my brain refused to function properly. Nicholas was here? In Florence? There was no way I was ready to see him, and no way I was telling him about The Rocks Spa. Thank goodness I hadn’t told Fritha what I’d done. She might have blabbed to him herself.

  She stepped around in front of me. “He arrived at the convent last night.”

  My mouth fell open at this fresh shock. “At our convent?” Dear God. What if we’d seen him in the breakfast room while we’d been eating those dust-dry buns the sisters served up with jam and no butter—an apple on the side.

  I pressed a hand against my chest, willing my heart to stay inside, but it was thudding so hard I could barely think. I shook my head. “This is too much. You’ve gone too far.” I looked around wildly, wondering if The Burrows in Florence could send someone over to the convent for my luggage.

  “Stop,” she commanded, and pulled on my arm. “You have to face him sooner or later.”

  “No I don’t.” It was one thing to linger over memories of the heart-stopping sex we’d shared, and wistfully recall the security of being surrounded by those biceps as I drifted to sleep. But the idea of seeing him again to discuss the panic room episode, or worse, if Fritha had told him I had a secret to reveal, when I was totally unprepared…

  No.

  I wasn’t doing that.

  I took both Fritha’s hands in mine. “This is where we part company,” I said clearly and slowly so she couldn’t misunderstand my meaning. “I’m staying elsewhere. I’ll send for my luggage. Pack it for me if you like, or they will. I’ll settle your account at the convent and put a buffer of spending money into the card I gave you. The car to the airport will pick you up on Friday, as we’d planned.”

  “Louella—”

  “You and Nicholas can have a lovely holiday together.” I knew very well that I sounded patronizing and nothing like myself. But I was having an out-of-body experience.

  “Can I fuck him?” she asked, and blinked at me innocently, but I knew what she was doing. She was trying to make me jealous.

  “If you like,” I replied evenly, but the words had come from between my teeth. The thought of him naked with anyone but me made me sick to the stomach.

  “You’re happy for another woman to be licking that hot chest?” Her gaze challenged me and I glared back at her. “Sucking that—”

  “He won’t,” I cut over her loudly, because I could not listen to another word.

  “Of course he won’t,” she snapped “He’s crazy about you. But you…” She shook her head. “You’re just flat-out crazy to walk away from a man like that.”

  “You have no idea—”

  “I know all about women walking away from keepers. I know!” she said, almost shouting. “I haven’t met a man who was worth the time of day. But you three.” She shook her head again. “The luck fairy drops a spectacular, faithful, sexy man in each of your laps, and you shove him away.” She threw out an arm, theatrically, to make her point.

  “If he loves me—”

  “If?” She stared at me as if I’d gone mad. “Do you have any concept of what he’s done for you? I mean, seriously? While you and I have been swanning around Italy. Do you even know what’s been happening at home?”

  My overcharged pulse-rate slowed. “No. What’s been happening?”

  If something was wrong with Jill or Angela and I hadn’t been told…

  “Ask him,” she spat. “For once in your life, just do as you’re fucking told and meet him for dinner.”

  I blinked at her in surprise. I wasn’t sure that I’d seen Fritha this angry in decades. If ever. And I suddenly realized where my priorities should lie. She was one of my rocks in the whirlpool of life. I needed to honor that.

  “All right,” I said quietly, telling myself I could do anything for one of my girls.

  She was breathing heavily through her nose and two red spots of color rode high on her cheeks. With her long red curls down around her shoulders and an amber suede dress with matching boots, she looked like an Autumn pixie in meltdown.

  “Fritha…?”

  “You’re obeying me,” she said quietly. “I didn’t expect that.”

  “I don’t want you to be upset. I love you, remember?”

  “But you’re okay for him to be upset.”

  I merely raised an eyebrow.

  “You love him,” she said, as if she knew. “And you’re going to tell him that tonight.”

  “You’ve had one win. Don’t push your luck.”

  “But you’re staying at the convent?”

  It was my turn to breathe through my nose, trying to hold onto my calm. Tourists bustled around us, but I stared into her eyes, wanting to say No I damned well am not because the idea of being in the same building as Nicholas was terrifying. What if none of my arguments mattered. What if I saw him and fell into bed with him and the sex was so good, I convinced myself nothing else mattered.

  That wasn’t real. We were very different people, living very different lives. I had a secret I didn’t want to share—a secret I knew he wouldn’t forgive, or even understand. The girls had known me for decades and they’d struggle to comprehend why I’d hurt someone deliberately. Nicholas was so new in my life, all he knew about me was the way I looked, the scent of my skin, the way I tasted, the sound of my voice, and the feel of my body under his.

  It wasn’t a relationship that could bear emotional baggage. It would surely snap under the weight. And where would that leave me? Craving something I couldn’t have.

  Unless…this really was just about sex.

  I opened my mouth to speak, but ended up sucking in an unsteady breath as my thoughts raced forward.

  What if I gave in to the attraction? What if I had as much sex as I wanted to? And if that was all there was, it would be out of my system, and I could go home and slot straight back into my life. No harm done.

  “Louella?” Fritha wasn’t relenting.

  “All right.” I gazed back at her, not quite sure what I’d committed to. Staying at the convent meant I wasn’t running away from him. But did that mean I couldn’t avoid him? I wasn’t sure. And yet, I said, “I’ll stay. I’ll go to dinner with him.”

  She nodded, still frowning, as if she couldn’t understand why I was agreeing. “Good. I’m going home. Today.”

  I shook my head. “But we’ve only been here a few—”

  “I’m sick of cobbled streets and dog shit.”

  “Seriously?” She was the one who was all squee about being in Italy.

  She shrugged. “I miss the rainforest. There aren’t any trees here.”

  “There are in the convent garden.” No wonder she’d spent every spare moment there.

  She raised an eyebrow, giving me a very un-Fritha-like gaze of assessment. “You don’t want me underfoot while you fuck Nick’s brains out…”

  No. I most definitely did not.

  “…so I’ve rung your travel agent girl and she’s got a car coming for me in a few hours. I’ve had enough. The timing works for me.”

  I would be so sorry to see her go. I’d honestly loved our adventure together, and realized we’d never been closer in our lives. But she was right. I couldn’t do this with Nicholas if she was watching. I’d be too selfconscious.

  “Thank you.” I took both her hands, knowing I could be angry with her for manipulating me into this situation. But she was Fri
tha. Sticking her nose into other people’s lives was what she did. I loved her anyway. “I’ve had such a good time.”

  She smiled and the freckles on her nose stood out in the golden sunshine. “A limoncello for the road.”

  That made me laugh, despite my tension about what the evening would bring. “One,” I warned, and she grinned back.

  In all likelihood I’d have to pour her into the taxi, but I’d make sure she had an escort to the airport and onto the plane. Nothing bad was going to happen to her on my watch. So I hooked arms with her again and we set off across the bridge, into the center of Florence for a final tipple before I saw her off.

  I wouldn’t let myself think about Nicholas before I saw him, but below the banter with Fritha was definite nervous tension, winding low in my stomach and tingling across my skin.

  Where his hands might be…

  Tonight.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “You look beautiful,” Nicholas said softly, gazing deep into my eyes, and while I wanted to return the compliment—he was wearing a beautifully tailored suit—I couldn’t drag my attention from his face, and nor could I make my lips move.

  They were pressed together as I drank in the golden tan of his skin, the bottomless blue of his eyes, the faint scent of aftershave that drifted through the opened doorway, clean and yet mysteriously masculine in a way that made my breasts ache inside my bra.

  I’d been tense all afternoon after seeing Fritha off, knowing Nicholas was in a room somewhere in the convent, so I’d hidden in my own, alternating between excitement and terror while I waited for seven o’clock to arrive—for him to arrive. And now that he was at my door I felt…euphoria.

  He loves you.

  I could see it shining in his eyes, in the gentle smile that I suddenly, desperately, wanted to kiss. But I remained still, resisting the urge to straighten my black pencil skirt or the soft white chiffon shirt with its large black flowers that I’d tucked into it.

  In six inch black heels, I was still shorter than him, but not by much, and I was thinking it would be so easy to lean up when he leant down, so slowly that there was ample time for me to react, to stop him.