Husband Heel (Husband #3)

by Louise Cusack

  But it was hard. We sat on individual white Chesterfields in the family room, and after flicking through the menu options, we agreed on Much Ado about Nothing. I adored Shakespeare, and the familiarity of watching actors I loved bringing the ‘merry wit’ of the story alive delighted me. At first I’d thought Nicholas was just being agreeable, but as the story progressed I realized he knew it well, although not this version.

  Like most Shakespeare, it alternated between humor and pathos, and midway through the movie I had an epiphany. This was life. Prior to the last few weeks, my existence had been shiny and shallow, and I hadn’t allowed myself either extreme. In fact, I had thought such ‘high dudgeon’ to be the stuff of melodrama, almost as though people faked the emotions to make their lives appear exciting.

  But I was the one who’d been faking, and as the honesty of Shakespeare’s story unfolded, with its betrayals and loyalty, tears and laughter, I suddenly knew I couldn’t go back. I couldn’t be the polished Louella I had been. That woman felt like a mannequin.

  When the final credits rolled, Nicholas stretched and said, “Love the bard. Great dialogue.”

  I wasn’t sure why it pleased me that he got Shakespeare, but it did. “That’s my favorite version of Much Ado. Ben Elton and Michael Keaton—”

  “Not to mention Denzel Washington and Keanu Reeves.” He slanted me patronizing glance. “I’m picking up what you’re puttin’ down, sister.”

  I couldn’t help laughing out loud. “Oh really? And I suppose men watch Lara Croft for the action and adventure?”

  “Maybe.” He shrugged. “But I get action and adventure as part of my job.” Then his voice lowered into an intimate rumble. “That’s not what I crave.”

  Crave.

  He was looking right at me, and there could be no misinterpreting that piece of innuendo. But before I could react, he stood and said, “So now I’ll be heading to the gym for a couple of hours of punishing exercise in the hope that I can actually sleep tonight.”

  In the bedroom next to mine.

  I nodded. There was really nothing more to say about the situation. It was what it was. “Thank you for watching the movie with me. It was nice not to feel lonely.”

  In fact, it was more than nice. It had been lovely to have someone laughing at the places that tickled my sense of humor and leaving tender moments alone. He was a respectful movie buddy, not blabbing during the film—as Fritha might—and I suddenly realized the last two hours had been deeply satisfying in some way that I couldn’t articulate. I felt the little flare of happiness inside me and I wanted to nurture it.

  He shrugged. “You’re welcome. So, I’ll see you at breakfast. Betty’s not coming in—”

  “I’ll make it. Around seven?”

  “Sure.” He looked at me curled up in my armchair for another few seconds, then he left.

  I went straight to my room, got ready for bed—in a nightgown this time—and slid between the sheets. Despite my earlier nap I was tired, and there was nothing more I could do for anyone. Besides, the relaxation of the last few hours had lulled me into a false sense of all’s right with the world.

  Few things actually were ‘right’ for me currently, but emotional upheaval had drained me, so I slept.

  When I struggled back into consciousness, sunlight was streaming in my window, and I realized it had to be later than 6am when my brain normally woke me.

  I glanced at the bedside clock and that jump-started my heart. It was 10am.

  I never slept in. Even the night I’d slept with Nicholas, I’d woken early. It was so unlike me, I had to sit on the side of the bed to regroup. What the hell was running through my head, but I was also thinking about the fact that no one had rung me. Marcus must still be alive.

  I picked up my phone to confirm it and yes, an email had come through from our medical service with details of the successful operation and his return to the Intensive Care ward. There was no mention of whether he’d suffered any permanent damage, or even if he might still die. Simply the fact that this stage was successful and he was alive.

  Strangely, I had no emotional reaction to that. Shouldn’t I be relieved, or angry, or something?

  Had Nicholas’s comment about Marcus being an albatross around my neck changed me? It had certainly made me think, and the fact that Marcus had tried to protect his lover, and would now be grieving for him, confused me because no part of me was jealous. Which was odd, because Nicholas’s slightest mention of an ex-girlfriend teaching him to cook had stirred rankles.

  So was jealousy only possible when you felt desire?

  I had no idea about that either, but I was in the middle of a highly unusual situation, so the fact that I didn’t know how I should feel about everything was probably acceptable. And perhaps my best path forward was simply to get on with the day and face whatever eventuated with whatever measure of emotional control I could muster at the time.

  Today I donned armor—makeup and a soft grey flannel suit with black buttons that I knew highlighted the blue of my eyes, topped off with black heels. When I’d straightened my skirt and felt ready, I went downstairs, and found Nicholas in the library reading something on his phone that he abruptly swiped away as he stood. A book? An email? Why was he hiding it?

  “Good morning,” he said brightly. “Sleeping beauty.” I frowned and he added, “No, I didn’t look into your room. I have a good memory.”

  And with that single comment, the sexual tension between us arced up.

  I tried to push past it. “I’m sorry I wasn’t up for breakfast.”

  He waved that away. “I cleaned you out of bacon and eggs but I ordered some more.”

  “Good.”

  We looked at each other, but awkwardness didn’t jump into the gap. It was too full of simmering sexuality.

  “I’ve been up since five pulling weights,” he said, as if that was my fault, and of course I had to glance at his smooth, firm biceps which only elevated the heat in the room. I wondered then if flannel had been a bad choice, and I determined to dial down the air conditioning temperature as soon as he’d left the room.

  I went and sat behind my desk. “I’m going to ring the hospital.”

  “He’s alive.”

  “I know.” I pointed to my phone.

  Nicholas waited, then said, “So…relief?”

  “Of course.” I’d said it too loudly and suddenly he was watching me very closely. “I’ll text Adele to let her know. She might still be on her stopover in Dubai.”

  He didn’t comment on that. “Do you want to go to the hospital?”

  No. I absolutely didn’t. After my appalling breakdown with Marcus—which I still wasn’t convinced had anything to do with him—I needed space. Time. But I wasn’t sure how to say that.

  “…or do you have to be here for Jill and Finn?”

  “Yes. I do.” Nicholas just looked at me, so I hurried to add, “Our medical service is monitoring the situation. They’ll ring if there’s any change.”

  “I’m sure they will. You’re his next of kin.”

  It was a subtle way of rubbing in the fact that I was still his wife.

  “Actually, Adele has his Power of Attorney,” I reminded him stiffly. “That was signed over when we separated, at my request.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Who’s your Power of Attorney?”

  Sudden cold settled on my skin, and I felt myself go still inside. “Why would you ask that?” I’d had years of people trying to leverage money away from me, and I normally deflected them at the first sign of opportunism. But Nicholas had gotten under my skin—I’d been in his bed—he’d worn down all my armor.

  But instead of validating my fears, he ignored my suspicious tone to say, “I suspect it’s one of your girlfriends—hopefully not the redhead—and I only asked so I could get to know you better.” When I didn’t reply, he added. “I’m not interested in robbing you, Louella. I’m the good guy, remember?”

  He was right. It had been a ludicrous s
uspicion. “I’m sorry,” I said quietly. “I’m not very…calm at the moment.” A vast understatement to cover my wildly fluctuating emotions. “But you’re correct. It’s Angela, Jill and Fritha, jointly. They’re also my beneficiaries.”

  He took that in, then said, “It’s always been that way, hasn’t it, even though you were married?”

  He really does know me.

  I nodded.

  “So these girls are important in your life.” It wasn’t a question.

  “I would do anything for them,” I replied, and there could be no doubting the conviction in my voice.

  He immediately took two steps forward and leant on my desk with both hands so he could eyeball me at close range. “Then I suggest you get your shit together, Louella, and move on from your crap marriage. Because I’m pretty damned sure that’s what they’d want—you, whole and happy.”

  We stared at each other for several seconds before he straightened and said, “So while there’s nothing to do but wait, I’m going to bake, because if Betty taught me anything, it’s that guests need cake.”

  I blinked at him several times. “Cake?”

  He arched a brow. “You doubt my abilities? I thought I’d proven myself thoroughly last night.”

  The sensible part of my brain knew he was talking about dinner, but the word thoroughly slid past my defenses and awoke every memory of the night before when I’d lain in his arms and experienced so much pleasure it was engraved in my body. My lips parted as I stared back at him, and I could feel my cheeks warming, my skin tingling. I even had the traitorous thought that my body had recovered completely and that more practice would ensure the ‘tightness’ issue faded into memory.

  Nicholas stared at me for quite some time, then he shook his head. “I tell myself I’m doing okay, and then you look at me like that.” He sucked in a deep breath and let it out so slowly it only increased the tension between us. “So, now I’m going to the treadmill, and then I’m baking.”

  I nodded, glad that I was sitting down so I could hide my own shakiness. “I’ll have breakfast while you…” work off sexual frustration.

  But he didn’t go straightaway. Instead, he asked, “Are you going to tell them?” His tone was almost accusing. “About us.”

  I knew who he meant by them, so I said, “I’ve already told Jill.”

  His eyes widened, and I could see a whole lot of ticking going on inside his brain. He hadn’t expected that. He knew I was a private person, and that I certainly wouldn’t have told anyone else. But he would be realizing now that whatever was happening between us was important enough to have shared it with one of my girlfriends.

  “Okay.” He nodded. “Good.”

  “I would appreciate it, however,” I said formally, “if you didn’t speak to her about it, or anyone else for that matter.” It had only just occurred to me that he had his own circle of friends, including Gisel who was already suspicious of our relationship.

  His expression sobered. “Don’t worry. I’m in no hurry to admit I had sex with a married woman. But I didn’t know at the time, so I’m not carving myself up about it.”

  I wasn’t about to feel bad about what we’d done, so I said nothing. After a minute he added, “But don’t imagine there’s any regret. As previously mentioned, best hour of my life, and being a basically greedy person, I want more, just not yet.”

  “I understand, but it’s difficult with you…” I waved at his chest, “…right in front of me all the time.”

  That stopped him, and for a second I could see he wanted to smirk, but instead he said, “That’s the nicest piece of flattery you’ve ever given me.”

  Was it?

  How had I not told him how completely spectacular he was—not only for the obvious reasons: his amazing body and very sexy eyes, but also for the smaller details: the way his lovely long fingers gripped the steering wheel so confidently, making me feel so secure, the fluid way he rose from a chair, and when his gaze swept a room to find me and snag on me so quickly, he made me feel like the only color object in a black and white world.

  As if I was…unique.

  All of those things moved me, beyond sexual attraction. They were traits I’d never seen in another man, and as I sat at my familiar desk in my familiar library, I suddenly realized that my life would be empty without him in it—far emptier than it had been when Marcus had left.

  I wanted to tell him that, but I wasn’t a blabber like Jill. So I ended up saying, “I’m sorry if I’ve failed to point out all the ways that I find you attractive. Frankly, I’ve been trying to fight it.”

  He sucked in another slow breath. “Good. Because there are moments when I’m just holding on by a thread.” Then he nodded again and let himself out.

  Chapter Ten

  “He’s changed you.” Jill said, out of the blue in the middle of a conversation about Marcus. “Nicholas, I mean.” Luckily we were alone in my bedroom on the pretense of inspecting shoes.

  Finn and Nicholas were downstairs, talking about whatever men spoke of when they barely knew each other. But all the same I lowered my voice. “My recent experiences have changed me. Nicholas—”

  “Au contraire.” She sat on the edge of my bed, all glossy brown hair and long tanned limbs in a vibrant pink jumpsuit and sandals. I felt like a grey flannel moth on my floral Art Deco shellback chair across from her. “The Louella of old,” she went on, “would have buttoned down over these experiences and soldiered on, without a murmur to show you were affected.” She raised an eyebrow. “From what you’ve just told me, you haven’t done that.”

  “No I haven’t,” I had to admit. “I’ve had spectacular meltdowns.” Although, I didn’t mention the one outside The Rocks Spa. It had been enough to admit my breakdown over Marcus’s hospital bed and the kitten affair, although I hadn’t mentioned the historical background behind that particular problem. Jill already hated my mother. Airing that old angst would only make things worse between them in the future.

  One day I would have to admit I was as frightened of babies as I was of kittens, thanks to my mother’s constant reminders that I was a killer, fueled by her own guilt about losing a child. I needed to get over that before Angela’s child was born, but not now. There was already too much to cope with.

  “And only in front of him,” she went on. She gazed at me while we both thought about that. Then she added, “And not only that, you’re opening up to me. About feelings. That’s new.”

  I nodded again. It was all new, but I didn’t know why, or what to do with it. “I’m confused.”

  She grinned. “About time some hunky man came along to scramble your brains.”

  I gave her a patient glance, but had to admit, “He is attractive.”

  “Listen to you,” she laughed. “Attractive. I think we can agree he’s good breeding material. We wouldn’t want those genes to be lost.” My pleasure to have Jill around with girl-talk faltered at the mention of babies, but she babbled on, oblivious. “Of course, he’s not as gorgeous as Finn. Now there’s a lickable man.” She was smiling to herself when she glanced back from her reverie to notice my frown. “L? Backtrack? What did I say?”

  I didn’t want her breaking out bridesmaid dresses simply because I’d had sex once, so I said, “Aside from the I’m still married situation, the fact is, I know so little about him beyond…” I glanced at the bed.

  Jill wasn’t buying it. “You’ve known him for weeks. Don’t give me that I don’t know him bullshit. You like him. Maybe you already love him.”

  “I doubt that.” I looked down at my hands on my lap and sighed. “And even if I did, or do, he’s a bodyguard.” How could I have a relationship with someone who lives with other women for months at a time, protecting them? The very idea set my teeth on edge.

  “Whoa.” She held up a hand for me to stop. “Is this some princess and the pauper thing? Because if it is, I might throw up in my mouth.” She looked at me seriously, “And you know how much I hate vomiting.”r />
  That made me smile, and then very unexpectedly, a laugh emerged.

  “Look at you. Laughing! Seriously. You’re so different.” She was smiling at me in wonder.

  I could only shake my head. “Maybe all the crying has made me feel light.”

  “Or maybe a few really good orgasms detoxed your emotions.” She opened her mouth to say more but it was my turn to hold up a hand.

  “Please don’t give me an example. I know you’ll be explicit and I’m not ready to share that much information.”

  She grinned. “Spoilsport. But Finn is awesome, and then some. Just saying.”

  Impulsively, I replied, “I’m glad you’re here.”

  But that made her frown. “And I’m sorry I wasn’t sooner. But not too sorry, because that meant you and Mr. Tattoo had time to bond. That was good. But call me anytime.”

  “Thanks, but I think these are my demons to sort through.” I stood and smoothed down my skirt. “We’d better go back down. It’s not polite to leave guests for so long.”

  “I thought Nick was co-hosting?”

  For some reason I hadn’t considered that. If it had been Marcus, I wouldn’t have given it a moment’s thought. He was so charming and seemed to effortlessly fill empty spaces with conversation. Nicholas, however, was an unknown quantity, so I was surprised, and I had to admit, delighted, when I found him with Finn in the gym talking weights and muscle-mass and repetitions.

  “How sweet,” Jill said, leaning in the doorway. “The boys are making themselves beautiful for us. Awww.”

  “Saucy,” Finn said and he slanted her a glance. “You’ll pay for that later.”

  “Promises,” she replied airily as she turned away, then to me, “Cocktails?”

  “Living room.”

  We settled in there, waiting for the men, and by the time I turned from the bar with a tray of raspberry limoncello prosecco cocktails, she was barefoot and cross-legged on a white leather Chesterfield sofa, scrolling down her phone.

  “Alcohol,” I announced, putting the tray down on the coffee table in front of her.