Husband Sit (Husband #1) (2 page)

The
pieces were falling into place, and when I realized it wasn’t a
totally
impossible idea, giddy excitement swept up inside me, replacing the hopelessness
that had crushed me all morning. I could almost feel my heart lift, and in that
moment, it didn’t actually matter whether anyone would hire me. I had something
to try—a window out of the cavern of despair I’d fallen into: imagining cheeky
Bratt-girl, hollow-eyed with despair in some Bangkok prison, or Missy Lou
giving me that disapproving glance she’d perfected. For the very last time.

The
fact that it would be a form of prostitution seemed less important to my
weirdly-wired brain than the idea of sleeping with a married man.
That
would require me to go against my Catholic upbringing and my girlfriends’ good
opinion of me. But beyond that, could I actually do the job—assuming there was
such a position available? I was presentable, and certainly no threat to a rich
wife. Would they pay me to sleep with their husbands while they were away? It
might be temporarily embarrassing, being intimate with a stranger, but surely
no worse than the awkwardness of a one-night stand. And when the job was over,
I’d leave and never see them again.

The
longer I sat there, the more I was sure I could do it. I’d even have free time
while the husband was at work to do secretarial assignments. Morals were a
niggling problem, but when I considered the angles, I realized I wouldn’t be
cheating on anyone. In fact, I’d be strengthening marriages by keeping straying
husbands from leaving their wives.

Or
at least that’s what I told myself
.
The most compelling piece of
justification, however, was simple necessity. I wanted to rescue Brittany. I
didn’t want to ask Missy Lou for the money. So I simply had to try.

Between
feeding and grooming Jasmine and typing up assignments I’d received through the
secretarial portal, I created an ad which I quietly placed in the personal
column of a national newspaper, along with a fake name and email address. Much
to my astonishment, responses came immediately: five in the first day, and then
two or three every day after. I couldn’t believe the number of women who would
respond to:

HUSBAND
SITTER FOR HIRE: Does your man stray? Are you scared to leave him alone for
fear he’ll replace you? Hire me to keep him home at night so you can enjoy a
well-earned break. Reliable and Healthy. Reasonable rates
.

Most
of the women sounded eager to let someone else take a turn in their marital
bed, so long as they could control the situation. That shouldn’t have shocked
me, but it did. The married people I knew would never stand for infidelity. I
sure as hell wouldn’t. But I tried not to judge. That wouldn’t help me find
peace with the situation.

So
I kept on with the selection process, sending a photo of myself in response to
each query. After I’d sent that, half my prospective clients failed to respond.
At first, I wondered why. Maybe I was too attractive and they thought their
husbands wouldn’t be happy with them afterwards. Or maybe they thought the
photo was phony. After all, I am attractive in dark-eyed, sexy-hair kind of
way, courtesy of my mother’s Italian heritage. They must have wondered why I
didn’t have a man of my own, but that was the eternal question. Why can’t
attractive women find decent, non-boring men for hot sex and a happily ever
after?

Anyway…I
didn’t waste mental space on the ones who fell off my radar, because A. I was
in a hurry, and B. more enquiries were coming in. I just concentrated on the
solid leads, sending out a second bikini photo which I assumed they’d show to
their husbands. Within a few days, I’d lined up three interviews in nearby
Surfers Paradise. Then I splurged on hair and nails so I’d turn up pampered and
pretty on my prospective clients’ doorsteps.

But
not too pretty.

I
made sure the floral dress I wore showed off my figure, but it wasn’t low cut
and it fell below the knees. I deliberately wore flat shoes and pulled my
shoulder-length dark brown hair into a ponytail, aiming for ‘clean’ and
‘wholesome’ rather than tousled and sexy, because I knew it was the wife I had
to impress.

The
first house was in the ritzy suburb of Sanctuary Cove, and I’d allocated half
an hour for a brief interview to get an initial impression of whether I thought
I could have sex with the man, before it went further. After a last pat with
Jasmine, I set off feeling empowered by my
Super Sister
solution, but as
soon as I arrived and turned off the ignition, anxiety slithered back in.

I
glanced over at the house:
possible site of my future moral downfall
. It
was a large Mediterranean bungalow landscaped with clumps of palm trees. A
bridge over a water feature led visitors to the oversized front door, and next
to that sat a double garage which probably housed expensive cars.

My
Ford sedan was working class, like me.

I
knew I didn’t belong here with rich successful people, but I motivated myself
by pulling out my phone and looking at the selfie Brittany had sent me that
morning. The antibiotics had done their work and her face had good color in it,
but she looked weird with no eye-makeup. The Brat I knew wore thick kohl
pencil. These eyes were red-rimmed from crying over her uneven boobs which the
doctors had told her should settle down when the swelling eased. If they
didn’t, we’d get them looked at when she arrived back in Australia. For the
moment, I just wanted her healthy and home.

Step
one in that program was getting a husband sitting job. So I really needed to go
into the house and meet Finn and Katinka. Prospective clients. I didn’t have to
say yes if I didn’t like them. I just had to meet them.

I’d
be fine.

Still,
it was hard work forcing myself to get out of the car. And then I only managed
to get onto their manicured footpath before I faltered to a stop because
nobody
knew where I was
. My heartbeat suddenly slowed, thudding against my ribs. I
hadn’t told anyone what I was doing. My three girlfriends would have organized
an intervention if they’d known! So I was right not to tell them. But I should
have organized someone as back up. What if the people inside were crazies? I
mean… who replied to ads like that?

I
stared at the house, thinking I should just go. My palms were sweating and I was
clearly in no frame of mind for meeting people anyway. I’d be a gibbering mess.
But in that moment the front door opened and a mature blonde—presumably Katinka—grinned
across at me. “Maree!” She called my fake name in some European accent. “Come
in, darling.” She waved in big elaborate gestures that made sunlight sparkle on
her masses of gold jewelry, and her friendliness was enough to encourage my
reluctant legs to obey.

She
was at least ten years older than me but groomed to within an inch of her life,
and simply gorgeous from her glowing tan and long, platinum blond hair to her
perfectly manicured nails and dazzling teeth. Her white silk suit was probably
designer, and my dress had come from a department store sale, so as I came to a
stop in front of her I couldn’t help thinking
I’m no threat to this woman
.
And she knew it. She grabbed my arm and pulled me inside as if I was her new
best friend.

“Darling,
I am Katinka. Come and meet my husband Finn.” She strolled me down the long
marble hallway, glancing at me through lowered lashes, checking me out quite
openly. I was pleased then to have picked a modest outfit. Yet for all my
fears, she seemed to like me straight away, and by the time I’d reached the
kitchen, I knew the name of her favorite jewelry shop in town, the color of her
car detailer’s eyes, and the fact that she preferred espresso to cappuccino.
Katinka had already made up her mind that I was working for her by the time she
pulled me to a halt in front of her husband
.

And
oh my stars…

Finn
wasn’t at all what I would have expected from meeting Katinka. Walking down her
Italian marble hallway, I’d expected a fat, gold-clad mogul, but as he stood to
meet me, I felt my breath stutter in my chest. He was
gorgeous—
tall and
lean with shoulder length honey-blond dreadlocks and sexy eyes that were
smiling right into mine. I was so relieved that he wasn’t ugly, I felt myself
trembling in reaction. There and then, I made a mental note to ask for a photo
of the husband in future. I’d been an idiot flying blind, and that, if nothing
else, showed me how half-baked this whole idea was.

“Finnie,
my darling,” she said in her adorable accent. “This is Maree, your new movie
buddy.”

He
laughed at that and I felt my tensed shoulders begin to relax. “Welcome to our home,”
he said and shook my hand. “You look too young to be thirty-five.” His long
fingers enveloped mine, and for some reason I couldn’t let go. Was I trying to
anchor myself? His touch felt safe, and I was reluctant to lose it. On the
other side of the equation, I was noticing that his hand was large and warm,
and for a crazy second I imagined it sliding up my arm and into my hair as he
pulled me forward for a kiss. I was so crazy-nervous, my lips even parted for a
second before I had myself under control again.

Then
I let him go awkwardly and focused on the conversation so I wouldn’t look like
a complete twit in the first five minutes:
too young to be thirty-five
.
Okay, I’d heard that a lot. Vegetarian, non-smokers usually did look younger,
so I shrugged and said, “Lack of vices.” I wanted to say he looked lucky to be
thirty, whereas Katinka was a well preserved forty—at least.

“Oh
really?” He raised an ironic eyebrow and I suddenly realized he’d take my
comment about vices as a joke. I was, after all, advertising myself as an
adulteress,
and
charging an outrageous weekly rate—which I told myself
was appropriate for a live-in sexual surrogate.

Not
that I had any experience.

Or
talent.

Luckily
Finn didn’t know that yet, but he was gazing at me speculatively with those
amazing eyes which looked green from two paces out, and I really didn’t have a
clever response. My palms had stopped sweating and were tingling now, as though
remembering his touch.

I
did nothing about the awkward silence until Katinka steered me onto the lounge
opposite Finn. She insisted on wine instead of coffee, and proceeded to
entertain us both with anecdotes about the local wives who were lining up to
get their hair cut by the new hunky hairdresser. Finn laughed at her jokes and,
watching him, I realized he had beautiful teeth—I’ve always had a thing for
teeth—and with his limbs all stretched out, a seriously sexy bod.

All
I could think was
You’re going to pay me to have sex with this man?
I
was there for a deathly-serious purpose, but the saying ‘Have your cake and eat
it too’ seemed entirely appropriate. I was so dazzled by my own hormones and
Finn’s deliciousness, I suddenly didn’t want to meet the other husbands. I
wanted to live in this house and fuck this man. He was that scrumptious, and if
I wasn’t careful I’d start dribbling like Princess Jasmine did when she got
into a patting trance.

In
fact, I was surreptitiously wiping my mouth when Katinka interrupted herself to
make a quick call to her sister, and just as suddenly as I’d relaxed, I was
left alone with Finn. I had questions I’d planned to ask him, and things to ask
them both, but Katinka’s orchestration of the meeting had thrown me completely
off my stride. My nerves came tumbling back and all I could stammer was, “Wow.
She’s quite a woman. I’m not sure why she needs me.”

That
gave him an opening to admit he’d cheated on her—and for me to see how I felt
about that—because maybe he wouldn’t be so attractive if he was bragging about
his conquests. Instead, he smiled in a sexy self-deprecating way that made me
want to fuck him even more, and said, “She’s totally neurotic, but I love her.
Please say you’ll take the job and make her happy.” I was about to say
Yes
please
, when he added, “No way am I having sex with anyone but her. I just
can’t convince her. So if this set-up makes her happy...”

He
shrugged, and gazed at me as if I’d understand completely.

Instead,
I blinked at him, even more thrown than I had been when Katinka had left the
room. This new development was the
last
thing I’d expected. Stupidly,
I’d thought any man would be happy to fuck me, so Finn’s blatant rejection was
an axe-blow to my feminine pride. How did I expect to do this job if men didn’t
find me attractive? I could feel my stomach swirling low and sick, and was so
embarrassed I didn’t stop to think. If I had, I might have realized this wasn’t
about me. It was clearly about him and his conscience. Instead, I blurted, “You
don’t want to have sex with me?”

“No,
I don’t,” he replied, categorically, and I felt my face go hot. Just as
suddenly as I’d wanted to take the job, I now wanted to leave. ASAP. Every
insecurity I’d ever had about myself as a desirable woman came crashing back. I
was clearly nothing more than the ‘stupid whore’ the nuns had always told us we
were in danger of becoming.

In
that moment, I was so overwhelmed by the shock of his rejection, I didn’t even
realize he was saying I could stay and
not
fuck him. So I snapped,
“Thanks for wasting my time,” and stood to leave.