Two-Week Wife Page 3

  ‘Tell her whatever story you fancy, Bianca, only make it convincing. You have a choice: either telling the truth, or inventing a temporary separation or impending divorce. Believe me when I tell you I have somewhere I can lay my head for the duration of that fortnight, so you don’t have to worry your pretty little head about where I’ll sleep.’

  Bianca glared at him while he shepherded her out of his bedroom. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get dressed. I’m going out.’ And he firmly closed and locked his door.

  CHAPTER THREE

  ADAM closed his eyes as he leant against the door.

  God damn Bianca for making him lie like that!

  He had no intention of asking Sophie to marry him. Hell, he’d only just met the girl the previous week.

  He also hadn’t been going to go out tonight. He was tired after his unsuccessful foray at the races. He would have liked nothing better than to settle down in front of the TV with his feet up and have Bianca dish him up one of her interesting meals.

  She was a fantastic cook, and spoiled him whenever he was at home in that regard. It was one of the plusses among the many negatives in having her around.

  But he’d be blowed if he’d stay at home tonight now! He’d have to sleep over at the penthouse, he supposed, even though it would still smell of paint. He didn’t have a date with Sophie, as Bianca would undoubtedly conclude. But he wished he had.

  A night in bed with Sophie would blot Bianca out of his mind for a few hours at least. Sophie was everything Bianca wasn’t. Tall and curvy, with long blonde hair, wide hips and breasts like melons. He’d learnt from Laura many years ago never to date a girl who reminded him in any way of the heartless creature who’d told him she felt nothing when she looked at him. Generally he confined himself to bedding busty blondes, with the occasional redhead thrown in for variety. Brunettes never stood a chance.

  Sophie was a minor actress, sleeping her way up in the world with gay abandon. He’d met her last Saturday night at the new Darling Harbour Casino, where she was working as a croupier between bit roles in movies. No doubt she’d thought he was a real high-roller, laying thousand-dollar bets. Which he was, he supposed.

  Gambling had always paid off for Adam, because he approached it with a cool head and mathematical skill. Bianca would be stunned at how much money it had brought him over the years...if he ever chose to tell her. She thought he confined his gambling to the races. She also thought he lost more than he won.

  Racing was all very well, in small doses, but the really big money was to be made in the casinos. Unfortunately, he had to keep changing venues, because management soon spotted professional gamblers, and had a dim view of clients capable of counting cards or who used other systems which could regularly beat the house.

  Bianca had no idea of his weekend trips interstate, to the casinos in Melbourne, Hobart, Adelaide and even Pert, nor of the elegant, sophisticated and very accommodating women who threw themselves at him on those occasions. It stroked his ego to note that they had no trouble with ‘spark’ when they looked at him, as Bianca did. Hell, they fairly went up in flames when he touched them.

  Fortunately, the opening of a new casino in Sydney had brought him a much closer venue—for gambling and otherwise. The night he’d met Sophie, he’d been trying one of his newer systems on the blackjack table, though his concentration had been shot to pieces. He’d been thinking about Bianca spending the weekend up the coast at some sleazy motel with darling Derek. She hadn’t been bored with him seven days ago. Far from it!

  Sophie had given him the eye as she’d dealt him the cards, so his bruised ego had taken her home to her place after she finished up. He hadn’t given Bianca a single thought till he’d woken the next morning to brown eyes instead of blue, and blonde hair instead of black.

  Swearing at the memory, Adam levered himself away from the door, throwing off his robe as he strode over to his built-in wardrobe.

  He began to agonise, as he dragged on some clothes, about whether he’d ever marry.

  Probably not, came the savagely rueful acceptance. He’d only ever wanted one girl as his wife and the mother of his children. How could he settle for second-best?

  No, he’d be having one-night stands with blonde bimbos when he was eighty—paid for, by then— and dreaming of what might have been, if only he hadn’t been such a useless schmuck at eighteen!

  He glanced down at the old jeans he’d automatically pulled on and thought of all the swanky clothes he’d recently installed in the penthouse instead of the boot of his car—the ones he wore in his secret life as gambler and lover extraordinaire. The Italian suits. The tuxedos. The black silk pyjamas and dressing gowns.

  He shook his head at himself, for he knew that that life wasn’t real. It would one day come to an end. It was a game. Thankfully a prosperous game, while his wits and courage were up to it, but still essentially a game—to be played as a boost to his ego and bank balance as well as a much needed diversion from the distress real life kept bringing him.

  Real life was outside this door, waiting for him, waiting to try to change his mind about being her pretend husband.

  He would have to be strong. Already he was feeling guilty. Already he was weakening. Tempting thoughts began infiltrating his brain. Maybe he would enjoy the pretence? Maybe he could lie there at night beside her and fantasise? Maybe she’d be so grateful to him that she’d let him...?

  His teeth clenched down hard in his jaw. He didn’t want her bloody gratitude. He wanted what she willingly gave those other guys. He wanted her passion and her desire. He wanted her sexy little body, naked and panting beneath him, begging him to go on, desperate for him...

  Adam swore as he became hotly aware that his fantasy had swiftly transferred to a hard, aching reality. He dragged a sloppy Joe down over his thudding heart and vowed not to weaken one iota.

  Even if she got down on her hands and knees before him, he would not budge an inch.

  A darkly ironic smile creased his mouth as he shoved his feet into battered trainers.

  Let’s not go too far, Adam, came the wicked thought. Bianca on her hands and knees was a perverse and powerfully persuasive prospect. Too bad it would never come about. He would give anything to have her at his mercy. Anything!

  Bianca spun round from the kitchen sink when she heard Adam’s bedroom door bang. Oh, dear. He still sounded very angry. What to do? How best to approach him?

  Appeal to his sense of compassion, she decided, and raced out to head him off before he could leave. The sight of him dressed in old clothes distracted her for a second.

  ‘Oh!’ she exclaimed. ‘So you’re not taking the soon-to-be fiancée out tonight?’ she asked tartly, and immediately bit her bottom lip. Wrong tack, you fool.

  ‘We’re staying in,’ he drawled. ‘Watching videos and searching for the meaning of life.’

  Bianca was taken aback by his sarcasm. He really was in a filthy mood. Perhaps she should leave appealing to his compassion till tomorrow.

  But what if he didn’t come home tomorrow? He was staying away from the flat more and more these days—obviously at this Sophie’s place.

  ‘Adam, when can we talk about this further?’ she asked, in her most apologetic and reasonable tone. ‘I know you’re angry with me, and I’m sorry. I should have told you before this.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have done it at all!’

  ‘Yes, you’re right. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Bianca, saying sorry is not always enough.’

  Bianca could feel mutiny brewing inside her heart. Why was he being so damned difficult about this? Was she asking so much? Two miserable weeks of pretending to be her husband and then he was off the hook to marry this...this Sophie creature.

  ‘You always said I could count on you,’ she pointed out rather sulkily.

  ‘You can. In things that count.’

  She pouted her displeasure. ‘I would do it for you.’

  ‘Do what?’

 
‘Pretend to be your wife.’

  ‘Really? That’s an interesting thought. But I don’t need a pretend wife. I’m going to have a real one.’

  Bianca still hadn’t come to terms with that. Still, there was a many a slip twixt the engagement and the altar. If this Sophie was anything like his previous girlfriends he’d soon be bored to death with her. None of those bimbos had had enough brains to boil water.

  ‘So what do you expect me to tell Mum?’ she asked defiantly.

  He shrugged. ‘That’s your problem.’

  ‘I’m not going to tell her I lied, Adam.’

  ‘Heaven forbid. Tell you what, though. I’ll stay away the whole fortnight. You tell your mum we’re having a trial separation. Then, later, you can write and say that it didn’t work out and we’re divorced.’

  ‘She’ll be very upset.’

  ‘Only if you are. Tell her that it was an amicable parting and that we’re still good friends. That’s the best I can do.’

  Bianca pressed her lips tightly together to stop herself from saying what she thought of him and his so-called friendship. When the chips were down, it had proved about as strong as his so-called love! ‘Is that your final word on the matter?’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘Then to hell with you, Adam Marsden. You’re not the man I thought you were. As soon as Mum goes home to Scotland, I’ll be finding somewhere else to live.’

  His sudden stillness raised one last grain of hope in her breast. She could have sworn regret flashed momentarily in his eyes. But then they cooled perceptively and her heart sank.

  ‘I think that would be best for all concerned, Bianca,’ he said, with casual indifference.

  All of a sudden she wanted to cry. Or to scream. Or both. Instead, she gave him an icy glare. ‘I will never ask you for another thing. Not as long as I live. I will have trouble even speaking to you!’

  His face hardened. ‘Good.’

  ‘I had no idea you were such a bastard! To think I once believed you loved me!’

  The cruellest little smile pulled at his mouth. ‘The things we have to live with,’ came his sarcastic remark.

  Bianca could only stare at him. ‘I don’t know you at all, do I? You’ve become a stranger!’

  ‘A stranger?’ he repeated idly. ‘Yes, you could be right.’

  And, with that devil’s smile still playing on his lips, he picked up his car keys from where he always left them in the ashtray on the coffee-table and walked out on her.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  BIANCA was as good as her word. She didn’t ask Adam for another thing all week. Neither did she speak to him.

  Hard to, when he wasn’t these.

  He’d come back briefly on the Sunday evening, collected some clothes, told her curtly he’d be staying elsewhere for the following three weeks and departed again.

  It turned out to be the loneliest, most wretched week Bianca had ever spent in her life. She missed Adam terribly. OK, so they hadn’t been living in each other’s pockets lately, but he was usually there a few nights a week, and always on a Sunday afternoon. She liked having him around to talk to and cook for. He gave her life purpose, especially now she’d given Derek the flick.

  Truly, she didn’t know what she’d ever seen in that big lug. He had a great body to look at and touch, but this time—amazingly—she’d wanted more. She’d wanted a boyfriend with brains as well as brawn.

  Adam had been so right about dear Derek’s lack of grey matter. This had come home to her during their drive up to Foster last Saturday. Four hours had never seemed so long. She’d been bored to tears before they’d even arrived at the beachside town.

  Derek had not been pleased when she’d told him she wanted separate rooms. She hadn’t actually been to bed with him as yet, and he’d no doubt been expecting a real orgy that weekend. Still, it hadn’t been long before he’d started talking about some other girl he’d met down at the gym that week. Clearly, his girlfriends were just interchangeable sex objects.

  A bit like your boyfriends, darling, came that horrid voice which had seemed to keep popping into her head ever since her fight with Adam. It told her all sorts of things she didn’t want to hear about herself. Like how shallow she was. And how selfish.

  Which she obviously was! Otherwise she would have been happy that Adam had fallen in love and was going to get married. Instead, she resented the thought. She certainly resented this Sophie. More than resented her. She hated her. And she didn’t even know the girl.

  Depression began to set in as each day dragged by. November was a fairly slow month in the section of the accountancy firm where she was currently employed. Her job description as ‘taxation consultant’ sounded far grander than the actual work she did—giving tax advice to clients and preparing their tax returns.

  She’d have to find herself a new job soon. This one paid well, but it was as boring as anything. She’d only stuck at it because she owed Adam money. There were far too many moments during each day when her mind was not occupied, and then she would begin thinking of what she was going to tell her mother about her supposed marriage to Adam.

  Night-times were worse. It took her ages to fall asleep, her thoughts going round and round. She started taking extra aerobics classes at the gym every evening, working herself so hard she should have slept like a log every night.

  Instead, she tossed and turned, guilt warring with irritation.

  Irritation was definitely winning by Wednesday night.

  If only Adam had been co-operative, she started thinking furiously. If only he hadn’t fallen in love with that stupid Sophie. If only he was still in love with me!

  By Thursday night her conscience took over again. She was being shallow and selfish, thinking of no one but herself. She should never have lied to her mother in the first place. Lying was never a good idea. Honesty was indeed the best policy.

  By the time she fell asleep on the Thursday night, Bianca had decided to ring Adam at the university the next morning, beg his forgiveness and promise to tell her mother the truth if only he’d come home to live.

  Friday dawned to the sound of the telephone ringing in the flat, and she jumped out of bed, certain it was Adam. After all, a friendship such as theirs could not be destroyed so easily. He was probably feeling as guilty as she was, she thought as she raced to answer, her heart pounding as she snatched up the receiver.

  ‘Hello? Is that you, Adam?’ Even as she said the words she knew she was wrong. For the beeps on the line told her this was a long-distance call.

  “Fraid not, lass,’ a male voice said, with a Scottish accent. ‘If that’s Bianca, this is your Uncle Steward.’

  ‘Uncle Stewart?’ Her heart squeezed tight. Something had gone wrong with her mother. She wasn’t coming. She was dying!

  All the blood drained from her face and she slumped against the telephone table. ‘Oh, God,’ she groaned. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘Now don’t jump to conclusions, lass. Your mother’s fine. She’s just taken an earlier flight. It arrives around five this afternoon, not on Saturday. Is that OK? Can you meet it?’

  ‘Yes, of course!’ Bianca exclaimed, relief making her feel better than she had all week. ‘But why did she do that?’

  ‘A friend was able to upgrade her to business class on that flight for no extra money, so it seemed silly not to take it.’

  ‘I’ll say.’

  ‘I won’t keep you, lass. This is costing me a fortune. Look after your mother.’

  ‘I will, Uncle Stewart. And thanks so much for helping with her fare.’

  ‘No trouble. She deserves it. Bye for now.’

  ‘Bye.’

  Bianca hung up, feeling excited yet slightly sick. Her mother’s imminent arrival brought home to her the fact that there was one thing less advisable than lying to her mum, and that was owning up to lying to her.

  Bianca knew then that she just couldn’t do it. She was going to stick to her marriage story, which meant it was better if
Adam stayed right away. So there would be no phone call to the university, no begging for forgiveness. She would just have to make up some plausible story to explain Adam’s absence.

  Perhaps she could say the university had sent him on an unexpected mission to deepest, darkest Africa, to teach calculus to underprivileged pygmies!

  Five-fifteen that afternoon found Bianca parking her car in the international terminal car park, feeling more than a little flustered. She’d had no trouble getting time off from work, but her old rusted-out heap of a car had decided not to start after sitting in the hot November sun all day, and she’d had to ring the Road Service Company to come and get it going.

  Luckily, the problem had only been dirty points, and she was soon on her way. But time had been lost, peak hour had arrived and it had taken her much longer to get from the office in Crows Nest through the harbour tunnel and out to busy Mascot. Her watch said twenty past five by the time she made it inside the blessedly air-conditioned terminal building.

  A check of the overhead screens showed the flight had landed pretty well on time, ten minutes earlier. Bianca hurried along to Gate B, still feeling hot and bothered, and very grateful that it would be a while before her mother got through Customs.

  A quick trip to the Ladies’ revived her melting make-up and limp hair, which she secured high on her head in a shiny blue scrunchie. Her mother always complained she never made the most of her looks, so she’d made a special effort to look pretty today, wearing one of the few feminine outfits she owned—a flowing skirt and matching blouse in a flowery print of blues and mauves.

  Bianca gnawed at her bottom lip as she washed her hands, hoping the old friendship ring Adam had given her once long ago would pass as a wedding ring. She was not the owner of much jewellery, and it was the best she could rustle up at the last minute. At least it was fairly plain and made of gold.

  Taking a deep, gathering breath, Bianca smiled at herself in the mirror and told herself to be natural, or her mother would know something was up. May Peterson had a nose for lies, and liars.