Helen Bianchin - The Husband Test

Katrina eased the car to a halt, engaged the remote control, waited as the high wrought-iron gate slid smoothly to one side, then she traversed the semi-circular driveway towards a stylish tri-level home set in well-kept grounds. One of many in this tree-lined street where a mix of old and new residences provided an air of wealth in a harbour-front suburb.

The wide portico framed an impressive entry with ornate double doors protected by a sophisticated security system.

A married couple came in each weekday to clean and tend the grounds, but they would have left hours ago, Katrina reflected as she entered the lobby.

The house was silent, and it was impossible to shrug off a sense of déjàvu.

Late-afternoon sun hit the ornamental multi-paned leaded glass, sending prisms of soft pinks and greens across the cream marble-tiled floor, showcasing the high ceilings, the wide curved staircase leading to an oval balcony, an elegant chandelier.

To her right lay a large formal lounge and dining room, to her left a study, an informal sitting room, dining room and kitchen.

A spacious entertainment room, sauna, spa, gym, were situated on the lower floor, together with an indoor swimming pool with wide French doors leading out onto terraced gardens.

Five bedrooms, each with en suite, comprised the upper level of a beautifully furnished house with magnificent views out over the inner harbour.

For a brief few months it had been home. A place where she’d shared love, laughter, and great passion.

Don’t go there, a tiny voice warned.

Discipline was something she’d mastered at a young age, yet she was helpless against the unwanted emotions invading her mind, her body.

Re-entering Nicos Kasoulis’s space was a move fraught with tension. Yet what choice did she have?

None, if she wanted control of Macbride, Katrina reflected a trifle pensively as she ascended stairs to the upper floor.

Did Nicos occupy the master suite they’d once shared? Or had he moved into one of the other bedrooms?

The master suite, she determined minutes later. His clothes were there, and an array of masculine toiletries took up space on the marbled vanity.

She skimmed a glance over the large bed, and endeavoured to still her increased heartbeat. How could he bear to stay here? Occupy this room, this bed?

Pain clenched in her stomach, and she turned abruptly away in an attempt to stifle a host of memories.

Control, she had it. But for how long? a devilish imp taunted as she chose a bedroom on the opposite side of the balcony.

There was, she saw at once, a small desk ideal for her laptop. A calculated guess on Nicos’s part that she’d select this room, or sheer coincidence?

Second-guessing Nicos’s motivation was a fruitless exercise.

Move your gear in, unpack, take a shower, check your e-mails, make a few calls, then have an early night, she prompted silently.

It was almost ten when hunger forced the realisation she’d missed dinner. Lunch had been a sandwich eaten at her desk, and breakfast had comprised orange juice and black coffee.

Hardly adequate sustenance, she decided as she made her way down to the kitchen to raid the refrigerator.

A ham sandwich and a cup of tea would suffice, and she’d almost finished both when she heard the front door close followed by the beep of the security alarm being set.

There was no way she could escape upstairs without detection, and she didn’t bother to try. The slim hope she’d held that Nicos would simply ignore the array of lights on this level died as he entered the kitchen.

The mere look of him stirred her senses, and set her composure seriously awry.

A dramatic mesh of primitive sexuality and latent power that had a lethal effect on any woman’s peace of mind. Especially hers.

It irked her unbearably that he knew, with just one look at her, no matter how she schooled her expression.

‘A late-night snack, or did you miss dinner?’ Nicos queried mildly as he crossed the room to stand a metre distant.

He took in the baggy tee shirt that reached her thighs, her bare legs and feet, and the hair she’d swept into a pony-tail. A look that was the antithesis of the corporate executive.

‘You’re back early.’

‘You’re evading the question.’

Katrina lifted the cup and took a sip of tea. ‘Both,’ she informed succinctly.

He loosened his tie and thrust both hands into his trouser pockets. She looked beat, and there were dark smudges beneath her eyes. At a guess she hadn’t slept much in the past few nights.

Anxiety at their enforced living arrangements?

‘Should we attempt polite conversation?’ Katrina parried.

He looked vaguely dangerous. She tried to tell herself such a thought was the height of foolishness. But the feeling was there, in the look of him, his relaxed stance. Deceptive, she accorded warily, as all her fine body hairs rose up in protective self-defence.

Instinct warned she should tread carefully. Yet she was prey to a devilish imp prompting her towards certain conflagration.

‘How was your date—sorry, dinner?’ she corrected deliberately.

One eyebrow rose with deliberate cynicism. ‘Why assume my companion was female?’

‘A calculated guess, given the increasing number of women in the business arena.’

‘And my penchant for the company of women?’ Nicos queried silkily.

‘You have a certain reputation.’ A statement that held a wealth of cynicism.

‘I won’t deny intimacy with previous partners,’ he said with dangerous softness. ‘The relationships were selective and meant something at the time.’

‘But you don’t offer fidelity. In or out of marriage.’

He didn’t move, but she had the sensation he was suddenly standing much too close. ‘You want me to reiterate something you refuse to believe?’ he demanded silkily.

The air between them was electric. ‘Why bother?’ She held his gaze without fear. ‘We did that to death at the time. It achieved nothing then. I don’t see that it will now.’

His control was admirable, but his eyes were dark, almost chillingly still. ‘If I were to offer the same query following your return from a business dinner, your answer would be?’

She didn’t hesitate. ‘Get stuffed.’

‘An eloquent phrase.’

Katrina turned towards the sink and jettisoned the remains of her tea. ‘Forget polite.’ She rinsed the cup and placed it in the dishwasher. ‘Let’s just stick with good morning and goodnight.’

‘You think that will work?’

Why did she get the feeling he was at least one step ahead of her?

‘The alternative is a war zone.’

‘Battles won and lost?’

She gave him a long, considering look. ‘It’s not about whether you win or lose, but how you play the game.’

‘An interesting analogy.’

‘Isn’t it?’ She turned away from him and stepped towards the door. ‘Goodnight.’

‘Sleep well, pedhaki mou.’

His cynical drawl echoed in her mind as she ascended the stairs, and even in the relative safety of her bedroom the affectionate endearment recurred as a repetitive taunt.

Consequently sleep proved an elusive captive, until exhaustion overcame the many scenarios she plotted against him.

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