The Greek's Convenient Wife

‘You ain’t seen nothing yet, bro,’ she said. ‘You ain’t seen nothing yet.’

At six-thirty the following evening Maddison stood in front of the full length mirror behind her bedroom door and inspected her ensemble.

She’d rummaged through her wardrobe for the outfit she’d worn to a friend’s Pimps and Prostitutes Ball a couple of years ago. The short tight black PVC skirt and over the knee black boots with the garish fishnets were a perfect foil for the three sizes too small skimpy black top which was being somewhat overshadowed by the magnificent efforts of her lacy push-up bra.

Her make-up was the final touch—bright red lipstick, smudged of course, and heavy electric-blue eye-shadow and thick kohl pencil around her eyes giving her a distinctly raccoon-like look.

She gave herself a wicked grin; she looked like an absolute tart.

The doorbell rang at seven on the dot and, ignoring the slight flutter of last-minute nerves, she tottered over the threadbare carpet to answer it.

Demetrius didn’t even flinch when he saw her.

‘Ready?’

With the wind definitely taken out of her sails she had no choice but to nod her assent and follow him out to the car.

‘Where are we going?’ she asked once they were in the sleek black Jaguar.

‘I thought I might surprise you,’ he said, backing out of the car parking space.

She pursed her painted lips and wondered if she’d exactly been wise in trying to get the upper hand. She was beginning to suspect he was a whole lot more ruthless than she’d first allowed.

Her instincts had been right, she decided a short while later, when he parked in the main drag of the red light district of Kings Cross.

She gave him a nervous glance as he turned off the engine but his expression gave nothing away. She watched as he came around the bonnet of the car to open her door, his tall figure so striking in dark shirt and trousers that her stomach gave a funny flip flop as her door opened under his hand. She slid out with as much grace as her impossibly high heels allowed and stood uncertainly on the pavement, suddenly very conscious of the speculative looks she was receiving from the various passers-by.

‘There aren’t any nice restaurants along here,’ she said as he took her elbow to lead her down the street.

‘I know.’

She stumbled over a broken bit of pavement and his hold tightened.

‘Where are we going?’ she asked.

‘In here.’

He shepherded her into a seedy looking nightclub whose promotional signs promised scantily clad pole and lap dancers around the clock. Maddison felt the heat storm her cheeks as he propelled her to a table right up the front, her eyes instantly darting away from the buxom blonde cavorting with the slippery pole right near her chair.

‘What would you like to drink?’ Demetrius asked.

She swivelled in her seat to avoid the sight of a pair of breasts that without a doubt defied natural genetic construction.

‘Anything,’ she choked out.

The sleazy drinks waiter approached and, giving Maddison the once-over, asked for their order. She sat in a miserable silence as Demetrius asked for two champagne cocktails, her embarrassment increasing with every gyration of the dancer who seemed to be making a direct beeline for their table.

‘How was your day?’ Demetrius asked, leaning back in his chair.

‘Fine.’

The dancer had quite clearly decided the most attractive man in the house was Demetrius, and she sidled up to trail a hand through his dark curly hair, shooting Maddison a challenging glance from beneath her fluttering, seductive lashes.

A seed of anger sprouted in her chest at how he’d swiftly turned the tables on her.

‘This is a nice place,’ she said perversely, taking a generous slug of her drink while trying to ignore the dancer’s thigh, which was draped across Demetrius’s knee.

‘Yes, I thought you might feel right at home here,’ he said, reaching for his drink.

‘Do you come here often?’ she asked.

‘Not if I can help it.’ He gave the dancer a sexy smile.

She could feel her blood boiling at his deliberate attempt to embarrass her and took another deep swig of her drink.

‘Do they serve food here?’ she asked once the dancer had moved on. ‘I’m starving.’

‘Finish your drink and I’ll take you to Otto at Woolloomooloo Bay.’

It was impossible to think of a worse punishment, she decided, than to be taken to one of Sydney’s premier restaurants dressed like a streetwalker. She had to admit that she’d seriously underestimated Demetrius Papasakis and quite clearly, for this evening at least, he’d claimed not only the last word but the last laugh as well.

She got to her feet and followed him out of the nightclub with as much dignity as she could muster, but she knew the worst was probably still ahead of her.

It was.

The fine dining Otto offered in the refurbished wharf buildings at Woolloomooloo Bay was surpassed only by the elegant service and up-market clientele.

Maddison wished the floor would open up and let her sink to the harbour floor beneath, but it seemed Demetrius was after his pound of flesh and would stop at nothing to get it.

She was immediately conscious of the interested glances coming their way as they were led to their table, her embarrassment increasing a hundredfold to hear Demetrius addressed by name.

‘Mr Papasakis, would you like to see the wine list?’

Demetrius leaned back as his napkin was laid across his lap.

‘Don’t bother,’ he said. ‘Just bring us the best champagne of the house. We’re celebrating.’

The waiter had obviously been taught well for he didn’t even raise a brow. ‘Congratulations, Mr Papasakis,’ he said. ‘May I ask what the occasion is?’

‘I’m getting married,’ he said and smiled across at Maddison.

Maddison gave the waiter a wan smile and buried her head back in the menu.

‘My hearty congratulations, sir. I hope you’ll be very happy.’

Demetrius returned the waiter’s smile with a self-satisfied one of his own. ‘I intend to be very happy,’ he said. ‘Very happy indeed.’

Maddison waited until the waiter was out of earshot before she hissed across the table at him. ‘Are you crazy? That man thinks you’re marrying a prostitute! It will be all over the papers tomorrow.’