Single Lady Spy 01 - The End of Me

children. His parents hugged and kissed me, all the while telling me how much he loved his children and me. If I had to listen to his mother go on about the flower arrangements, or how the army was being so good to us, for one more minute , I figured I would kill someone. The more time I spent celebrating my husband's life, the more forward I was looking to meeting the infamous Mr. Servario and getting the shitshow James had left me, over with.
    I wanted to be sick. I wanted to spoil the sweet, knight-in-shining-armor-bullshit appearance , James had managed to maintain . He was a real gem of a husband, all the while, fucking my best friend and the PTA bitches. I only knew he’d fucked two in the group of them, but there were several floating about the funeral, all crying . They smiled and pretended to be sad for my kids. It was a bit disgusting.
    Every time I glanced at Mitch, I felt a sickening fury. His birth was a lie. Our marriage was a mistake. I was the girl James had accidentally gotten knocked up. The girl James wouldn’t have picked, had he had the choice. James, who was more than likely still alive and hiding out with his mistress, my best friend. Meanwhile, I would be going into a deep cover op and risking my life to keep his kids safe. I could have chewed my nails and spit bullets.
    I glanced around the room, looking for the one man who would not fit into the party. The one man who was now in my life, because of my asshole husband who had apparently, burned to death in a car. God help him, if I ever found him alive and well.
    What I saw around the room, broke my heart further. Jules was clung onto my mom; her sweet blue eyes were filled with tears, real tears. Crocodile tears, as James always called them. They seemed so big compared to her tiny face.
    Next to her sat Mitch, looking stunned. I could tell he felt lost, like he might flee any second.
    It all made me sick. My babies were crushed, James’ parents were devastated, and my mother was saddened by the loss, of yet another husband, in the family.
    I excused myself from the people I was standing next to, who I wasn’t listening to anyway, and walked to the ladies’ room.
    My breath was getting caught in my chest again. I leaned on the sink and took huge deep inhales. Looking up at my reflection, made me grimace. I was worried about the girl in the mirror. Her dark hair was greasy, at least it looked shiny in the tight bun. Her green eyes were flat and dull. No sparkle, no life lived in there. Her lips were cracked and she had a cold sore on the corner of her mouth. Her eyebrows had weeks of plucking to be done and her olive skin was blotchy. She was gaunt and sort of gray in the places that weren’t reddened. It was not the face of a woman who was going to win the confidence of an arms dealer. Those guys always hung with the blonde girls who had perfect bikini bodies and stylish sunglasses.
    I looked at my tired-looking body and sighed. No wonder James was fucking Mel. I would have fucked her too. There was no scar from having his kids marring her stomach and her tits didn’t sag slightly from breastfeeding. She was fit and looked the way she always had. I was different though , my body was different . I imagined he liked the changes because they were associated with his children.
    A sob tore from my lips as my momma-bear brain switched on. I wouldn’t let myself feel shame for the way I had changed. I had born children to that bastard. Well, now they were my kids—screw him. They were all mine. He could rot in Hell or Prague or Holland or wherever the hell he was, with the best friend I apparently never had.
    My anger died when I caught a glimpse of the pain on my face.
    I didn’t want them in Hell. I wanted them there with me. Even if it meant they were together and I was alone. It was better than really being alone, like I was. My nerves started to pick up, as the fears and stress started to become real. I wanted to do what all widows did, crawl into my bed and wait for a year to pass, before I had to function again.
    I left the sink and opened the door to the bathroom, but the back of a black suit was barring the way.
    "Excuse me," I muttered.
    He slipped a card over his shoulder without looking back at me or turning at all. My stomach dropped. I took the card and looked at it.
    "6 p.m. Presidential suite."
    The card was for the Hilton downtown, in the financial district.
    I frowned and looked up. The man was holding a fifty-dollar bill