Single Lady Spy 01 - The End of Me

nodded at me as he took his seat.
    I laid the seat back and closed my eyes. If he was going to beat or torture me, I would have to take it. I needed answers; they were worth whatever happened to me.
    I closed my eyes and saw my kids’ faces. Jules smiling at me and looking so much like her father it was painful, and Mitch trying so hard to be grownup.
    At least they had a ninja granny to protect them. I made it out unscathed , they would too .
    “We’re about to take off, you should at least hold the wine,” his voice was detached as he took his seat.
    I sat up quickly and held the glass. The jet started right away and began the taxi to the runway.
    I glanced nervously in his direction. I was having a hard time seeing the cruel man and not the curve of his lips or the thickness of his fingers. I sipped the wine at first and then finished in a gulp, “Why are you so angry?”
    He focused on the laptop in front of him, “I’m not.”
    I frowned, “You are. I was married , remember ? I can tell when a man is angry.”
    A smile played with his lips momentarily, and then it was back to stoic. He looked at me for a second, “I was crossing the line before. It was wrong. I’m not your husband, Evie.”
    I unbuckled the seat belt and walked to the bathroom. I closed the door and sat on the closed toilet lid. He always had me in knots, whenever he was around. It was like walking on thin ice, constantly.
    The jet started to take off, slamming my side into the sink. I tried to grab ahold of the bar next to me, but the force was too great. I gave in and let it squish me into the counter. I needed to think anyway.
    I wanted answers and details from him, but he was no longer interested in me sexually. Why had he been so interested before, or at all? Nothing was making much sense and without the womanly wiles to get him talking, I didn’t know what else to do. I could try to spin it around in my favor. I could do what I did to James, and act like I was the angry one. He hated that.
    It was an idea. When the plane got to cruising altitude, I stripped naked and cleaned myself in the sink with the hand towels, which was awkward and familiar. I opened the door and looked down the hall. He was no longer in the chair. I tiptoed to the very back of the plane to the dressing closet. I dropped my clothes on the floor and looked through the racks of clothes.
    It was a sea of designer labels and soft fabrics. I pulled on a white lacy bra and matching panties. They still had tags, making it slightly less weird. Settling on Armani, I went with the most coverage I could get. I looked very comfortable in the long black, side-slit maxi skirt and mocha sleeveless, tie-waist tunic. I looked around for sandals. Instead, I found a suede pair of black Manolo Blahnik mules with a pointed toe. It was an elegant choice and made me look like a wife.
    I pulled on a couple bracelets and pulled my long, dark hair up into a bun.
    “That tan tunic compliments your dark skin,” Roxy said with a soft smile.
    I grinned, “Thanks. My dad was half Black Irish and half Icelandic. Dark hair and golden skin. It was a good thing to inherit. My twin sister and I aren’t identical and she looks more like our mother.”
    She grabbed my hand and whispered, “Are you insane for coming back?”
    I nodded, “I need him.”
    She rolled her eyes, “Oh my God, if you knew how many times I’d heard that from girls about him. He’s a bigot player. You need to run.”
    I forced the fake smile to remain on my lips, “It’s not like that, I assure you.”
    She gave me the up down, “Really?”
    I blushed, “I wanted to look professional, not the other kind of professional. All your clothes are more twenty-three and hitting the clubs. This suits me and my other clothes were covered in garden dirt.”
    She waved her hands, “This is exactly what he bought for you. He brought it on board yesterday. Jesus, you played right into his hands, calling him. I lost ten bucks in the bet we placed on you showing up and putting this on.”
    I folded my arms, “What? He knew I was coming back? He bought this?” Was I that predicable? “What is he fucking psychic?”
    She shrugged, “Sometimes I think he is.”
    I pursed my lips, “You sure it was for me?”
    She sighed, “Does it look like it belongs to me?”
    “Shit.”
    She pressed her lips together and nodded, “Yeah, dumbass.”
    I looked down at the tags I’d removed and winced, “He’s gonna know I took the