There was a laptop desk in the front of the pod and a flat screen. It was all very fancy.

I curled into the duvet that was there and laid my head on the pillow. I was beat, there was no doubt, but I wasn’t sure if I would be able sleep.

I closed my eyes but the sounds around me made me nervous. I opened them to see Servario sitting across from me grinning.

I sat up quickly, "Oh. I didn’t know you were here."

He frowned, "It's my plane."

I nodded, "I know. I just don’t get why you would give me the piece of paper and the room key, if you were going to be on the plane."

He shrugged, "I needed you to get acquainted with the idea. I know you've never killed anyone before."

I sighed and lay back on the bed, “Did you custom build this rig? Why are the good seats at the back?”

He didn’t look up from his laptop, “Best chances of survival are in the back of the plane. The rich always die when it crashes.”

I hated talking about crashing, right before flying.

"Where are your kids, Evie?" he spoke without looking at me.

I shook my head, "I don’t know. I told my mom to drive and not come back, until I told her it was safe."

He sighed, "That was smart. How will you reach them since her cell phone is still at the house, and the kids don’t have anything plugged into the Internet?"

I hated that he had checked that. I hated that he knew my kids existed at all. "I gave her a pay-as-you-go cell phone. I am the only one with the number. I'll call when it's safe." The lies came fast.

He glanced at me with a grin on his lips, "You think it will be safe one day?"

I shook my head, "I don’t know. I won't have them live a half life here with me."

He nodded, "You're a very good mother."

I hated that he was nice to me. He nodded at the flight attendant. She came right over and smiled at me, "I'm Roxy. Can I get you a drink?" Of course she was a Roxy, foxy Roxy.

"Red wine?" I asked.

She batted her long lashes and listed the wines, "Cab, merlot, pinot, blends, countries, we have it all. You have a favorite?"

I open my mouth but Servario spoke before I could, "She likes something called Apothic. You'll find some back there. I'll have a glass of the same."

My cheeks flushed, "You drink Apothic?" I ignored the fact he knew what I drank.

He shrugged, "I drink whatever. I'm not picky when it comes to red wine. I like most. Vodka and tequila though, very picky."

I sat my bed back up into a seat and snuggled into it. She delivered our glasses of wine and smiled when she told us about dinner. "We are starting with French onion soup, then having a side of lyonnaise, and for the main we are having steak béarnaise with sweet potato straws, and finishing with chocolate mousse for dessert."

He nodded, as if she told us which sandwiches were available from the vending machine, "Sounds good."

"Soup before takeoff?" she asked.

He gave her a thumbs up without looking at her or thanking her for the wine.

I smiled at her, "Thank you. For everything."

She smiled before she walked away.

I could smell the food as soon as she was gone. The soup wafted through the jet.

I sipped the wine and sighed. It was divine. It needed a little more air, but it was still the nectar of the gods.

"Have you eaten much lately?" he asked still looking at his computer.

I sipped, "No. Mostly alcohol and coffee. I had something yesterday, I don’t recall what it was."

He looked at me and shook his head, "You're skinny and need to build back your muscles. You were in much better shape when I saw you working last."

I scowled and sipped the wine, “You watched me then? You knew I was CI?”

He didn’t look at me but I saw his lip lift into a half grin. He ignored my question when he spoke, "It's an easier life as a house wife; I suppose that was why you quit."

My jaw dropped but I saw the grin grow across his face. "Not even funny."

He looked at me and laughed honestly, flashing his dimples, "It seems like wretched work. You could have kept your job. You were good at it. We worried about you and your abilities, the entire time you worked. Everyone knew, one day you would be a great spy like your father. For what I was giving your husband, you could easily have afforded a nanny and a maid. "

I scoffed and forced myself not to think about my dad or how great I might have been, "It wasn't that great of money."

He cocked an eyebrow and looked back at the computer. He typed for a moment and then turned the screen to me, "This is your husband’s payroll bank account with me."

When I saw the seventh number in the balance column, I pressed my eyes shut tight for a moment. When I opened them again, I looked harder at the number. "What the fuck is that?" I whispered. My voice wouldn’t work.

"Watch your language," he said and turned the screen back to him, "That is the account, I paid your husband with. You understand what payroll is right?"

I felt sick. Sick with rage and betrayal. I was coupon clipping and scrimping and saving like a madwoman to stay at home with my kids, and still have them in all their activities and sports.

He looked up, "You can get angry about it later. Right now, the soup is here."

He reached over and flipped down my tray for me. I was frozen. When she placed the bowl in front of me, my body reacted to the smell and sight. I nestled in the chair better to focus my energy around the soup and not the vibrating anger threatening me. The soup smelled divine. The crouton top was covered in crusty cheese.

I cracked the top and dug my spoon in. The onions were cooked to perfection. They instantly broke up, instead of staying long and stringy. The first sip was unbelievable. "She's an amazing chef." I muttered softly.

He chuckled, "She is that. It's why I keep her around."

I rolled my eyes and took another bite, “Yeah, has nothing to do with her tight ass, or perfect face, or fabulous body.”

He glanced at me sideways, “I told you to watch your mouth. I understand you’re angry, but you can’t direct it at me. I didn’t do it.”

He was right, being rude about Roxy was petty.

But no matter how hard I pushed it all away, I couldn’t get past the money. "You know he made me feel like shit for not going back to work. He told me we were going to struggle until I did find a regular wife job, like bank teller. He made me feel like every week was another hard sacrifice for him. Like my house keeping, cooking, baking, and parenting was just a hobby. Sometimes, I drove them to twelve different sports and activities in a week, between them both. I was a chauffeur and slave to all three of them. He made me quit my yearly membership to hot yoga. I had to buy the punch cards and not go all the time."

I dropped the spoon and covered my eyes, "I am an idiot. I fell for it all. I swore they were just friends. You know, at our wedding they were dancing and she was crying. I thought she was so happy for us. Then later, when I couldn’t find them, either of them, James said his brother was drunk off his ass and he needed him to help him to bed. He said Mel had left; she was being designated driver for people. He tried to make me feel bad for not saying goodbye to her. Arggg!" I shook my head, fighting the tears and losing the battle.

When I looked at him, he looked horrified.

I picked up my spoon and started eating again. "Well, I'm done being sorry he died. I'm done being the widow of the great fucking James Evans. I hate my name." I started to laugh like a madwoman, "I hate my name. I was Evie Anderson, before I got married. Evie Evans sounds stupid. My name is Evangeline Erica Evans. Three E's. I liked being an Anderson. I liked being in the military. I liked my life, just the way it was. I didn’t want a baby with an asshole either. He wasn’t the only one, who got something he didn’t plan for. But you know the difference? The difference is, that when it happened I was all in. I didn’t just show up, I was there for it all. My son will never know he wasn’t planned and wanted by both of us. Even if James is alive."

I closed my eyes again and took deep breaths. I had spent half an hour on my makeup and he wasn’t ruining that too.

I opened my glassy eyes and pointed my spoon at the poor, helpless drug and arms dealer in front of me, "I am going to kill that fat man and I am going to finish this shit. Then I am taking some of that money, and going on the vacation we haven't been able to afford the last ten years, because I wasn’t working." I cackled like I was crazed and started eating my soup again.

I muttered crazily about the sacrifices he made to keep us in the custom of life we were used to. The sports and the activities that cut so deeply into our funding. Now I was on a jet with a bad man, eating the most delicious soup I had ever eaten, and lying to clean up his mess. His mess that got him fake killed, so I could be a single parent.

I pointed my crazy spoon again, “You freeze that account, Servario. You make it so he can’t get a dime. That is going to my kids.”

I would be a rich, single parent who would never have to worry about money again, or stress about the fact, she didn’t have enough to pay all the bills. A single parent with no husband to cheat and shame her to everyone in the world. A single mother who got to have all the say. No more arguing about our differing parenting.

I sipped my wine and processed it. I nodded, “This is actually quite good. We will kill the fat man and I will move on.”

"You're a very scary little thing," he said, as Roxy came back and took our soup bowls.

"We are going to start taxiing now," she spoke softly and filled our glasses.

"Thank you," I said again. She gave me a quizzical look.

I glanced at him, "You never thank her, that’s really rude. And I'm not scary. I'm a regular woman."

He raised his eyebrows, "I think not. And I thank her with a very large paycheck. Trust me, she is compensated."