Single Mama Drama. Kayla Perrin

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to believe that any of this has really happened.”

      “It’s quite the salacious story. And that woman—she was quite the looker.”

      Not what I needed to hear.

      “The worst part,” I said, “is that we had a fight last night. It was a stupid fight, but he walked out on me. Maybe he met this woman at a bar and this was the first time he cheated. You know, because he was angry, and stupid. Obviously stupid. But I keep thinking, if I hadn’t gotten mad at him, maybe none of this would have happened, and he’d be here right now.”

      Nikki was silent, and I could imagine her biting on her bottom lip to keep from speaking. No matter who I dated, she believed the guy was a no-good loser.

      “It’s possible,” I told her. “Neither of us knows for sure.”

      “Yeah, I guess,” she grudgingly agreed. “But however it happened, it doesn’t make this any easier. You’re living in a lavish penthouse. How are you gonna keep up the payments?”

      “I was worried about that, too, but my boss pointed out that we must have had mortgage insurance when we bought the place. And if not that, then Eli must have had a will. I know you think I’m irresponsible when it comes to those kinds of things, and maybe I am, but wills and insurance aren’t things I pay attention to. Anyway,” I quickly said, “there’ll be a record of them somewhere. I’ll call the bank tomorrow and see if I can find some papers here regarding his lawyer.”

      “That’s one less headache.”

      “Yeah, thank God for insurance.”

      “If you need to,” Nikki continued, “you can come over here for a while. Even if it’s just for a change of scenery.”

      “Thank you,” I said, meaning it. The offer surprised me—and touched me. However, in my wildest dreams, I couldn’t imagine myself taking my sister up on that offer. I loved her, but I could handle her only in small doses. She had endless advice about my love life that I didn’t ask for and never appreciated. Not to mention her thoughts on how I could improve myself as a mother.

      In my sister’s defense, she had become a surrogate mother to me after our parents had died in a boating accident when I was twelve. Seven years my senior, Nikki had naturally fallen into the role of caregiver, even though we’d moved from Detroit to Miami to live with our aunt Lola.

      “Or even bring Rayna over for the weekend,” my sister continued. “You know I love having her.”

      “That might be an idea,” I told her, but again had no intention of following through on that. Now more than ever, I wanted Rayna close to me. She was the one person who had the capacity to get me through the coming rough days.

      “Oh, hello,” I heard Nikki say, and it took me a moment to figure out she wasn’t talking to me. “I didn’t realize you were going to be coming home this late.”

      “Nikki?”

      “Sorry. Morris just got home.”

      “I’ll let you go then,” I told her, more than happy to get her off the line.

      “Yeah, I’d better warm his dinner for him. He puts in such long hours, it’s the least I can do.”

      There was a smugness in Nikki’s voice as she spoke—or was I just imagining it? Maybe I was, since I was supersensitive to the fact that I’d just lost my future husband and would never be making any meals for him again.

      As I hung up, I thought about turning the television to CNN. I wanted to, but the idea of seeing pictures of Eli’s lover had me changing my mind. I couldn’t handle that. At least not yet. It was hard enough to deal with his death, much less his infidelity.

      Still, I couldn’t help wondering if what I’d said to Nikki wasn’t true—that after our fight, Eli had ended up at a local South Beach hot spot, and then found his way into this woman’s bed.

      It could have very easily been the first time he had cheated on me.

      It would certainly be the last.

      chapter six

      I decided not to call the police after I spoke to my sister. Emotionally, I was drained, and needed a night’s rest before I dealt with that awful task. I was a little surprised that I hadn’t heard from them; it would be so much easier if they contacted me, as I didn’t have the first clue as to where to start.

      I had enough to cope with heading to bed—the bed I had shared with Eli for three months in this apartment. The reality that he wouldn’t be joining me was too overwhelming to contemplate. It required me having a second glass of wine before I dared to get under the covers.

      The stress of the day had clearly worn me out, because I fell asleep almost immediately. The sound of the ringing phone woke me up. Startled, I first glanced at the bedside clock and saw that it was 12:04. Then I rolled over toward the night table and checked out the illuminated call display.

      PRIVATE NAME.

      Falling back onto my pillows, I groaned loudly. Damn it! A friggin’ reporter! My God, did these people never give up?

      After I’d hung up with my sister, there had been no calls at all, giving me the false confidence that the media had given up—or at least had gone home for the day.

      No such luck, clearly.

      A few minutes passed and sleep wouldn’t come to me, so I crawled out of bed and went to the window and peered outside. My building had only six floors, and even being on the top one, I had a good view of the street below. To my chagrin, I saw that there were still camera crews and vans parked out front. As if they expected me to leave the building and go out partying in the wake of my fiancé’s death.

      “Morons,” I muttered.

      I lay back down, trying once again to sleep, but failing. The bed was too big and Eli’s presence sorely missed. Damn those vultures for waking me up. Wasn’t there some movie star doing Ecstasy in a local club that they could go and harass?

      The minutes ticked by. A quick look at the digital clock told me it was 12:48. Nearly one in the morning, and I was wide awake.

      I needed to fall asleep again. Because, come morning, bright and early, Rayna would be up—and I needed to be rested to deal with her.

      I forced myself out of bed and went to the kitchen. There, I opened another bottle of white zinfandel. I’d already had two glasses, but if I was ever going to fall asleep again, I needed another one.

      Or two.

      Or even three.

      I opted for one. I might have wanted to drown my sorrows in alcohol, but I had a two-year-old in the next room who needed me sober and alert in the morning.

      I curled up on the sofa, the first piece of furniture Eli and I had bought after putting the down payment on this place. The leather was amazingly soft and supple, the nicest I’d ever felt.

      I could still smell Eli in the leather, could still remember how we’d enjoyed lying together on this sofa and

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