Mistress, Inc. Read Online Free PDF Page B

mother when her grandmother’s phone would ring. She just wanted her to come and take her away from what she considered to be a nightmare.
    When you lose your love for your own mother that you once cherished and almost worshipped, it was hard to give a flying fuck about anyone else. Especially when you’re afraid to love. Afraid to have it taken away. Afraid to be betrayed by it.
    Her mother left.
    Her father made one brief appearance in her life.
    Her grandmother passed away in her sleep, but she had never been overly affectionate of the grandchild she felt she got “stuck” with.
    Marc, with his insistent love, his devotion, his affections, and his supportive ways had broken through her shell, and he was the first man—the first person—she had risked her heart on ... and then he died. She was left again with a broken heart.
    No one knew it, but his death pushed her right back to that place as a child when she had protected her heart and her feelings at all costs. Going back to truly not giving a fuck about anyone else had felt like home to her. It placed her feet on solid ground again.
    Now almost dying had changed her again ... and maybe not for the better.
    Closing the Bible, Jessa rose to her feet and stood at the railing of the balcony with a nice summer breeze blowing her black silk robe against the curves of her body. She would give the world to have Marc here with her, at her side, his hand on her hip, his lips on her neck. Loving her. Loving her like nothing she had ever known before ... or felt like she would know again.
    Jessa lowered her head to her chin as the first feel of tears wet the front of her robe. She turned and rushed into her bedroom and then across, moving to her dressing room to drop her robe and quickly pull on a charcoal gray 1940s-inspired fitted dress with a severe A-line hem that came just below her knees. Light makeup. Jewelry. A subtle spray of perfume and then a quick twist of her jet-black hair up into a loose top knot. As the sound of construction continued around her, Jessa was glad to grab her shades, keys, and Birkin and flee the house.
    Behind the wheel of her Jag, she drove out of the cul-de-sac, avoiding the sight of Aria and her handsome husband, Kingston, enjoying their Sunday morning on their porch together. The sight of them being affectionate in front of their sprawling home was the epitome of the American dream: love and success.
    Things she would never have with Marc and foolishly thought she could re-create with Eric. She could admit now that in her jealousy of Aria’s life, she wanted to destroy it. She wanted to peel back the lies in their relationship so that she didn’t feel so lost without Marc. And that’s part of the reasons she included Aria—the closest friend to her of all three—in that text. She wanted to shake Aria’s happiness up because she couldn’t stand to see her have it.
    What kind of person am I, Lord? Just how fucked up—messed up—am I?
    Jessa slowed the Jag as she waited for the electronic wrought-iron gate to open. She tapped her fingers against the steering wheel, anxious to be on her way. She turned on some music, glad when the sounds of a classic Luther Vandross song filled the interior of the car, because she was anxious to be free of her thoughts, free from self-reflection.
    As soon as the gate opened, she zoomed ahead, forcing her body to relax as she drove. It took only two additional songs for her to reach the Heavenly Rest Cemetery. Jessa followed the curving path leading to a beautiful weeping willow tree. After parking, she climbed from the car and was careful not to walk directly over anyone’s grave as she came up to her husband’s plot.
    She pressed a kiss to her fingertips before pressing them to his headstone. She smiled a bit as she looked down at his portrait etched onto the black granite. She moved to take a seat on the granite bench at the foot of his plot. There were many days after his death that she found solace