The Wedding Murder

Prologue.

Prologue

    His hands are tight on her waist, his lips working their way down her neck, quickly, with fervor. The small closet was just that – small. It was hard for them to maneuver around in there, but it added on to the already thick tension between them.

    It had been so long. So long since he had felt her hands gliding through his hair, running up and down his arms. So long since he’d felt this feeling, this feeling that only happened with her.

    It was not love. It was not fear. It was not even excitement. But whatever it was, it continually pulls him closer, closer to her warm body. He attempts to entangle their limbs while she stood, and is successful to some extent, until she shoves him back into the wall, knocking over a mop. Water sloshes heavily out of the bucket, but he can’t bring himself to care. In fact, he can’t bring himself to worry or be concerned about anything else in the world except this beautiful woman in front of him.

    What about her? His subconscious is one annoying son of a bitch.

    She is on his body again, her lips attaching to his neck, her hands gliding and groping down his body. Sounds of pleasure escape his mouth, and he finds himself flipping around, pushing her into the wall. His hands slide to her backside and he picks her up in his arms, pressing her into the wall. Her legs wrap around his trim waist, her arms snaking around his broad shoulders.

    Nose to nose. Chest to chest. This is how it is. This is how it had always been. How they had always been. Nothing, to them, was more important than that closeness.

    He hadn’t kissed her once.

    She hums, rubbing their noses together affectionately. One would think of them as lovers, but they were nothing of the sort. They were too wild, too savage. Too much for both of them. One could never tame the other.

    “You’re bad,” he murmurs, only slightly distracted by her lips moving down his neck, her breath on his skin. “What would your mother say?”

    She smiles against his skin, pulling away to look at his face. She is smug. “What would your fiancée say?”

    Her words hit him like a freight train. Like a bucket of cold water, poured over his head. The heat-like state he was in was washed away instantly.

    He steps back, letting her limbs slide down his body. His eyes are wide, afraid. No. No. She can’t know about this. She can never know about this.

   His eyes frost over, and he hits her with a steely glare. She simply smiles at him, her eyes seductive and intelligent. She knows what she’s doing. No one can play the game better than her. Not even him.

   She reaches out, meaning to touch him. His dodges her, and stumbles back another step. Did he have too much to drink? Maybe. Probably.

   “Don’t touch me,” he says, stressing each word. She raises a perfectly arched brow.

   “Mere minutes ago, I was all you wanted. Then you’re reminded of your future wife, and now I’m the bad guy?” She laughs softly, looking up at him. “Stefan, ever mercurial. Ever hostile.”

   “I need to leave. I shouldn’t be doing this… with you…” Stefan struggles to speak, his heart lurching in his chest at the thought of his fiancée finding out what he’s done. Again he steps back, hitting the wall of shelves, full of cleaning supplies behind him. “I’m done with you.”

   She looks concerned. “Stefan…”

   He shakes his head, hard. Quickly. “I need to leave.” He stumbles to the door, struggling with the handle, his vision blurring with tears.

   “Stefan, wait – ” She reaches out, placing her hand on his shoulder. He shudders away from her touch, and at the same time twisting the knob on the door. He barrels out into the hallway, and in the next moment, he’s gone.

   She stands, mouth gaping. Did he just…?

   With whatever dignity she has left, she adjusts her skirt, fixes her hair in the darkness of the closet, and steps into the light of the hallway.

   She walks lithely into the hallway, shutting the door behind her. Done with me? We’ll see about that…