The Wedding Murder

Chapter One.

        Planning a wedding is hard.

        And not just any wedding, your own wedding. It keeps getting harder each time. I’ve helped several of my girlfriends plan their weddings, yet I never knew I myself would have such a hard time planning my own.

    I’m so excited to get married. To be a married woman. To call myself Mrs. Isabel Morello. It has such a lovely ring if I do say so myself. Isabel Morello. I get butterflies just thinking about it.

    I paste another cut-out from a magazine in my wedding scrapbook of ideas – it’s filled to the brim now. I’ll have to ask my sister if she can –

    “Babe? Isabel?” I hear the front door of our apartment slam close, footsteps following the sound.

    My heart flutters. Stefan is back.

    “In here, Stefan!” I call from the kitchen counter. I shouldn’t be too difficult to find in our mid-sized apartment. Moments later, Stefan appears in the doorway to the kitchen, his eyes searching until they land on me. A smile lights his face and I grin back at him. He looks good today. Grey slacks, crisp white shirt, and the bright, multicolored tie I bought him for his birthday a year ago. He stands tall, a little over six feet, and has a lovely sort of swimmers body that just makes all of his clothes fit perfectly. His hair is low, combed back and lightly gelled, a light brown beard on his chiseled jaw and chin, which goes so nicely with his peachy tone. Damn. How did I get so lucky?

        His smile stretches across his face in the most adorable way as he loosens his watch, placing it on the counter. He saunters towards me as I swivel in my stool to face him. He comes to stand in front of me, between my legs, crowding my space and leaning over me, forcing me to lean back and rest my elbows on the countertop behind me, the middle of my back pressing into the edge. I literally have to look up at him now, his face so close to mine, looking down at me. He puts his hands on the counter behind me and leans in even closer, touching our foreheads together.

        “Hi,” he says, now that he has officially decided he’s close enough to greet me.

        I smile. “Hi.”

        “I missed you today. I hate being away from you all day…” He pouts adorably, his bottom lip brushing my own.

        “I missed you too…” I want to say more, maybe even have a conversation, but he’s too close. His body, his face – he’s too close, too close for me to function properly. I waste no more time, stretching my neck the small distance so that I can kiss him.

        Finally.

        It’s slow, and sweet. Our lips move in sync, in a familiar way, the way they always do. We seem to apply more pressure at the same time, because the kiss becomes more intense at that moment. He’s pressing forward, his tongue already trying to enter my mouth, while my hands are pulling him impossibly closer. One of his hands snakes up, wrapping my high ponytail within it and pulling gently, tipping my head back. I gasp as our lips come apart, my skin already too heated. His lips touch my neck, and I am his. It always happens like this. One small touch and nothing else matters, nothing is as important as when he’s loving on me like this, giving me this attention.

        I fist my hand in his shirt, leaning my head back more to give him access to my clavicle. He happily takes it, making a happy humming noise.

        “S… Stefan, babe,” I try, my voice sounding too small and breathy, too wanton to be serious.

        His lips are still firmly attached to my skin, kissing. Suddenly he sucks rather hard on a spot just above my collarbone, making me yelp.