Reclining, he considered his proposal. The thought of her lips curving into a smile at the sight of the ring made his heart pound.
His fingers still burned raw from where he had scrubbed. Blood really does stain; even skin.
He inhaled, imagining her sweet fragrance. He imagined caressing the length of hair he guessed – no, knew – was hidden under her scarf.
The task hadn’t been difficult. A means to an end. An end that would be joyous. Fitting.
He smiled as he went over the words he planned to say. “I know we just met…” But he knew she loved him. Her chocolate brown eyes would warm at the sight of him.
The husband was a “chill wind” in his desert sun. He hadn’t even uttered her name as he died. She deserved better.
He rose, impatient to find her. He longed to hear her honeyed voice say, “Yes.” On his way to the door, he kicked aside the knife still glistening with warm blood.