Black Diaries

87. Suspicions

I don't really want to bore anyone with the details of my married life. From Lisa, my old colleague at Darren's Dog Hutch—a certified romance addict—I know that people's interest in the life of a couple evaporates at the moment the man says "I do". Usually because the romance authors wisely avoid the now following flood of arguments about who is supposed to clean the toilet and take the kids to school, and the inevitable divorce. My own married life didn't actually have those problems: Roy and I got along splendidly, we had no brats to pester us, and I had servants to clean the toilet for me. Still, our married life was significantly less exciting than our courtship: no emergency heart operations, break-ins or knife fights.

We went shopping, went for walks, talked, shared meals, watched movies, birds and deer, occasionally went riding—just boring old married people's stuff, really. Did I forget anything? Oh yes. We were happy. Insanely happy. And, oh right, we had copious amounts of sex.

You see? Not very interesting at all.

Just happy.

Jill stayed with us for about two weeks. Then she got sick of our, as she put it, "mushy-gushy schmaltzy-soppy slush stuff" and, after a series of rib-cracking hugs she got on the next plane back to the good old US of A. I missed her, but soon forgot the feeling over my newlywed bliss. Roy was mine and I was his and we were each other's and each other was ours. Was that last bit grammatically correct? Oh, to hell with it! I was fucking happy! So happy I didn't mind that my best friend was thousands of miles away again. So happy I forgot some mysterious nemesis wanted to put me in the hospital. So happy I cleaned the toilet myself one day, just to experience all aspects of married life. Liverich was horrified when he found out. But I didn't care! I was happy!

There was only one thing I hadn't reckoned with:

That the happiness would stay.

I mean, think about it. I'm a professional black widow. Matt had betrayed me after we were married, Chuck had betrayed me after we were married, Elliot had betrayed me even before we were married (a status he actually never aimed to achieve), and as for a certain fox-murdering Lord—don't even let me get started on him!

And then...

Well, then—wham!—there was Roy. And Roy remained faithful.

I waited. And waited.

And he still remained faithful.

So I waited a bit longer. And longer. And bit my nails, occasionally, then filed them short, painted them a new color and waited even longer.

And he still remained faithful!

How dare he!

I mean, has he any idea of the kind of stress I usually go through because of my husbands, knowing that sooner or later, they are going to cheat and break my heart into tiny little pieces? And then he just goes and stays true to me? Can you imagine? I went through all that anxiety for nothing!

Plus, while I didn't exactly appreciate being cheated on, for the first time in my life I realized that the whole killing your husband thing actually did have some advantages: you get to meet new people, you have adventure, you stay on top of the latest developments in body disposal techniques, and a certain variety in the bedroom is also guaranteed.

Don't get me wrong—mine and Roy's sex life was great! It was just... well... think about the praying mantis. She usually eats the male after the mating. Just imagine someone were to say to the praying mantis after the wedding night: "Hey, I know you really really want to kill your hubby and gobble him up, but he's actually a nice guy. So why don't you just stay with him and have a white picket fence instead?"