Black Diaries

88. Thank you Ma'am-Wham, bam!

For a while after that, I was able to quiet the voice inside me that insisted that all men were cheaters by nature. I threw myself into the happiness of being with Roy—who was not cheating on me! No, he was not! Definitely not!—and whenever doubt crept up on me again, I tried to distract myself.

There were plenty of things to spend my time on: I had to look after a sick horse in the stables, and when it was well again, I spent a week searching for a nifty sleeve sheath for my knife. Finally, I found a really stylish one with a silver skull and crossbones motif on the leather, and extra straps for throwing stars. Who knew, maybe I would need to go ninja one day?

"Cassy!" Roy stepped in from the outside, shaking the rain from his cloak. In his dark coat he looked like a modern God of darkness and desire. Without bothering to take it off, he stepped towards me, catching me up in a passionate embrace.

"Roy!" I squeaked. "You're making me wet!"

"And that's bad because...?" Smirking, he moved his nose along my jaw, breathing in the scent of my skin. "I'm hungry, wife. What's for dinner?"

There! There, do you see? What other husband could make his wife shiver with desire by asking after dinner? This was simply too good to be true!

"Beef casserole," I managed.

"Hm..." Now it was his lips that caressed my jaw, making their way towards the soft spot at the base of my throat. "I hope it is tight and hot."

"I....th-think so..."

"Good." Abruptly, he set me down, and with a wink, marched off towards the dining room throwing his coat over a hook. "Because I know dessert certainly will be."

With that, he was gone.

I stood there, swaying, doing my best to gather myself, and to quiet my girly parts who were arguing to just ignore the possibility that he might be cheating, because it would be a real sin against womankind to kill such an incredible lover.

"Shut up!" I murmured. "Love is the most important part of a marriage! Love and fidelity!"

My girly parts didn't deign to answer.

I stood there, my breathing slowly calming. Luckily, I didn't have to cook dinner myself. If I had, the beef casserole would have burned for sure. I just stood there, trying to recuperate. How could this man truly be mine? After all the betrayals, all the death-do-us-parting I'd had to implement, how could I believe that this man, most wonderful of them all, could really be mine?

The answer was simple.

I couldn't.

My eyes were drawn to his coat, unable resist. Men kept all kinds of stuff in their coat pockets. If there were any hints that he was cheating, surely they would be in there.

I shouldn't.

I really shouldn't. He was my husband. I should trust him.

On the other hand... you swore to cherish and stand by him—there was nothing in there about trusting the guy.

I darted towards the coat and wildly started pulling pockets inside out. My search resulted in the following collection of items:

One packet of Kleenex.

One fifty pence piece.

Two breath mints.

One packet of disposable rubber gloves.

One handkerchief (embroidered, linen).

One wallet.

I knew it! I simply knew it! I mean, what could be more suspicious than that? A packet of Kleenex and a linen handkerchief? Who carries around both linen and paper handkerchiefs? Nobody! One of the two obviously had to belong to someone else!