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Robed in a gown of the purest, white, her dark hair framed her solemn face like a veil. It fell down her back like a mourning widow's shawl, black and limp. In her tapered moon-pale hands she blindly clutched her bouquet of red roses and baby's breath. She was seated in a cushioned chair in the back of the chapel, hidden behind lacquered doors. Glossed over in a pale pink, her lips were set in a firm line as she stared towards the door. She would not cry on her wedding day; her soul was not pure enough for that.

There was a commotion outside the doors: she could hear his arrogant voice announcing that tradition be damned, that he was going to see his bride. The words made her stomach clench with dizzying nausea. He stormed in, eyes matching his suit as he smiled lazily in her direction. His lips formed words as he asked her how she was feeling, if she was nervous to be wed to him. He laughed that charming laugh that never reached his eyes; a promise that he'd have a mistress that they'd both know about and never care about.

Her lips responded, reminding him in her dull voice that it was bad luck to see the bride before the vows. He laughed again, telling her not to worry her pretty little head. Then he kissed her fiercely, not out of love, just to taste her lipgloss and muss her hair. He left after that, his casual smile thrown carelessly to her like the ones he gave her bridesmaids.

When her maid of honor came to fetch her, her hair was messy and her lipstick was all but gone. Her dress was down the sides, like it had hastily been hiked around her hips for a quick tussle with the groom. It wasn't unexpected and it certainly wasn't the first time he had slept around. She didn't care, really. As she paced down the aisle, she caught the eye of the best man and watched him swel with bigotry. She had slept with him, sheerly out of boredom. He, however, thought that he was going to be her lover, the man she would someday run away with. Let him think. Men weren't the only ones with trysts and lovers.

Standing beside her husband to be, she stared steadily into the priest's eyes as he told of their amazing love that united them and the bank accounts of the two most successful business tycoons in the country. Her groom placed the ring on her finer, admiring the money he spent to put the garish jewel on her hand. She slipped the ring onto his hand, white hands lingering as she judged how much stronger his hands seemed. Alcohol would easily fix that.

The priest was praying, blessing their business joining matrimony like it wasn't an arranged marriage. She prayed silently for forgiveness, for a steady hand and a brave soul. She'd go to hell for it, but it would be appreciated all the same.

He kissed her again at the priest's announcement, hard enough to make the maids giggle and the best man wolf-whistle. Their fathers beamed in the pews, imagining the expansions that could be made to their companies. Their mothers sobbed and sighed over the thoughts of the beautiful grandchildren she would bear them. Her new husband thought about the honeymoon, smirking as he remembered their previous trysts. She ignored them all, silently wishing herself good luck.

Parading her down the aisle like a show dog, he laughed as he scooped her up and carried her out the doors. The reception went on flawlessly, people smiling as their wished them well. He grinned and thanked them, slipping his arms around her and trying to kiss her lovingly. They deserved an Oscar for that stunt.

Hours later at a private beach home, the honeymoon came, filled with idle passion and his favorite whiskeys. He had told her, laughing from the alcohol, that champagne was for the poor saps who couldn't take it like a real man. Slipping out of her bathrobe, she suggested a midnight swim. He agreed wholeheartedly, staggering against her as he wildly toasted the married life, the committed to adultery life. She led him to the pool, carefully avoiding his bottle of whiskey. He took another swig before diving messily, splashing her with the cold water. She slipped in after him, barely making a ripple as she swam over to him. He held out his arms to her, to embrace her. She kissed his lips, leaving her lipgloss mark on him.

Pushing him lightly, her lips twisted in a smile as he fell back. It took him a while to get back up; the alcohol was thicker than the water he swam in. Against she pushed him and again he fell. He struggled vainly, coughing and spluttering. One more time she shoved, and he struggled all the more slowly. Climbing out of the pool, she dunked him for a short while, waiting until he went limp. She released him then, watching his arms fall back gracefully in the splay of exhaustion. Rolling him over, she left him face down, no regrets for the soon to be pale figure.

Once she arrived back in their room she took a shower, washing away all traces of chlorine. She went to bed garbed in a thin silk slip designed specifically for a wedding night. She slept easily, no regrets, no dreams and no nightmares.

The morning sun woke her and she she stretched her muscles she glanced at the pool and saw that he was still floating there. Trotting easily down to the pool, she briefly checked his vitals. There were none. Satisfied, she ran back up to the room and called the police, letting her voice crack as she dry-sobbed into the phone.

They came at once, asking her questions and comforting her as she forced herself to cry. Pictures were taken of the body, alibis were checked and they all gathered around the whiskey bottles by the pool. Talk of alcohol poisoning was bandied as an officer wrote down the word 'accidental' on a pad of paper. She smiled a brave smile when an officer reassured her that she would someday see him again in the afterlife.

She had no doubt that she would see him in hell.