It Doesn’t Make Scents

They landed in Switzerland for their honeymoon. He was promised to a bitter hag at his mother’s urging, but had loved this woman all his life. A tragic accident made their love possible.

“This place is like a fairytale,” she said. She pulled him close, pressing her lips to his. His former fiancé’s perfume wafted through the room. “Do you smell that?”

“The bouquet at the nightstand?”

“That must be it. A little strong, don’t you think?”

“We can put it outside.”

“No. It’ll be too cold. Don’t want to ruin it.”

She undressed. He wrapped his arms around her naked body. She buried her face in his chest, wincing as perfume flooded her nostrils. “Why does he smell like her?”

Not accepting an outside influence present, she continued kissing her groom, tasting him, inhaling him, certain once he entered her, their union would banish the scent.

“Oh god. It’s too intense,” she said.

“I know. You’re incredible.”

“You don’t under… The pain. I can’t….”

“What? What’s happening?”

The coroner said it was likely an aneurism, but wouldn’t know without an autopsy.

Exhaustion gave way to sleep after everyone left. His old betrothed visited his dreams. “I’m sorry you had to find out like this,” she said. Flashes filled the widower’s mind. A severed rope. A crumpled body. His new bride luring a groomsman into the coat closet.

“I tried to tell you, but you refused to hear me.”