The killer's art

38

On Saturday morning Johan woke early. He lay on his side, staring at Emma’s face as he thought about what plans they should make for the wedding. Considering how turbulent their relationship had been up until now, he wanted to comply with Emma’s wishes that they get married soon. He didn’t want to risk having something else happen that might upset their plans.

He might have to give up his dream of getting married in a church, even though that would be wonderful.

It was now the end of February, and they would need at least two months to send out the invitations and make the arrangements. Having friends and family members present at the wedding was a minimum requirement. He refused to budge on that issue. But where could they hold the ceremony if not in a church? The instant he asked himself that question, an idea popped into his head — why not at the Roma cloister ruins? And then they could have the party at home. It might get a little crowded, but the house was a spacious 2,000 square feet, and if the guests spread out into all the rooms, it should be manageable. They didn’t have to serve a formal dinner; maybe it would be enough to offer a light snack and champagne, followed, of course, by coffee and wedding cake. And that would obviate the need for seating arrangements and embarrassing speeches. Just laughter and conversation, fun and celebration.

He got so wrapped up in the whole idea that he got out of bed to find a pen and paper. He wanted to make a list of people to invite, to see if it would even be possible to hold the party at home. Though if they were going to get married outdoors, maybe they should postpone the ceremony until a little later. Wait until May or June, when it was warmer and everything was green and in bloom. Of course, they would have a honeymoon. It shouldn’t be any problem finding someone to baby-sit. It would be best if they could leave Elin at home; either his mother or Emma’s parents, who lived on the island of Faro, could take care of her. And Sara and Filip could stay with them too.

Maybe they should go to Paris, he daydreamed. He couldn’t imagine a more romantic city. In the springtime or early summer. That would be perfect.

He was just about to wake Emma when something occurred to him. Shouldn’t they make their engagement official, now that he had proposed? Should he buy her an engagement ring or should they do it together? He didn’t know how such things were done. He would have to ask somebody. He ran his finger along Emma’s bare back. He had no doubt whatsoever that he loved her deeply, so it really made no difference what sort of wedding they had. The only thing that mattered was that they got married.