I stared at my beautiful, evil wife and realized the horror had only just begun. 

Sabrina was gorgeous, like her name, in that mid 1960s way — full-bodied, statuesque, thick glossy black hair and impossible blue eyes.  She was what the old folks called Black Irish — that mating of the Spaniards with the Irish during the Spanish Armada.   

I had been woefully unprepared for life with her, having married a scant two weeks after meeting.  I was besotted.  Another old-fashioned word, but it is the only one that will do. 

Asleep, I had felt that uncomfortable sensation of being examined. I rolled over and she was glaring at me – knife in hand. 

Sabrina!  What the hell!  What are you doing? 

“I told you I wanted that puppy.” 

“What?” 

“The puppy.” 

“What puppy?” I had a vague memory of briefly exchanging words with someone at the elevator with a dog the night before.  We had just arrived home from a dinner rich with champagne and cordials. The scene at the elevator was murky. Did she really have a knife? I couldn’t see it now.  Her right hand was tucked under the duvet. 

“The Samoyed.  I told you last night.  Where is it?” 

“Sabrina, you seem to want a great many things.  I can’t keep track of it all.  A Samoyed puppy?  Fine, we will find you one today.  I can’t just take someone else’s dog.” 

“No.  I want that one.  The markings were exquisite.” 

“What are we going to do with a dog?  We travel a lot, and a dog will be a great inconvenience, especially one of that size.” 

“I. Want. That. Dog.” 

I stared at my beautiful, evil wife and realized the horror had only just begun. 

“Sabrina, if you want a Samoyed puppy, we will find you one, but we can’t have that one.  Someone else has already given it a home and a name.  You don’t want a used puppy.” 

I could see her thinking. It was a stroke of genius that I had said that.  In our brief time together, I had already figured out that something used was anathema for Sabrina.  She wanted bright, shiny, new, or in this case, furry, cuddly and cute.” 

“Okay.  Today we will go in search.  And I want a fur coat to match. White.  All white.  With a sapphire clasp.” 

With that, she rolled over, pulled her sleep mask over her eyes, and, presumably, went back to sleep.  I had time to think, and my brain was churning.  How to undo this mess I was in.  A complete clusterfuck.  I was married to a narcissistic psychopath.  

There had been clues, but I had dismissed or overlooked each one of them.   

Where had my much-vaulted business acumen been when falling in love with Sabrina?  Or more aptly falling in lust.  There was nothing to love.  She was nothing but I want.  In the few weeks we had been married, she had presented me with magazine advertisements and open declarations of things she wanted.  No end to it.  Sapphire jewelry.  A Park West apartment.  A voyage on the QE II.  Our wedding rings weren’t enough, she wanted an anniversary band – anniversary of what?  One month of marriage?   

She dripped jewels and now she wanted fur.  I am a vegetarian.  A well known and outspoken one.  I can’t have my wife parading around in white fur. 

I padded to the kitchen.  It was too early for the staff to have arrived.  I fumbled with the Keurig but figured it out. 

While it was brewing, I opened the drawer underneath the counter holding the coffee maker.  Butcher knives.  One missing.   

I hadn’t imagined the knife. 

I selected a 10” chef’s knife and returned to the bedroom.  Her sleep was silent, but deep.  The slumber of the thoughtless, the selfish, the entitled. 

There was nothing else I could do.  She was evil.