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“I just don’t understand how this keeps happening. Why this keeps happening. It’s like some curse!”
Vincent tried very hard not to smile as he listened to you talk while putting the finishing touches on your makeup before the two of you went out on your date night. Another show host had been murdered, this time the host of the night talk show you would play every night.
“They still haven’t caught whoever’s doing this. What if it’s us next? What if it’s you?” you frowned, the mirror reflecting your worried-filled eyes as you applied lipstick, then capping it and placing it onto the table.
Vincent walked behind you, resting his hand on your shoulder as he turned you around. He could smell your perfume from here, sweet and distinctly vanilla. How fitting. “Sweetheart, we’ll be fine, I promise you. I can take care of myself, and I’ll always take care of you, okay?” he reassured you, one hand on your cheek and the other in his pocket, fiddling with the velvet jewelry box inside. You nodded, slightly unsure but trusting.
He did feel bad for scaring you. Killing the man wasn’t hard. Neither was killing the man before, or the one before him. Neither was seamlessly taking their place, their shows, their fans, their influence. He’d do the same to this man too. They had been in his way after all. He had his eyes set on Damien Carlson next. He hosted some nature and animal show that was getting a bit too popular for his liking, and was way too friendly towards you.
The only 3 things that Vincent wanted were fame, influence, and you. Not one of his coworkers meant a thing to him but you, and if this was the cost of building his ideal word, him on the top and you his doting first lady, he was willing to pay it.
He took your hand, and the both of you strolled out the front door and towards the driveway. He opened the front passenger door of his new, flashy car for you. He was such a gentleman, you thought.
He pulled out of the driveway and drove off, one hand on the steering wheel and the other one on your lap, tracing patterns. Both of you thrummed with nervousness, but for very different reasons. You were concerned because of all of the murders that had happened. How could Vincent be so indifferent, you thought. Wasn’t he worried too? Vincent’s only worry, however, was the ring in his pocket.
He had reserved a table at the fanciest restaurant in town, made a whole speech, planned out everything right.
You had seen him, even when he was just a mere weatherman, underestimated by everyone else. You were so beautiful, and as sweet as the baked goods you made on your cute little show and he needed this, needed you to say yes-
Your humming interrupted his spiraling thoughts. One of your favorite songs had come onto the radio. Focus, Vincent, focus. He’d marry you and you wouldn’t leave him. He knew it.
Soon the two of you pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant and stepped out. Vincent had a hand protectively placed on your back as he walked you into the restaurant and as the two of you were seated.
“Vincent, this place is so nice!” you gushed. “Only the best for you, my sweet,” he responded as he gazed at you from across the table. His future wife. He cleared his throat, trying to appear less nervous. The waitress came and he asked for wine for the both of you.
You flipped through the menu, looking for what you’d order. “Vincy, what should I get? Maybe the pasta…” he nodded, his nerves on fire.
He went through all the motions, ordering for the both of you, talking about how his day went (leaving out the more.. gruesome details), asking you about yours, asking you how your food was, waiting for the perfect moment..
You noticed how tense and nervous he looked, totally out of character for him. “Baby? Are you okay? is there something going on? Should we go?” You frowned.
“There- er.. There is something, something I need to ask you.” he stammered out, internally face-palming. His usual confidence had left him, along with the speech he had planned out in his head. God, Vincent, get it together!
“What? What is it?” you asked, concerned. He stood up. “[Name]..” he knelt in front of you, pulling out the velvet box from his pocket and opening it. In it was a ring, the most gorgeous one you’d ever seen. “..Will you marry me?”
“Oh, Vincy..” you gasped, heart thudding. It took everything in you not to embrace him right there on the ground. “Yes, yes i’ll marry you!” Your eyes were wide and wet with tears as he slipped the ring onto your finger.
He began to get teary himself as he stood up and embraced you into his arms, feeling like the luckiest man in the world. You were his, all his, and no one, not even that asshole tree hugger Damien Carlson could take you away from him.
He’d still have to take care of him, of course, but that could wait until tomorrow.