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A Match Made in Hell

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He kept the wedding ring on his finger for all the wrong reasons. Every time he looked at it he got pissed right off. It put him in the right mood to deal with ministers. It also reminded him never to make that mistake again.

He met her working at the newspaper in Glasgow. They were both aspiring journalists at the time. She, due to her sex and sense of style, was put on the fashion and society stories. He, on the other hand, was put on politics. She wished she was doing his job; they both thought at first that the reason she was denied was because of her gender. She was actually a good reporter and excellent writer when she put her mind to it.

They had both had a gift for whipping up public frenzy either for or against a subject. That was one reason they became such successful public relations people. For all her faults, there was no doubt that Edina Monsoon was gifted at what she did, as long as it wasn't marriage or anything to do with family.

He'd thought they were really in love when they married. She had a sweet side and could make a man feel over the moon. Her naturally red hair and pretty face, at the time, didn't hurt either. She'd always been round even before she got fat, but he never minded that. What he did mind, what he couldn't tolerate, was her excess.

It started innocently enough; they both working late nights on stories, the only difference was he was always making phone calls and typing in the den; she was always out at another party. It was to be expected. The first few times she came home falling down drunk he'd carry her upstairs and put her to bed. Then he discovered somebody else was putting her to bed well before she passed out. That was the last straw.

It was the night her grandfather died. Her mother called him at least once an hour, wanting to break the bad news to his wife. He finally wound up going to the gallery opening after party she was supposed to be attending only to find out she wasn't there. Patsy was giggling with sadistic glee, drunk and high on who knows what, when she let the cat out of the bag. She was upstairs in the hotel with a near-famous director. He got the room number and marched up there. He was ready to kick the door in when she finally opened it. Behind her the bed was a mess. When the director stuck his head out the bathroom door to see who it was he was still naked. Malcolm blurted out her mother's news, turned around, and left the hotel. When she came home that night he'd locked the doors against her.

Edina, when she sobered up, realized the marriage was over and was ready for as quick of a divorce as could be done. Patsy, on the other hand, partially out of guilt for betraying her best friend but mostly because she was an evil, petty, vengeful psycho bitch, wouldn't let that happen. She somehow convinced Edina that she, in fact, had been wronged. That's when the warring began.

Malcolm shook his head to get the images out of it. Fortunately it had all happened in Glasgow and neither he nor she were big enough to be noticed in the rest of Britain at the time or he'd probably still be hearing about it today. Malcolm took two aspirin and made himself a jumbo-sized mug of black coffee to begin the day.