Excerpt from A Serial Killer's Guide to Marriage by Asia Mackay, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

Don't f*** it up.

Next to Bibi's room, a spare bedroom had been converted into a makeshift art studio. Sheets covered the beige carpet. I sat on my stool, paintbrush in hand, as I stared at the blank canvas in front of me. Eventually, I dipped the brush into the red paint and did one little line in the center of the canvas. And then another and another, until a stick figure looked back at me. I drew a sad face on it. I stared at it for a moment and then pushed it off the stand. Picking up my phone, I accidentally lost an hour watching Instagram reels. Then another fifteen minutes editing photos of myself to see if fashion's latest choppy fringe would suit me.

When Bibi woke, I got her out of her cot and held her close, breathing in her sleepy neck.

I let her loose on my abandoned canvas. I took photos of her as she handprinted black and red all over it: #mummybondingtime. When we got bored of that, I parked her in front of Peppa Pig as I prepared dinner. This involved placing clean baking trays onto the drying rack, spreading crumbs onto a chopping board, and ripping the deli and patisserie boxes into little shreds to go into the bottom of the recycling bin. Faking it in the bedroom—unacceptable. Faking it in the kitchen—commendable.

The three couples arrived within minutes of each other.

I watched Fox slice the beef fillet. It was very rare. He cut it with precision. He barely even seemed to notice how the bright red of the steak gently wobbled as he sliced into it.

I took Mark by the arm and brought him over to Fox.

"Isn't he perfect?" Fox looked up at us, large knife in hand. I waited a beat as he took in Mark and his fine suit and large, gaudy Rolex. "He brought us your favorite red."

"Perfect is a bit much," guffawed Mark.

Fox wouldn't meet my eyes as he chuckled with Mark over the expense of having such a fine palate. There was no hint he remembered what the two of us used to do with men who looked like Mark.

Dinner followed the usual script. I sympathized when Raquel droned on about the difficulties of getting planning permission for their basement extension. I nodded along with Nick and Caro at the horror of interest rate rises affecting mortgage payments. I crossed fingers with Georgie for little Arthur getting a coveted school place. I sneaked a glance at the clock: 10:37 p.m. The final home run before the chorus of "Oh, look at the time!"

"I do worry that there are three Florences in Florence's class," sighed Raquel. "You're lucky Bibi is such an unusual name."

"She's named after my grandmother Sabina."

"How lovely. Were you close?"

"Oh yes." I took a glug of wine. "She was the only member of my family who wasn't a total cunt."

Raquel's mouth dropped open.

I stood up. "Anyone for more raspberry pavlova?"

After the last couple was air-kissed goodbye and the dishwasher was fully loaded, we collapsed onto the sofa. Fox was a little drunk. I was a lot drunk. I put a hand on his thigh. He smiled and pulled me to him. I reached for his belt buckle. He stopped me with his hand.

"What?"

"Bibi plays on this sofa."

"I'll clean it," I murmured as I pushed him back on the sofa.

"It's ..." He sat upright. "It's dry-clean only. So you know, bit of an effort to—"

I unbuttoned my silk shirt. "We could put a towel down."

He pressed at the sofa cushion. "And it's quite soft. Probably not good for my back." He patted my arm. "Our bed is just upstairs."

By the time the routine of locking up, checking on Bibi, removing makeup, and getting undressed had been completed, Fox was asleep. I got into bed beside him and stared up at the ceiling, listening to the sound of his light snores. I wanted to scream.

Excerpted from A Serial Killer's Guide to Marriage by Asia Mackay. Copyright © 2025 by Asia Mackay. Excerpted by permission of Bantam Books. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.