Author's note: Thank you, as always, for the excellent reviews. I am so glad you're enjoying this, and reading the reviews helps me hone/ change/ amend/ develop the plot and characters. Thank you.


He looked up at the house in front of him and then down to the gravel at his feet. Sleepless, desperate nights had made him fearful with the prospect of never sharing her bed again. He'd phoned early in the morning, asking if he could visit, and the delight in Mr. Nightshade's voice wasn't even enough to stymie his desperation to see her again.

The door before him opened and his fiancée smiled and bound out from behind it.

"Gomez!" She flitted down the stairs and pushed herself into his arms, "Gomez it's been too long!"

He tried to muster a smile but now there was something new within him, something dreadfully afraid of having her think for a moment that this was any more than just a contract.

"Only a few days," he bowed over her hand as he set himself back from her.

He felt her body stiffen for a moment, then her airy manner returned instantly, "Well, it felt longer."

She turned and led him in the door. Within her parents stood, her father still proud with the prospect of their marriage, her mother somewhere else entirely. Behind them Morticia rested against the wall, hip and shoulder pressed lazily to it. Oh, envy of a wall indeed! He tried very hard not to pull her to him instantly, desperately.

Instead he addressed Ophelia, "Yes, I know a lot about waiting."

Morticia's subtle little smile was enough to sustain him for a moment longer.

"Come on," Ophelia smiled, "There is so much to plan."

He followed her into the parlour, where tea was set out.

When they settled, and Morticia did not take her leave, he risked a look at her. There was no blush under the modest skin, no telling smile or revealing looks.

"Will you be joining us, Morticia?"

She looked up from underneath her pretty eye lashes and smiled that subtle, deadly little smile that made his heart thunder under his breast plate.

"I wouldn't miss it," she answered.

"Our special day," he nodded, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Oh engagement party first," Ophelia trilled, "It is tomorrow and I've barely been in your house yet…"

"Time for everything Ophelia," he turned back to her, "Wouldn't you agree?"

"Hmmm, yes," hi fiancée smiled but it was tight, "Wait until you see it."

"I can't," he grinned, eyes flitting towards Morticia again.

"Oh Gomez," Ophelia pulled his hand into her lap, "Such excitement! I didn't think you would be so looking forward to it."

He turned and looked at her solemnly, "Any time I get to spend with you…and your family, means the world to me."

Ophelia's glittering smile would have been a satisfaction for any other man but, for him, it just reminded him of all the lies he had to tell in order to get what he truly wanted.

"We were going to invite you to stay for tea but you're nor-"

He turned to her father, "No, no. I should stay. The house is awash with preparations, I only get in Lurch's way and my aunt's. Shouldn't you be over there?"

"Yes," her father nodded and ushering her mother, turned to the door, "To oversee preparations. Ophelia, I rather thought you might like to go too."

Gomez agreed, "Of course Ophelia."

Gomez didn't add that he didn't want to accompany her and that he'd like to stay here, right here, with Morticia.

"Oh no," Ophelia waived an airy hand as she poured the tea, "Oh I am much the same."

She turned a look to Morticia, "And, unlike my little sister, I have readied my outfit."

"I must confess I have been too busy to organise an outfit," he answered gallantly.

"So has Morticia," Ophelia gave a dainty, tinkling little laugh under which there was a needle of cruelty.

He stared into the fire at her words, memories battering him with their very wonder, and did not dare to look into those black, engulfing eyes.

Morticia dipped her head and, detectable only to him, that tiny, faint blush crept up onto her cheekbones. He'd saw it before, when she'd lose control, when she'd cling onto his neck as if for dear life. And here it was, as bold as day, before him.

These last few weeks, the stolen moments and desperate gasps of desire, flooded his mind.

"That is hardly my business," he said kindly, "And giving your sister's secrets away is hardly kind, my dear."

Ophelia seemed crestfallen for a moment but she regained composure almost instantly, "Oh, honeymoons?"

He had been too busy looking at that blush tracking its way down onto Morticia's chest to answer his future wife.

"Huh?"

"Oh Gomez, pay attention," she murmured and then stood up, "Oh honeymoons. Excuse me."

And she flitted from the room, leaving the door ajar as she went.

"I need to see you tonight," he wasted no time in getting what he had come for.

She shook her head silently.

"I could not sleep without you last night," he muttered, reaching across the table to grasp her hand.

She nodded her agreement but said nothing.

"Tish," he said, "I am begging you."

"I cannot, not tonight," she said, her eyes not on his, "I can't do this. I can't do this to her. Gomez this is wrong."

"It has nothing to do with her," he whispered insistently, "With you, without you I couldn't – please Tish…could you sleep, could you feel the longing, the miss?"

She nodded silently.

"Tonight then?"

"I cannot take the-"

"Here!"

The high voice was behind them.

"Brochures!"

She let them flop into his lap; generic Bahamas, cruises, beaches and clear, crystal waters. He shuddered.

"Anything a little more…." He tried to find the word, "Cultured?"

"You mean bizarre," Opehelia countered, "I want a beach."

"Then if it must be a beach, somewhere like Agdam or Wittenoom," he said patiently, "Somewhere truly disastrous."

"Oh no," she ripped the books from his lap and set them on the table, "You are no fun."

"That's an unfair accusation," Morticia finally said, "I mean they sound perfectly romantic to me."

Gomez nodded his head, "Slow down, aren't we supposed to set a date first?"

"A trifle," she shrugged, "Papa says it should be in two months."

His stomach clenched in petrification and he felt Morticia's eyes sharp on his reactions. He nodded.

"A bit soon."

"Nonsense," Ophelia said, "Unless, of course…." she lowered her voice conspiratorially, "You have another woman on the side."

"Don't be ridiculous," Morticia whispered softly, her voice cutting across the conversation, "You're enough woman for any man."

He felt wordless as Morticia took over and skippered them smoothly over the rough, uneven surface of the ocean of accusations they suddenly found themselves in. Or maybe they both just felt it as a barb for them and that was a result of their own filthy consciences.

"Of course," Ophelia giggled, set her hand against his elbow, "My little sister knows me well."

He feigned a grin of agreement, "You are clever like that, Morticia."

She nodded, "I should leave you to your arrangements."

"Please," the words were out of Gomez's mouth before he could stop them, "Stay. Please."

She shook her head, set her empty tea cup on the table, and stood. He watched her go and then turned back to Ophelia, who seemed lost in her honeymoon browsing and hadn't watched him salivate as her sister left the room.

"I think we should get married," she said quietly, setting the magazines aside, "Soon, I mean."

He realised, suddenly, that her words were tremulous and there was a sincerity in them. This revelation in itself was enough to make him blanch, to make his chest tighten with terror. But her eyes, her eyes were sincerely earnest too in their remark.

"I – "

"Oh Gomez," she sighed and took his hand in hers, turning fully to face him so they were almost nose to nose on the couch, "I feel…a kindred spirit in you. Someone who realises the sense in trying to make this work," she giggled lightly, but the underlying coyness was still there, "I'm not saying I love you…"

She left it hanging, and it hung for as long as he refused to say anything, before she started the execution of the idea again.

"It's just," she smiled, "I think we could be happy."

He extracted his hands gently; the last thing he needed right now was this but he had to tread carefully too. Should he be too emphatic in his denial she might turn against him spectacularly, be too keen and he would mislead her.

"I think so too," he said, grasping at anything to tether him to reality.

"You do?"

"I think we could find a way to make it work," he said, attempting to remain as clinical as possible or, at least, as vague as he could be, "It's certainly something to think about."

She smiled and leaned forward, "And maybe we could, you know, spend more time together."

She moved her fingers, rhythmically, like the legs of a spider up the silk of his tie. He resisted the urge to scoot away and instead held fast. He lifted her hands from his chest, where it toyed with one of the buttons there, and pressed it to his lips for a second before dropping it gently back into her own lap.

"Ophelia," he lied softly, "You are going to be my wife. I have to have respect for you. And that simply wouldn't be appropriate. We should wait until the right time."

Her ability to turn on a dime was alarming to say the least. Her eyes grew stormy and she tied her fingers together in a tight little basket on her thighs.

"No one says 'no' to me."

"Hush," he whispered, "It isn't out of lack of interes-"

"Don't lie," she hissed, "I know you have other women."

"Being mutually exclusive," he corrected, "As far as I was aware, was not in our previous contract?"

"Harsh choice of words," she countered, though he saw a blush of recognition falter across her forehead and cheekbones.

"But true?"

"Yes," she conceded, "But, by now, I thought I might win you round."

He nodded his understanding and then said, "You don't know anything about me."

"No," she agreed, "I don't. I don't know how to remedy that."

"Let's face it; if we knew more about each other, I hardly doubt we'd like each other very much at all."

"I suppose so," she shrugged, "But would it kill us to try?"

"Probably," he sat back.

"Are you always this dark?"

"Not always," he answered, "I think we both know this isn't want I want."

"It's what I want."

He felt, for the first time, truly sorry for Ophelia; "I can see that."

On his way out the butler thrust his hat into his hand and sent him, gruntingly, on his way. It was only when he was back in the car he realised something felt funny with the fedora and he slid it off as a note fluttered from within. He unfurled it, his heart beating a thrusting drum from out of his chest, and read the spidery, delicate scrawl.

Tonight.

Now, he thought to himself as he tucked it in the breast pocket of his coat, that was a promise in only one word. There was something desperate about all this, pathetic almost; the urgency with which his desire to be with her propelled him.

-0-

She was beautiful, he thought, truly beautiful in a way he'd never known, as she climbed the stairs towards him. She exited the car in a nervy manner – afraid, he understood, because of the openness of the setting. Her eyes darted from side to side, and she pulled the fur stole more protectively around her shoulders.

He held out his hand at the top of the stairs.

"Well, this is an odd choice…"

"You like music," he stated, sliding his white silk scarf from his neck as they came into the lobby.

"Yes, I do. How did you know?"

"Isn't it odd," he leaned towards her as he propelled her through the doors of the opera house, "That I just know you."

She turned her mouth towards his jawline, "Disconcerting."

He nodded at the front of house manager, who smiled a questioning smile and motioned them towards the curtains.

"Connections?"

"I own a private box," he answered, holding back the thick velvet material.

He watched as she looked around the plushness of the setting, out and across the entire house and the unparalleled view of the stage and audience.

"It's…" she smiled fiendishly, "Acceptable. I didn't mean the private box anyway. I meant the Front of House Manager; he knows you."

He reached out his hands to slide her stole from her shoulders, setting the heavy garment aside and then returning his hands to the sharp angles of her shoulders. It had been two days since he'd touched her and he felt starved, under-nourished, from the fast they'd endured. She leant back into his embrace and he felt her body soften in his hands.

"I don't usually bring…anyone," he whispered after a moment, his mouth ghosting over her jaw line, "He was surprised to see you with me."

"Women?"

The tone was not jealousy, it was curiosity that drove her to know how much now she was knotted into his world, and he knew that. He motioned to the seat, drew it out so she might slide into it. She did, gracefully, and he watched her closely because he could not resist.

"Anyone, actually," he answered, lifting the champagne bottle from the rattling, dew-coated ice bucket in the left of the box. He thumbed the cork till it popped gently, then poured two glasses.

He handed her one, "It's sacred to me. I've never brought anyone. No one. You're the first person to ever accompany me."

She nodded, examined the contents of the glass for a moment, and then smiled that smile she seemed only to make when he'd pleased her particularly. He was over-full on her now, though too much would certainly never be enough.

"What are we seeing or rather, hearing?"

"New York Philharmonic…Rachmaninoff," he answered, passing her the programme.

She examined it for a second, "Thank you for inviting me."

"Were you alarmed when the driver brought you here?"

"No," she turned to him, "I trust you."

"But?"

She smiled ruefully, "This is very public."

"The lights go down, the music comes up and I get to sit beside you in one of my most favourite places on earth. It's entirely private."

She considered his response, "And if anyone sees us?"

"They see us," he shook his head as the lights began to dim, "And we get what we want anyway."

He slid nearer her, their chairs pressed together, and she rested her head on his shoulder.

"It has to stop…or end somewhere," she whispered under the first bars of booming music.

"At the end of an aisle."

It was a confident statement as it left his mouth.

"Gomez, we cannot be seen," she whispered, "I really mean it. I don't want to hurt my parents."

"Morticia, one day you will have to give in to the inevitable."

There was a tiny pause, then she said, "I'm in love with you."

He kissed her forehead, "I know."

-0-

She'd thought, once, checking into a hotel seemed a cheap thing to do. Perhaps under any circumstances apart from these it would have been. But now she simply couldn't wait to do something so cheap and miserable.

"They won't have me in the Plaza," he explained as the car drove past the glittering hotel on the edge of the park, "I trashed the presidential suite once. So the Ritz it is. It's hardly homely, but it'll do."

She raised a brow, "It's not as if you have sleeping in mind."

His hand slid onto her thigh and, then further up as it bunched her skirt back to her pelvis. Hand in place, he scooted forward to press the partition button up as her head fell back in a gasp of pleasure.

He knew his smile was one of triumph but he simply couldn't help it as she tightened her thighs around his hand.

"As if you had sleeping in mind either Tish."


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