Author's note: Thank you for your wonderful reviews. This was, far and away, my most favourite chapter to write. I hope you enjoy it. If you have time, I'd be really grateful if you could write a review but if not then please enjoy it anyway.


Having only parted from him the evening before, it was bizarre to be journeying to his house and pretending she'd never seen it while missing him as if she'd not been in his arms hours before. Ophelia was giddy with excitement, her new dress laid carefully out against the seat of the car with warning to all riding that it was not to be crushed. Morticia squeezed herself against the window, making herself as slight as possible.

"It needs work," Ophelia finally murmured, eyes on the house, as the car snaked up behind the others round the ring road of gravel.

Morticia pretended to observe, while feeling hotly offended, "No, I think it's perfect."

"It's crumbling."

Morticia sighed, "It has character."

Ophelia eyed her sharply, and she felt her mother's eyes on her too, "What is wrong with you tonight? You seem so…contrary."

"Ophelia," she turned to her sister, "This is your night. Let's not disagree."

Ophelia was soothed by this and turned to her mother, "He won't surely want to have the wedding here."

"They've always been a little…eccentric," her mother said diplomatically, "But there's something charming about that, in old money, anyway."

"I hope he won't mind extensive renovations when I'm Mrs. Addams," Ophelia grinned.

Morticia tried very hard to bite her tongue, but she couldn't.

"Maybe if you didn't try to alter his entire life, he might take more kindly to you."

It was out before she could stop the cataclysm of words from being fully realised. Her mother turned to her with a startled expression.

"Oh you are foul tonight," Ophelia snapped, throwing open the car door as they drew level with the large entrance, "You miserable little drip."

Morticia rolled her eyes and climbed out behind her. Her mother pulled her back though, made her stop before she climbed the stairs to the house.

"What has gotten in to you, Morticia?"

It was not accusing but concerned, when her mother asked.

"Mama," she sighed, "He is a good man and she is…"

"There's more to this," her mother said softly.

"No, no there is not," she looked her mother dead in the eye, the lie always easier than the truth, "But she has a husband who might care for her, one day, if she weren't so disagreeable."

Her father came to her side then, quiet as always.

"Are you bemoaning arranged marriage again?"

She gave him a cold glare, "No. I am not."

"Don't irritate her," her mother warned her father, "Just go inside."

Her father nodded and headed in, leaving them at the top of the stairs.

"Morticia, you seem so….distant these days," her mother whispered.

"Oh mama, you wouldn't understand."

"You could try me," her mama suggested, moving them past a crowd who were heading into the already heaving house.

"No, trust me, you wouldn't be able to understand."

Her mother nodded and guided her inside, where the lobby was fit to burst. It was different from before, the chandeliers had been lowered and lit so they glittered and illuminated the entire room. He was standing at the top of the stairs, in a group of his friends, and she found him instantly amongst the guests. He looked so very, very handsome in his full tails, a bloomless thorny stem slid delicately into his button hole in a gesture which made her breathless with both panic and ardour. Her sister was beside him, muttering into his ear, but his eyes stayed almost always on Morticia as her parents floated amongst the guests on their way towards the ballroom.

"Hello my love," a voice behind her said.

She turned to Carmen and kissed her cheeks airily.

"When my sister realises you're here…"

"She sent me an invitation, or maybe Mr. Addams did, I don't know," her friend slid her arm through Morticia's and guided her away, "But I am not crashing. I was invited."

It could not have been Ophelia, so it had to be Gomez who'd invited her. She felt a surge of gratitude at his thoughtfulness, his desire to make her night more bearable and thus including a companion.

Morticia knew what was coming as Carmen led her into the throng, since she'd not spoken to her friend since he'd dragged her away that night.

"Where did you go?"

Carmen asked, leading her towards the far end of the ballroom.

She saw him look at her as they passed, but he didn't stop to say hello. He was in the middle of a group of men, with Ophelia flittering about the outside like an ailing butterfly, and seemed to be telling a joke. They were listening with a sort of awe, reserved only for the finest of storytellers.

"I was tired," she answered, "I went home."

"You're lying," Carmen accused, taking two champagnes from a passing tray.

"Yes, I am," Morticia answered, knowing any more lies were futile.

"Was he good?"

"I can't describe…"

She didn't want to, was probably more accurate. There was something, she felt though she couldn't explain why, that had to remain a secret only between them and that even her dearest friend could not be privy to.

"Shame he's going to be your brother-in-law soon," her friend leaned in to her, "Your filthy little secret is safe with me."

"It's not…." She stumbled over her own words, "It isn't what you think."

Carmen smiled with malicious delight, "Oh it's exactly what I think. You know my advice."

She looked at her friend, "Give a man your time, your money, even your body but don't give him-"

"Your heart," Carmen finished for her, downing the last of her glass where Morticia's was barely touched.

Before she could refute her friend's callous wisdom, her sister spoke.

"Carmen," Ophelia's voice was behind them, "I didn't realise you were coming."

They turned to face a small collective of people, including Gomez. He bowed over Carmen's hand first, his lips briefly on the skin, then over Morticia's, where it felt scrupulously longer. She felt her heart climbing over her collarbones at his daring.

"I invited Carmen, Ophelia," Gomez said gallantly, "Her and I, we go back. Don't we Carmen?"

Carmen smiled deliciously, despite the fact all of the informed party knew not one part of it was true and that theirs was not an acquaintance which merited an invitation. Ophelia's eyes narrowed suspiciously on Carmen's smile, before she turned to Gomez.

"I didn't realise," Ophelia said lightly, examining her nails, then looking pointedly at Carmen, "Though hardly surprising. You go way back with everyone."

Carmen spluttered a laugh into her glass as the atmosphere grew icy and the men in the company affronted. The man she knew to be Williamson stepped forward, his eyes ghosting over Morticia for a second before he bowed over Carmen's hand.

"My dear."

"Williamson!" Carmen flung her arms around his neck and peppered his face with kisses.

Over the show, solely for Ophelia's benefit, Gomez caught Morticia's eye and smiled an amused smile.

"Morticia," he spoke this time, "Let me introduce you to my friends. This is Williamson," he pointed at his friend's head as he remained in Carmen's embrace, "My cousin Itt, my cousin Baz, our college chum Mendelssohn, and the other college friends Crooks and Schroeder."

She nodded to each in turn as they were introduced. At the finish, Baz stumbled forward towards her. Gomez reached out a casual hand against his cousin's chest to hold him back but Baz pushed him away, a little roughly too.

"Balthazar Addams," he smiled, "A pleasure, Morticia. A genuine pleasure."

She smiled gently but felt his confidence as a threat, "Thank you."

Ophelia, silent until now, said sourly, "My goodness, you two seem to be attracting all the gentlemen tonight. Thank the lord Gomez is taken."

At this Ophelia's hands went to Gomez's chest and her pale little nails dug in. Williamson's eyes fluttered to Morticia's and he looked at her darkly, the bleak accusation clear in his glare. She simply looked back, refusing to be cowed by his friend.

It occurred to her, already, how awful this party was and it was barely an hour in. She reached out in the awkward silence of the group to take a champagne glass from one of the constantly rotating trays. At least Gomez knew how to keep his guests well-oiled.

"We should dance Gomez," Ophelia eventually said, "We should definitely dance."

"Not really my thi-"

"Come on," she whispered, "I want to."

He nodded his concession and turned to go with Ophelia, and Williamson asked Carmen, as Balthazar offered his hand.

"Morticia, may I have the honour?"

"Oh I –"

"Please," he stood up a little straighter, "I insist."

Despite not wanting to, she took his offered hand and let him lead her to the dance floor. Amongst the swirling bodies she caught Gomez's eyes time and time again. Balthazar drooled foolishly in her ear, compliments and suggestions, yet she heard nothing. Gomez held her sister at length, their bodies distant even in the most intimate embrace. She tried not to feel abandoned, to feel the very real envy that was fermenting in her gut.

"Morticia," Baz stepped back and bowed unsteadily, "Might I take you for dinner? You must let me. We would be perfect."

"Oh, I…" she smiled, curtsied and felt suddenly flustered, "I am really not looking to find anyone just now."

"Oh," he stumbled back a little, though his eyes and face were shot through with a subtle rage.

"Excuse me," she turned to go and headed for the terrace on the other side of the ballroom.

She felt unbearably warm suddenly, jealousy coursing through her despite knowing that she had nothing to envy. Knowing and feeling, though, were two entirely different things. She braced herself against the balustrade and curled her fingers in against her palms. The night was cool, and the graveyard was set against a starry sky. She felt calm move over her, heavy and soothing.

"Morticia," suddenly there were rough hands against her hips, grasping her and pressing against her so she was jammed between the stone and the body behind her.

She felt her own elbow fly out against the hard chest behind and the figure withdraw only to push against her again. He was unbearably close and she felt suddenly suffocated.

"Excuse me!"

The stink of hot, stale booze clouded her as the person gripped her by the elbows and turned her round. She was confronted by the face of Baz, eyes lecherous and wide and his mouth slack in expectation.

"Come on, you can't dance with a man like that and then-"

"I can dance however I please," she pushed him away but he sprung back instantly, his grip impossibly strong as one of his hands fumbled with the tight material of her dress, "Take your hands off of me."

"I don't think that's what you-"

"I damn well do!" She snarled.

"I think you should do what the lady asks," Gomez said from behind him suddenly, casually, his fingers wrapped round a cigar, "She's not the kind of girl I'd try to take advantage of…she'll eat you for breakfast Baz."

Baz turned, his fingers still gripping her wrists. She couldn't possibly look at Gomez, her embarrassment was so full, yet she was glad he was here. Not because she needed his protection but because she welcomed it.

"God Gomez," Balthazar hissed, "We were fine as we were. Morticia here was just showing me what a good girl should do. Go away."

Gomez's face was suddenly furious, as if all the energy he'd been using to appear nonchalant was suddenly drained from him. He stepped forward and thrust a hand out onto his cousin's shoulder, catching him off balance so he shuddered back and his hands came loose of her wrist.

"Go, you imbecile," Gomez pushed him away, "Before I do something I truly regret."

Baz stumbled backwards, then lurched forward and fell into her. She slid away quickly, so he tumbled towards the balustrade. Gomez stepped forward, gripped the back of his cousin's dinner jacket, and threw him aside where he stumbled to the hard stone before springing on to his feet again.

As he skulked away towards the gardens Gomez turned to her, his eyes full of concern.

"I know you are okay," he said softly, "But I –"

"I am fine," she looked him straight in the eye, "I really am."

"He's an imbecile, an inappropriate imbecile," he said, stepping forward.

"I know," she nodded, pulling her sleeve back to examine her wrist.

There were pinkish bands blooming where Balthazar's fingers had been. Fury scaled her spine as she shook the sleeve back into place.

His eyes were dark when she looked into them and they had changed from irritated to furious, "He marked you."

She nodded and she knew her disgust was clear on her face, "And he had no right."

"I'll disembowel him," he murmured through gritted teeth, "I will make him-"

He turned to go but she reached out a hand, fearing being without him in that moment, "Gomez don't, I need you."

He turned suddenly and swept her into his arms.

"I will never let anyone hurt you, ever."

His mouth was hot on her, demanding as it sought reassurance.

"Not here," she whispered, "Not here. Your bedroom?"

He grinned against her chin, "Library. My bedroom is too…obvious. It's been too long."

She wrapped her fingers in his and smiled, "A day."

"Still too long."

He stepped away suddenly, bowed with a grin, and turned to go.

She settled back on the balustrade and watched him go, knowing her decisions of the last few weeks were amongst her most spectacularly terrible yet with an excitement unparalleled coursing through her too. She ignored the burning, surging guilt at her own thoughts, composed herself, and waited until it was sensible to re-enter.

-0-

He pulled his collar away from his throat, feeling the heat of the encounter, and the anger at his dearest cousin's cretinous, inappropriate behaviour. Stepping forward into the crowd, determined to be in the library soon, he was stalled by a hand on his shoulder.

"Williamson," he tried his best to seem composed.

"Did I just see you rowing with Baz?"

Gomez nodded, "I suppose you did. He skulked off though."

Williamson looked puzzled, "Over what?"

"Really, my friend," Gomez shrugged, "Nothing."

"Was that Morticia?"

"No," he said soundly, "Have you seen my fiancée?"

"She's dancing," WIllaimson motioned to the middle of the floor.

"Well excuse me," he bowed at his friend and turned to go but he could feel Williamson's curious eyes on him all the while.

He did not head for Ophelia, of course, but slid in the door which led to the kitchens and through which the servers were coming on a conveyor belt of champagne and canapes. He'd grown up in this house, and he knew it intimately, and it took him only five minutes between ballroom and library, without being seen, to get there. He pulled the leaver on the bookcase as he reached the top of a slippery stone staircase. She was already perched against his desk as he emerged from the hidden passage.

"Full of secrets," she whispered as he strode towards her, already opening his arms.

She fell into them, and then into his indulgent embrace too. Inelegant, urgent hands pushed the contents of the desk to the floor, pencils and neat paperwork scattering everywhere as he settled her atop the fine oak wood.

"I can't cope with this anymore," he stammered as her fingers pulled his own shirt from his waistband, "We need to-"

She stalled his words, her lips covering his. He felt helpless then, trapped in a moment where desire would always win over sensibility.

"I know," she murmured against his jaw as she helped him push her skirt up over her own legs, "I know. But right now, I need you, mon cher. Talk later."

He watched as she pushed her own underwear tantalisingly aside, his eyes flittering between stockings and panties.

He felt the growl in his throat rumble to a cry as he leaned forward and joined with her. He watched in wonder as she fell back, glorious in her undoing, and arched out against the desk. He slid his hands up to the sides of her head, leaned forward more as she whimpered in pleasure.

"Gomez," it was almost inaudible through her bitten lip, "Harder."

He grinned, roared, and set his lips against her pale neck and his hips apace with her demands. She slid her legs around his waist and pushed herself further off the desk.

"Morticia, Morticia," he hummed against her neck, his hands shooting out to lock with hers, "No other man's. Mine. Only mine."

"Gomez I am near-"

Suddenly the door behind them, the one which led out to the main hall, creaked open and footsteps followed a second later. Immediately her eyes grew large in alarm and he pulled her up, trying to slide her skirt down her legs as he did so.

"Don't mind me."

Misery filled his gut at the voice of his friend. He pulled his zip and button closed before he turned. He spun on the spot though, so she was shielded behind him. Williamson had pushed the door closed, and was standing with his back to it.

"So this was what Baz was trying to do," Williamson said, "Turns out you were already doing it. Not that I didn't already know, but…"

Behind him she made a little huff of indignation.

"I had thought as much," his friend sighed, "But here's the proof. Morticia, you're almost as much a fool as my friend here."

"You're being crass," Gomez accused half-heartedly, stuffing his shirt into his waistband, but remaining in front of her to shield her from Williamson's glare.

"Gomez, I don't care what you both are doing. In fact I'm happy for you because you're clearly obsessed with her but that aside…" he muttered, "I'd get dressed. There's a problem."

Gomez raised a questioning brow.

"I would hate…" Williamson turned his face away towards the fire, "Morticia, I am sorry I had to interrupt. I feel truly grotesque doing this."

Gomez took this as his cue, turning on his heels to help her from the desk. She slid gracefully down, and moved with him towards the fire place where Williamson stood nervously.

"Morticia," Williamson nodded at her, "Gomez, Baz is dead."

He felt the bottom fall out of the worries he'd previously had. They seemed paltry now compared to this news.

"What?"

"He's dead," he murmured, "Below the terrace. And the last person he was with…"

He looked pointedly at both of them.

"Hm," Morticia made a little noise, "Well that's unexpected."

Gomez, hands shaking, poured three glasses from the decanter. Trust Baz, dying just as thing were coming together.

"You better make yourself present," Williamson suddenly said, "Your aunts are prostrate with grief out there."

"How did he die?"

Morticia asked.

Williamson took the glass, "I don't know. What I do know…." he gulped the drink down, "Both of you are at an impasse of incredible proportions."

"But it was you who saw us last," Gomez murmured, "You know I didn't do it."

"Oh I know that…" he lowered his voice, "But on the other side of that door is her –" he pointed to Morticia, who flinched at his tone, "Stupid sister, who is telling everyone you followed him to the terrace. Which is true. And if I am your alibi, then I have to tell them about…" he motioned with a hand to Morticia, "And if this creature here is your alibi, well you're both in a lot of trouble."

Gomez groaned.

"How typical of Ophelia," she whispered, "She loves drama…or it's more than that."

They both looked at her, then Gomez understood clearly what she meant.

"You think she knows?"

She lifted her shoulders and shrugged, "Or she suspects."

He nodded then whispered, "Thing."

Two second later the door opened and the hand scurried in.

"Take Miss Nightshade through the house," Gomez commanded the pet, "And back into the ballroom."

"But I-"

He touched her cheek, "I'm seasoned at this. I've been accused of murder more times than even you will enjoy," he dropped to kiss her hand then, "Trust me, darling."

She nodded and let Thing take her by the hand to go, but she turned just at the bookcase.

"William?"

His friend looked up.

"Thank you."

Williamson shrugged, "I've never seen him look at someone the way he looks at you Mortica…" he frowned, "It's tragic."

She smiled quietly and followed Thing from the room.

He turned to Williamson.

"Thank goodness I'm a good lawyer."

Williamson nodded, "This lie is going to cost you dear."

He smiled, "She's worth it."


I hope you enjoyed it. Please review if you can.