Author's note: I want to say thank you, as always, for the reviews you left. I am glad you enjoyed it. Please let me know if you like this one. The story's winding up - I hope it's to your liking.
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Gomez examined his black tie, neatened out the knot, then turned into the hall. The mourners were already pouring in and, despite the fact this had not been Balthazar's childhood home and had been the site of his death, his funeral was taking place here.
Gomez had felt it was the least he could do in the face of the fact he was a suspect in the murder. It was, to his mind, good form to host the funeral of the man he was supposed to have murdered.
"You look…innocent," his aunt Lilith said, then rolled her eyes.
"Honestly, you know I didn't do it," he answered, looking out into the bleak, black sea of people.
They were milling around the casket, desperate to see the enviable pall of his cousin.
"I know you didn't, but I don't know why the police let you go…yet," his aunt nodded softly, then dabbed her eyes with a lacy cloth, "But you did fight with him."
"I did. And new evidence arose, by the by."
"Over what did you fight with him?" His aunt didn't wait for her answer before she said, "Oh, there are the Nightshades. Go and see your intended, Gomez."
When he looked at Ophelia, across the sea of people, he felt anger thick and whole in his gut. She'd been willing to implicate him in a murder he did not commit, for no reason he could fathom. Yet he'd to marry her in a few weeks. Vomit, a product of sheer disgust, surged into his throat. Where once he could have withstood her, now he found her grotesque. And yet he'd done the unthinkable for her, or rather, for Morticia.
She waived excitedly and they swept towards him, Morticia not far behind. He was grateful then, for Itt calling everyone to attention just as the family neared his location at the end of the ballroom. They stalled and turned towards Itt, who invited them out into the graveyard to lay Baz at rest.
He gave Ophelia a silent nod and went towards the casket, as far away from her as possible.
When he reached the graveyard there were few seats left for the coffin-bearers, and it was a fate in itself that one of the few spare seats was beside Morticia. He quietly pushed his cousin Lem out of the way to get to the space first. When he sat down, she slid her hand gently into his.
He wanted to concentrate on the funeral, the eulogy, the lovely (and somewhat untrue) things the speakers were saying about his untimely deceased cousin. He simply couldn't, however, though he laughed when he thought he should and made mournful groans when it seemed appropriate. He found himself turning his head to stare, unabashedly, at the woman by his side. She was so truly overwhelming and he noticed, as if in slow motion, that he was not the only man staring at her. Itt was, between his squeaking sermons, and Lem was from across the crowd, and their old school chums were openly admiring her. There was a stinging jealousy too, coming from the pretty, envious young women who'd descended to mourn in their gaggle.
She leaned towards him, her mouth whispering: "You should listen, darling."
"I find myself distracted," he answered but turned his face towards the front.
It was then he noticed one of the jealous glares belonged to Ophelia, two rows in front.
He moved to withdraw his hand from Morticia, but she pulled him back and gave a minute shake of the head. She knew. The game was up now.
He felt her relief bleed into him, and he slumped further in the chair.
-0-
She stayed back at the end of the crowd, watching the rest of the mourners trail back into the house.
"Morticia," her mother said gently, "Are you coming?"
She touched her own hand to her cheek, "I am very warm. I might cool down out here a while longer."
Her mother stalled then nodded, "I…maybe you should come with us?"
"No, honestly mama I am fine," she whispered, "I will be in as soon as I can be."
Her mother paused again and then began to trail back to the house.
She wandered then, through the multitudinous gravestones she'd only ever seen from afar. She was happy here, a serenity she had not known for a long time coming over her. Perhaps it was because her hand had been forced and now she would have to tell the truth. To know Ophelia knew was a relief, rather than a terror.
"Ha," his soft voice was behind her, then his hands were on her hips and were pulling her gently backwards.
She smiled, let him guide her over the rustling ground.
"This is hardly dignified," she murmured, turning to him as he stalled behind a particularly magnificent headstone.
He had dropped to his knees though and his face was entirely serious as he plunged his hand into his pocket and produced a dazzling ring.
"It was my mother's," he said solemnly, "I could not give it to your sister. It meant too much. I didn't know that it would ever see the light of day but then there was you and it was so fitting; my past beckoning to my future." He gulped into the stunned silence and continued, "You must marry me, even if you cannot be honest about it now. You must marry me. I must have your word."
She nodded and said nothing, instead allowing him to slide the glittering jewel onto her finger. It was a near perfect fit.
"We should tell them," she felt compelled to say, "We should tell them tomorrow."
He stood up then and pulled her to him, his mouth heavy and certain on hers. She felt safe, unthreatened in the circle of his embrace.
He pulled back after a while and produced a chain from his pocket, took the ring from her finger, and threaded the chain through it. She allowed him to turn her on the spot and lock it around her neck.
"This is insane," she muttered, examining the jewel, "Truly brainless."
"Isn't that what real love is? A plunge into insanity."
She felt her heart speed at his words.
"I think I could live forever with that."
He wrapped his fingers around her shoulders, pulled her against him so her back was flush with his chest.
"They wouldn't stop looking at you, you know that, don't you?"
She felt a feline grin crawl onto her own lips.
"I've never been ignorant of my appeal, if that's what you mean?"
"Certainly not ignorant," his lips bit tentatively at the skin of her neck.
A hiss gurgled into her throat and as his hands slid down from her shoulders to her hips she placed hers over his, followed his own journey down her body.
"It seems remarkably unfair," he murmured, "That you get to be the one who inflicts the pain all the time."
She turned in his arms as he stepped her backwards, so her body was pressed between a particularly sizeable monument and his body. He took both of her hands, though she feigned a fight, and pinned them above her head.
"I never said I wanted to be the one to inflict all the pain," she whispered, "You just made an assumption."
"So I am at fault," his free hand came to trace a light finger over the chain now around her neck, "I should atone in some way?"
"Yes," she nodded.
"Have you ever made love in a graveyard?"
She felt a thrill of intense excitement as he let her hands go, "No."
"Do you want to?"
She guided his hand towards her skirt with her own, "What do you think my darling fiancé?"
His roar of excitement was answer enough.
