Chapter 3
Gomez Addams smiled to himself, fixing his burgundy, silk cravat around his neck as he readied himself for dinner. He hadn't felt this positively elevated in God knows how long. Nothing like a good murder to lift one's spirit. It felt good. He felt good.
His father hadn't been so proud of him since the time he had been acquitted of that triple homicide. It was a welcome change from the constant scrutiny his father was usually regarding him with, especially these past few months.
The patriarch of the Addams family did not exactly believe his youngest son's commitment to his holy matrimony, not that Gomez blamed him but, still, it did not change the fact that being constantly regarded as an unruly schoolboy was grating on his nerves. And so, it felt good to have a break from that.
Although, what did it say about him that at the age of almost thirty he still craved his father's approval so badly? Pathetic. That's what it was.
It was so rare to hear praise from him, though. His father was of the opinion that excessive praise would spoil his children, so he rarely indulged in that. Gomez, especially, always seemed to come short in deserving any sort of praise. Obviously, no one ever explained to his father that raising children was not the same as being in the army and children were not his toy soldiers. Or perhaps, Colonel just thought he knew better. As always.
He had always been more of a Colonel than a father to them, anyway. They even called him that, he and Fester - Colonel and it was always yes, sir and no, sir and thank you, sir. His father didn't seem to mind that, he found it amusing or maybe even liked that. Maybe he didn't care about being a father to them, or maybe being a Colonel was the only thing he knew. Harald Addams - the colonel in the US Army, never Harald Addams - the father.
He shook his head, willing himself to get rid of the unwelcome musings, he didn't want to spoil his good mood.
He licked his lips and took a glance at his wife's vanity table and had to almost physically stop himself from rolling his eyes. There was a brand new bottle of perfume perched on the table, with a spray pump shaped like a daisy. Good grief, everything in this bedroom already smelled like daisies, and she certainly did not need daisy perfumes on top of everything.
He briefly wondered where she even shopped for things like this but her obsession with the flower was almost frightening. He didn't even want to know how many tonnes of daisies had to die so Ophelia could wear them woven into her hair.
"Ophelia called to let us know she will have dinner at her parents," his mother informed him the moment he stepped into the dining room.
He nodded mutely, pulling his chair away from the table, and waited for Lurch to serve them dinner.
"Her sister's at home," his father supplied enigmatically, pouring the generous serving of gravy over his plate.
Gomez raised his eyebrows and his lips curled into a small smile.
That was certainly interesting.
"Ah, the mysterious sister," he teased."She finally decided to turn up?"
"She lives in Europe, doesn't she?" his mother asked between mouthfuls of roasted yak.
"I'm not sure," he shrugged." Ophelia rarely talks about her and I don't ask."
"Well, if you ask me, I think it was extremely rude of her not to attend the wedding," Colonel interjected. "Ophelia must have been very hurt."
"She didn't look it," Eudora commented lightly, in the midst of cutting her french beans.
"From the way Ophelia talks about her, she sounds like a spoiled princess," Harald continued. "A young woman travelling through Europe on her own - in my days it was unthinkable. Why, if she were my daughter, I would never allow it."
Gomez couldn't help but snort in disdain. If his father had his way, he would probably take them all back into the nineteenth century.
"She is twenty-two, if I remember correctly, hardly a child," Gomez supplied.
"Unmarried."
"Harald, dear, don't be so archaic," his mother laughed teasingly. "Times change, accept it. And James is a very doting father."
"Too much indulgence is never good, my dear," her husband insisted. "We have learned that the hard way, haven't we?"
Gomez froze momentarily at his father's words and bit into the inside of his cheeks. Well, this father-son bonding certainly didn't last long.
He put his utensils aside and reached for his napkin, wiping his lips.
"Thank you for the delicious dinner, Mama," he smiled tensely and pushed his chair away from the table.
"Gomez - "
"Good night," he kissed her cheek and left the dining room without another word, without sparing his father another look.
Eudora Addams sighed angrily and bit into her lower lip before turning towards her husband.
"That was completely unnecessary," she told him sharply.
Her husband tensed and waved his hand carelessly as if the matter wasn't worth discussing and went back to his meal.
"You have to stop doing that, Harald," she insisted. "Stop punishing him. It won't make anything better."
"Won't hurt to keep him on his toes," he retorted ."You know how he is," he continued firmly."If you don't keep him on a tight leash, he's like a tornado."
"He's trying," Eudora insisted."You can see he's trying."
"Trying is not good enough," he told her, taking a hearty swing of his wine."He doesn't get a merit badge for trying, my dear."
"Why do you have to be so hard on him?"
Her husband laughed sardonically, leaning against his chair before finally looking at her.
"Do you really need to ask?"
Eudora frowned, and swallowed heavily.
"He knows he's in the wrong," she insisted. "It's not easy for him either."
Her husband snorted contemptuously and shook his head.
"That doesn't fix anything," he whispered, his voice suddenly hoarse."It doesn't bring my son back. It's his fault that my boy is gone, and he has to face the consequences."
"How long, Harald?" she asked him."There's no excuse for Gomez's behaviour, but ten years is quite a long time to keep a grudge."
"Fester has every right to not want to come home -"
"Oh, for God's sake, it's been ten years," Eudora retorted, biting on her lower lip angrily. "Ten bloody years, he was eighteen -"
"When I was eighteen, I was in the army," her husband interjected sternly.
"Oh, don't start with this -"
"I was fighting for my country, I wasn't stealing my brother's fiancees."
"He made a mistake," she defended." A horrible mistake, and he's been paying for it ever since. I think it's damn time we all moved on from that."
"He's not the only one paying for that mistake, Eudora," he pointed out, his voice unbearably hollow."We all are."
One of the favourite things about being Mrs Addams was that she almost never had to give her name at the restaurants anymore. Ever since the announcement of their engagement, Ophelia became almost instantly recognizable at every upper-tier establishment in the city. She never had any problems anymore with making even a last-minute reservation. Perks of being disgustingly rich, no doubt.
And she absolutely loved being disgustingly rich.
She followed the Maître d' to the table where her two friends were already waiting. She had known Holly and Vanessa all her life, they were daughters of her father's friends and they often visited them at the manor. They even shared the same tutor, Mr Gunther, a skinny, bespectacled man who seemed absolutely terrified of the idea of teaching three nine-year-old girls. He got along quite well with Morticia, though - two the most boring people in the world, in Ophelia's opinion.
She nodded at the two blond women at the table and sat down, smacking her small, black shoulder bag on top of the table with an exasperated sigh.
"Good Lord, Ophelia, who stepped on your toes, honey?" Vanessa exclaimed, sharing a knowing look with Holly.
"Ugh, if you only fucking knew," Ophelia muttered, resisting the urge to flop heavily on the chair but that would certainly be ungainly.
She was absolutely exhausted after the dinner at her parents, she needed to re-charge. She was exhausted at the very thought that she will have to introduce her sister to her husband and the rest of his family. She couldn't have chosen a worse time to come back even if she tried.
"What happened?" Holly asked, pushing the glass with martini towards Ophelia.
"You're a lifesaver," Ophelia sighed gratefully and downed the drink in almost one gulp.
"Shit, are you okay?" Holly laughed, pushing her long blond hair over her shoulder.
Ophelia closed her eyes briefly and shook her head.
"My sister is back in the country," she finally revealed.
"My, my," Vanessa smirked, lightning her thin cigarette." The princess of doom and gloom has returned to the kingdom," she commented. "How long has it been? Over a year?"
"More or less."
Ophelia rubbed her face tiredly.
"She looks fucking malnourished," she mocked. "Skin and bones."
"She was always skinny," Vanessa remarked, taking a long drag of her cigarette."Although, I was always jealous of that tiny waist."
"Right? Me too." Holly nodded." Bitch."
"Bitch is the word," Ophelia nodded in agreement."Ugh, just what I needed on top of everything," she continued, waving at the waiter."You won't believe the week I had."
"Oh, I think we will," Holly smiled knowingly. "Is it true Gomez is a suspect in the investigation?"
Ophelia tensed and blinked in disbelief.
"How the fuck did you even -"
"News travel fast," Vanessa smirked before leaning further against the table."So? Spill."
Ophelia bit her lips into a thin line and waited until the waiter approached them with their drinks before letting out an annoyed sigh.
"They released him but he's still a suspect," she told them, wrapping her fingers gently around the stem of the martini glass.
"Shit, so what happens now?" Holly asked.
Ophelia shot her an exasperated look.
"How the hell should I know? I never murdered anyone."
"Do you think he really did it?"
"Of course not, what's wrong with you?"
"Well… there are rumours about this family," Vanessa pointed out, her lips stretching into an amused smile.
"Oh, don't be silly," Ophelia rolled her eyes."I have known him for almost two years and I think I would have noticed if I was sleeping with a murderer."
"I've heard his grandmother died in an asylum," Holly supplied.
"I thought it was his aunt?" Vanessa frowned, taking out another cigarette from her gold cigarette case.
"Whatever, one of the two."
"I might end up in an asylum myself," Ophelia moaned. "I swear if Morticia does something even remotely embarrassing at that funeral I will snap her little neck in half."
"So why did she come back?"
"Who knows," she shrugged. "She does whatever she wants, I don't know why father puts up with her behaviour at all."
"So anyway," Holly remarked casually. "Did you hear who's pregnant again?"
Ophelia looked up at her and frowned.
"Surely not - "
Holly grinned and nodded her head at her.
"Jesus, she's popping those babies like a rabbit," Ophelia remarked sardonically, rolling her eyes for a good measure.
"And rightly so," Vanessa supplied, popping another olive into her mouth.
"Oh, please," Ophelia groaned.
"Darling, nothing will cement your position as Mrs Addams like a child."
"God, you're starting to sound like my mother," Ophelia snorted. "Give me a break, we're barely married."
"I'm serious," Vanessa insisted. "Anyone can be a wife, wives can get replaced every day but a mother to his children - you're set up for life."
"She's right, you know," Holly nodded.
Why was he doing this? Why did he seem to need to constantly punish him? It had been ten years. Ten agonising years. Did he think he forgot? Did he really think there was even one day when he wasn't gnawed at by the guilt so ferocious he barely knew how to deal with it?
Deal with it. He didn't deal with it. He didn't deal with anything. He was running away. What else was there to do? There will never be absolution for what he's done. It would never be enough, no matter how much he tried - and he did try.
His mother, half-torn with grief over Fester and her love for him - a despicable excuse for a son, a traitor. Her forgiveness was almost worse than his father's incessant castigation.
It was hopeless.
And yet, everything he had done these past years seemed like a constant beseechment for forgiveness, to prove that he could be better than his misdeeds.
He could demand neither love nor forgiveness and he would receive none.
It seemed to be a prevailing trait of his character, chasing after devil knows what. Always restless, instead of being content with what he had.
He was an ungrateful bastard.
Ophelia gave him more than he gave her. She loved him, perhaps not in the way he longed for but it was more than he deserved anyway.
He took a draw on his cigar before releasing the grey cloud of fragrant smoke and leaned heavily against the headboard, closing his eyes tiredly and then resisted an almost overwhelming desire to sigh when he heard the bedroom door open.
"Gomez, darling, I asked you not to smoke inside the bedroom."
Oh, right, he forgot about that.
"Sorry," he muttered flatly and took one more languid puff before putting his cigar away in the ashtray.
He watched her perch her small purse on the vanity desk and shed her blazer, hanging it on the back of the chair before removing her pumps and throwing them carelessly under the chair.
"I'm going shower, that was a hell of a day," she announced, and without waiting for his reply, she made her way towards the adjacent bathroom before he could so much as nod.
He waited until he heard the water running and picked his cigar back from the ashtray, taking a small puff; it was still lit, and it was a shame to waste it.
How would it feel to be loved? Truly loved, though, not as an idea, not as a persona he constructed on a daily basis but as himself, as everything he was? The jealous, pathetic thing he often was. The traitor to his brother.
Ophelia could never understand that. She would never understand the demons within him or the constant guilt he carried with him. How could she? He barely understood it himself.
"She just came home, all of a sudden, can you believe it?" She told him the moment she emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in a grey towel, barely sparing him a glance.
"Your sister?" he asked, putting the cigar back in the ashtray.
"Who else?" She asked edgily as she opened the drawer in a mahogany chest drawer and removed a fresh nightgown. "She's such a piece of work. I just can't believe the audacity of that woman."
"Don't worry about her," he tried to appease, he really didn't want to deal with frantic Ophelia on top of everything else this evening.
She huffed impatiently, as if he wasn't getting her point, and removed her towel, promptly slipping the nightgown on.
"I'm not worried," she said, finally, leaving her damp towel at the foot of the bed and reached for her hairbrush.
It really irked him when she did that. His lower half didn't seem to mind though, as he felt a gentle stirring in his loins at the sight of her naked body.
Well, truth be told, love or not love, he still could use some distraction. He certainly didn't need love to have decent sex.
"I'm annoyed by her impertinent behaviour, that's all," Ophelia continued as she finally slipped into the bed with him. Then all of a sudden all the annoyance seemed to evaporate as she turned towards him and smiled."Anyway, I don't want to talk about my sister."
She straddled his hips and leaned to kiss him before he had a chance to blink. Not that he minded, sex was always preferable to marital conversations, in his opinion. Talking was overrated and what he longed to tell her, she wouldn't understand.
She didn't have to understand, he thought as he removed her nightgown and started placing small kisses against her collar bone. She didn't have to know what an inexcusable bastard she married.
He heard her moan and she arched against him, pressing her fingers into his arms.
He didn't have to love her. This was enough. It was good. It was enough.
She was his wife and she was beautiful and she was happy and that was what mattered.
It was enough.
He opened the drawer and reached for the little square packet.
"Gomez," she stopped him when he was about to tear it with his teeth.
He let out a strangled groan, pressing his hips against hers insistently.
"I think we should have a baby," she told him.
"We will, at some point," he grunted.
"How about now?" She purred suggestively, kissing him passionately as she took the rubber sheath from his hand and threw it on the floor.
"I thought we agreed we wanted to wait -," he replied, his voice strained. Was this really the best time for such discussions, for God's sake.
"I changed my mind," she smiled, sliding her hand in between them and smirked when he moaned under her touch. "I decided we should have a baby."
"Well, I don't mind trying for one," he replied, eager to end this conversation, and was infinitely glad when she smiled at him as she finally lowered herself onto him.
She pressed her lips to the side of his neck before whispering into his ear.
"That's the spirit."
This relationship might not be what he wanted, might never be what he needed but what it was would have to be enough.
He swallowed heavily and claimed her lips in a firm kiss.
He would make it enough.
Seated in the backseat of her father's town car, Morticia couldn't help but bite her lips in gentle amusement. Despite the fact that her mother never displayed a particularly avid interest in Morticia's upbringing, she did, nevertheless, manage to occasionally surprise Morticia by how well she seemed to know her.
It was indeed amusing, that her mother had the foresight to send the car for her at exactly eight o'clock, as if she was already suspecting that Morticia was going to be deliberately late for this family funeral. As a matter of fact, Morticia was not planning to be late - well, not too late at least, she was planning to be almost on time and slightly late so she did not have to endure her mother's inevitable sermon of 'Please remember that this is your sister's family. I expect you to be absolutely charming, Morticia, these are Ophelia's in-law's, do not make any sarcastic comments, do not discuss politics and, for God's sake, Morticia, do not make any morbid jokes.'
Alas, with the funeral starting at midnight, there was enough time for her mother to deliver her sermon in four different versions.
At least it was a funeral. Morticia's first funeral at that. Well, technically not the first but since she did not remember her grandfather, let alone his funeral, the funeral of this Balthazar fellow, could be considered her first and she was really looking forward to it.
The door to her parent's mansion opened before she had a chance to press the bell. Surprisingly, it was her mother who answered, already dressed in a demure, calf-length black dress.
"Well, for once you're dressed for an occasion," she greeted her. "I'm glad you're on time as well."
Morticia couldn't help but smile at the subtle dig.
"I'm glad you approve," Morticia replied smoothly.
"Drink?" Her mother asked as they moved along the corridor towards the first parlour.
"Please."
Morticia grimaced unwittingly at the sight of a vase full of freshly cut roses in desperate need for decapitation placed on the coffee table. There was a large, white rectangular box placed on one of the velvet powder-pink sofas.
Her mother went over to the small table where the selection of liquors was already displayed and poured her a modest glass of Beaujolais before, to Morticia's surprise, peppering it with a small amount of cyanide powder.
"Cyanide," Morticia said softly, accepting the drink. "Buttering me up prior to the grand festivities?"
Her mother only looked at her pointedly, before turning to pour herself a rather hearty glass of dry gin.
"Please, remember these are Ophelia's in-laws," she said, placing a cap over the crystal decanter.
Morticia couldn't help but smile. Much sooner than she anticipated, here it was.
"I don't think I could ever forget that," she replied, taking a small sip of her wine.
"Do not make sarcastic comments or discuss politics," her mother continued.
This was becoming hilarious.
"And remember, it's a funeral - "
"How could I forget that?"
"Whatever you do, for God's sake, - "
"Do not make any morbid jokes, Morticia," Morticia finished and smiled when her mother glared at her.
"Very funny," she muttered, smoothing her blond hair, twisted into a low, simple chignon to the back. "You should have put your hair up."
"I never put my hair up," Morticia pointed out.
"It's more respectful that way," her mother insisted, casting her gaze over Morticia's waist-long tresses. "Your hair is too long, nobody wears such long hair."
"I don't think anyone will bother looking at my hair, Mother," she retorted, trying not to get irritated because it was barely half-past nine and her wine glass did not have enough wine in it to get her even remotely drunk, nor enough cyanide to kill her.
"Come," her mother sighed, as if she was exhausted. " I have something for you."
Morticia blinked, momentarily taken aback.
"I was planning to give it to you on your birthday, but since you didn't bother to show up for that either you might as well get it now,"
Morticia took the large white box, somewhat suspiciously. It was white and sparkly and she momentarily dreaded what might be inside it.
"Well," her mother urged, motioning with her palm towards the box. "Open it,"
Morticia hesitated but then put her glass away on the table and reached for the box, lifting the top cover and putting it aside before gently putting the white tissue paper aside.
She frowned and looked at her mother curiously.
"Go on, it's not going to bite," her mother assured, her tone surprisingly pleased.
Morticia's lips curled into a small smile before she turned back towards the box and reached inside, retrieving the heavy black woollen cloak.
"It's so beautiful," she said, brushing her hand against the silk inside the cloak.
It was absolutely stunning she thought, and turned towards her mother, gracing her with a grateful smile.
"Thank you, it's absolutely gorgeous."
Her mother nodded, running her hand absently against the dark fabric.
"It once belonged to someone very dear to me," she said, after a while.
"Really, who?" she asked but her mother only shrugged, before clearing her throat gently.
"A childhood friend," she answered vaguely. "Why don't you put it on."
Morticia smiled and wrapped the heavy cloak over her shoulders and allowed her mother to fasten the clip.
"It's stunning, thank you."
Her mother nodded again and offered her a small smile.
"Well, it gets cold at night," she said, gently smoothing the material on Morticia's arms.
Her father entered the parlour and stopped dead in his tracks but then promptly cleared her throat and approached them slowly.
"We should get going," he urged. "We don't want to be late."
"The funeral starts at midnight, we have plenty of time," Morticia pointed out.
"It's a long drive from here," her father insisted, cutting the bud off his cigar."And your sister will have a heart attack if we're late."
Well, nobody could argue with that.
"Where do they live?" Morticia asked lightly, twisting the cloak gently in between her fingers.
She could almost feel her mother's annoyed huff.
"Good God, Morticia, do you know anything about anyone in this city?"
"I know the name of Ophelia's husband," she deadpanned.
"Better than nothing," her father supplied, giving her a subtle wink."They live on the Cemetery Lane."
Morticia blinked, suddenly entirely too amused.
"The old manor up the hill?" she clarified, biting her lips when her father nodded at her.
"That's the one," her Grandmother supplied, entering the parlour, dressed in a very long and very tight black dress, carrying a wide reamed funeral hat in her hands.
"Hello, Granny," Morticia smiled, kissing her Grandmother on both cheeks." I love your dress, it's so tight."
"Vintage," Patricia Frump nodded and smiled before leaning towards her in a conspiratorial manner."The last time I wore it, a very handsome lieutenant took it off me… with his teeth."
"Mother, for the love of God - " her father groaned, tilting his head in exasperation.
"Serves you well for eavesdropping."
"I wasn't eavesdropping, you're standing next to me," her father pointed out.
"Well, then move away, dear."
Her father apparently did not have to be told twice because both of her parents left the parlour eagerly.
She did not understand why her mother was worried about her behaviour, where if anyone was going to scandalize the Addamses at that funeral it probably was her grandmother, not Morticia.
Although, her mother most likely knew that it was a battle she was never going to win so she decided to concentrate all her effort on Morticia.
"With his teeth?" Morticia whispered.
"And hands tied behind his back - with his own handcuffs."
"Granny, you must teach me your ways."
Her Grandmother laughed, linking her arm with hers and then looked at her softly.
"That's a really lovely cloak," she complimented."I didn't think they still made things like this"
"Mother gave it to me," Morticia smiled."She said it belonged to her childhood friend. It's exquisite, don't you think?"
Patricia Frump stopped and turned slowly towards her granddaughter and looked at her intently before reaching for the hood of the cloak and gently pulled in over Morticia's hair.
"Are you alright, Granny?" Morticia asked after a while, taking up a concerned tone.
Her grandmother nodded wordlessly, and smiled somewhat wistfully, gently smoothing Morticia's long hair.
"It's exquisite," she said quietly and cleared her throat. "Come on, let's go before your mother starts her histrionic theatricals."
The Manor was buzzing with excitement and filled with an array of guests. He must admit Mama outdone herself with the funeral party, she always did, though. Her mother loved funerals, but then again, who didn't?
It was about to start any minute now and yet the guests still kept arriving. There were so many people around that he had lost the sight of his wife over forty minutes ago. Although, Ophelia wasn't a fan of the open caskets so she probably wasn't crazy about the idea of sitting in the front row.
His in-laws supposedly had arrived already but he hadn't even seen a glimpse of them yet either.
"So, I hear your sister-in-law is making an appearance tonight?" Vlad whispered next to him.
"Apparently," Gomez shrugged.
Truth be told, he was already exhausted with the mere idea of Ophelia's sister because Ophelia had spent the whole morning complaining about her and then most of the afternoon and he couldn't, for the life of him, figure out what the conundrum was. It's not like her sister was moving in with them, after all.
"I can't believe there's two of them," Vlad mused."I'm curious and yet terrified at the same time. Where's your wife, anyway?"
Gomez shrugged again, scanning the crowd of people for the blond hair and finally noticed her.
"Talking to Aunt Lucrecia," he said, pointing to the group of women near the conservatory.
Vlad grunted and narrowed his eyes slightly.
"Why is Ophelia looking at her like she suddenly grew a third head?" he asked.
Gomez turned toward Vlad, regarding him incredulously.
"Are you asking me to explain Ophelia to you?" he asked sardonically and his cousin grinned at him obnoxiously.
"Good point," Vlad nodded."Forget I asked. So, dear Balthazar… stabbed seven times and a slit throat," he mused slowly, watching Gomez intently."This has your fingerprints all over it."
Gomez tilted his head and let out a loud laugh before reaching to his breast pocket to retrieve another cigar.
"Good try."
"Did you kill him? Tell me."
"Yes."
"Really?" he grinned.
"No."
He laughed at his cousin's crestfallen expression.
"Come on tell me," Vlad urged him, punching Gomez in the shoulder for a good measure." He deserved it anyway if you ask me…just tell me if you did it."
"Maybe."
"You cad. I will just happily assume you did it because otherwise - " Vlad said but then suddenly faltered."Oh, my holy fuck. Who is she?"
"Who?"
"Your ten o'clock, black, hooded cloak, talking to Aunt Ilsa."
Gomez turned in the direction his cousin pointed and, in some absurdly cliche moment, his heart ceased its beating and their eyes met.
"Good God," he whispered breathlessly.
"Fuck off, chap, you're married," Vlad supplied promptly. "I'm proposing to her immediately."
"Don't be daft -"
"You're right, it's highly improper," his cousin agreed. "I'll wait until after the eulogy. Look how tall she is, imagine her legs… and look at those eyes."
He couldn't look at anything else, he felt locked in her gaze, bewitched and enslaved into those dark pools. She was enchanting, absolutely mesmerizing. He has never seen a woman quite like her in his entire life.
Pale skin that seemed to glow in the moonlight and her lips, gods, he felt himself coming apart at the seams at the very thought of tasting those blood-red lips. He wanted to look into her dark gaze for the rest of eternity. He wanted to -
"It's starting," he heard Vlad's voice but he couldn't take his eyes off her.
His heart was hammering in his chest so hard it seemed to drown everything else around him. He couldn't tear his eyes off her and longed to burn the image of her into his consciousness, he wanted to fall on his knees before her and beg her and be possessed by her, ensnared and damned by her. He was simultaneously relieved and wanted to howl in disappointment and the sheer misery when the woman lowered her gaze and turned away from him, allowing Aunt Ilsa to lead her away.
"I'm going to find out who she is," he heard his cousin whisper. "Because I'm pretty sure I just found my future Mrs Addams."
She couldn't focus on the funeral at all.
She has never seen a man quite so riveting; she couldn't take her eyes off him until it was time for the funeral to start. Even then she couldn't focus on anything but him. Everything about him was enchanting, from the way he looked to that gregarious laugh and the way he carried himself so effortlessly, like the whole world belonged to him.
She has never felt attracted to anyone in a manner so instantaneous, it felt as if she was struck by lightning. He was so ridiculously attractive it made her knees weak. It was only too regrettable she had lost track of him in the sea of other guests because, if all went well, this evening could have taken even more pleasurable turn, for both of them.
On the bright side, the Manor was absolutely stunning. Every wall was decorated with weapons of various kinds, knives, pistols, guns, axes, swords even. It was enchanting. There was a huge library as well, and she longed to inspect every leather-bound cover but she would probably lose all track of time there and her mother would be furious.
She could not believe her sister lived in a place like this. It was a far cry from Ophelia's tastes. Either she had undergone an utter personality overhaul or she must hate this place to its very core. Morticia was willing to bet for the later.
She stepped on a huge white carpet and gasped in surprise when it roared at her unhappily.
This place was a dream.
It was perhaps a bit forward of her to wander around like that but she just could not resist exploring the Manor in a little more detail. She found it magnificent.
It was magical.
She paused her musings as she entered the empty conservatory. It was vastly larger than her own modest collection and smiled knowingly, recognizing the plants immediately. She ran the tip of her fingers over the dull green leaves and shiny, black berries and felt her fingers instantly prickle. Deadly nightshade was always her favourite.
She frowned when she heard a commotion at the other side of the conservatory, she could swear it was empty when she entered. She put her drink away on the small wooden table and approached the fidgeting thing next to, what seemed to her, a moving bundle of long, blond hair.
Stop moving or we will never get you out, the bundle of hair spoke. How did you even allow her to wrap those vines around you?
Morticia peered over the bundle of hair to notice that there was a decapitated hand struggling to free itself from the constriction of vines.
"Oh dear," Morticia winced at the sight."May I?
By all means, the long-haired fellow turned towards her, utterly unsurprised by her presence, we could use someone with a proper pair of hands.
"Don't move," Morticia said softly to the trapped hand, already prying the sharp vines from around it."Stop fidgeting, you will hurt yourself, you daft thing."
The hand shook unhappily.
"I'm not being rude, you're being unreasonable," Morticia insisted. "Now, hold still."
The hand did as she asked.
"How did you even end up in here?" she asked but before it could reply, the hairy chap next to her laughed before his amused voice reverberated through the conservatory.
He pissed off his mistress. She has a lovely psychotic streak in her, I gotta admit. I'm Itt Addams by the way and this pathetic prisoner there is Thing.
"Morticia Frump," she introduced herself, still in the process of prying the thorny vines from the hand.
Oooooooh, so you're Ophelia's mysterious sister.
"Mysterious sister?" She repeated, thoroughly amused. "Well, I suppose I am. There - all done. Although, you might be in need of a band-aid."
She turned and only narrowly managed not to collide with the tall gentleman before her.
Good Lord, did everyone here just appear out of nowhere?
"Easy there," the man smiled at her, placing his hands on her arms to prevent them from bumping into each other."I didn't mean to startle you."
His smile immediately faded when he rested his gaze on Thing.
"There you are, Thing," he said sternly." Lurch was looking for you, he needs some help in the kitchen," he informed him before turning towards Morticia again."I don't believe we've met," he said, extending his hand towards her. "Colonel Harold Addams. This is my house."
This is Morticia, Itt introduced promptly. She helped to untangle this little loser.
"Ah, Ophelia's little sister, of course," Harald said knowingly, smiling wildly at her and placed a quick kiss to the back of her hand. "It's lovely to finally meet you."
"Thank you, likewise," Morticia replied, trying her utmost not to wince. She hated being called Ophelia's little sister with a passion. Ophelia's little sister - as if she was not a person herself but an afterthought. "My condolences, Mr Addams."
"Why, thank you," Colonel replied jovially. "A horrible murder no less."
"So I've heard," she smiled, pleased by his cheerful response.
Well, if nobody needs me anymore I'm going to go back to the party to get pissed drunk, Itt announced and without waiting for anybody's reply, promptly left the conservatory.
"Please forgive my nephew," Harald told her. "He has no manners to speak of."
"No at all," she smiled."I apologise for wandering around your home but it's...just magnificent. And the conservatory is just superb, I couldn't resist."
"Ah, that's all my wife's doing," he smiled fondly. "I'm sure she would be more than happy to give you a tour of the house."
"Oh, I'd love that."
"We also have a dungeon, if you're interested to see it."
"I certainly am."
"Then we must certainly arrange for it, Eudora loves showing the house to an eager audience."
He smiled at her charmingly and Morticia couldn't help but smile back.
"Oh, well, you can count me in that category," she assured."I would be delighted to see the rest of the estate."
She suddenly felt the hand - Thing - tap frantically against her arm.
"What do you mean you got stuck?" Harold asked bewildered.
Thing tapped again.
"Oh, that's preposterous," Harold decided, his tone suddenly condescending."That sweet girl would never do such a thing. Now, enough with this silliness, Lurch is waiting for you."
Thing slumped unhappily before turning towards Morticia and tapped softly.
"You're welcome," she smiled at him, patting him gently.
"Thing can be a handful," he informed her, his tone mildly exasperated but fond.
Morticia only smiled gently, not sure what she could say to that.
"Allow me to escort you to the ballroom, my dear," he said, offering his arm. "I shall introduce you to my dear wife and everyone else."
"You look good in black," Gomez complimented, passing his wife a glass of champagne.
Ophelia huffed gently and rolled her eyes.
"I hate black," she replied, accepting the drink."My sister always wears black."
Oh, good God, not this again, he almost groaned out loud. He almost longed to discuss the subject of daisies, the latest handbag fashion or anything really that the topic of her sister. He almost wished the blasted woman stayed in that basted Europe in the first place.
"You really don't like her, hmmm?" he asked.
"It's not that, it's…," Ophelia paused but then added in a softer tone. "She's very jealous of me and… well, she's… difficult to be with."
"It's hard not to be jealous when your sister is such an angel," he complimented and saw her face instantly brighten so he continued, deliberately, "I know all men envy me such a beautiful wife."
It was more or less the truth. Ophelia was very beautiful and bred to perfection. As his cousin mentioned, she did tick all the right boxes in the good wife department.
If he had any common sense he would be crazy about her instead of chasing after God only knew what?
"Darling, you make me blush," she smiled at him, swatting him coquettishly on his arm and then sighed. "It's just so sad that we cannot get along because of her jealousy, you know? I don't understand what she expects me to do? I am what I am."
He nodded mutely. Sometimes he got an impression he was talking to a budding teenager, not a grown woman.
"Oh, there she is," Ophelia said suddenly, placing one hand on his chest."Let me introduce you. Just please, try to be patient with her… she's really… well, you will see for yourself anyway but let me apologize in advance for any rude comment she's going to make."
He frowned, she was waving her hands so frantically he had trouble discerning where exactly was she pointing at, or rather whom.
"Your sister?"
"The woman talking to your parents," she pointed out.
Thank God, judging from the smiling faces of her in-laws, her sister, true to her word, really seemed to be on her best behaviour. It was bizarre but Morticia could be really charming when she wasn't her annoying, sulking self.
Gomez followed the direction his wife was pointing in and, for a moment, he was not able to do anything but stare. He couldn't move. He was sure, in that very moment, he even forgot how to breathe.
It was her.
The woman from the graveyard. His heart started beating so fast he felt instantly dizzy.
He heard Ophelia's voice, urging him to move as she slipped her hand into his.
He noticed his father say something to the woman and her back stiffened momentarily before she slowly turned towards them.
He was sure he was hallucinating. He must have been.
She could not be real.
It was impossible such perfection of feminine beauty existed in any dimension.
She must be a goddess, a siren.
"Darling, this is my little sister, Morticia," Ophelia introduced her in a saccharine sweet voice."Tish, this my wonderful husband, Gomez Addams."
"Hello," Morticia greeted, extending her hand towards him.
"Morticia," he tasted the name on his tongue and leaned forward to place a kiss on her pale hand and yet he couldn't take his eyes from the crimson of her lips. She must have noticed that because her lips curled into a small, knowing smile. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you."
"Depends on one's idea of pleasure I suppose, " she replied in such a soft, low, sexy voice it instantly made his blood boil and he swallowed audibly.
He wished to listen to this voice forever, for eternity. He wished to hear her whisper into his ear all the delights of -
"My condolences about your cousin," she continued. "What a delightful tragedy, murdered… and so young."
"Morticia, really, what an insensitive thing to say," Ophelia reprimanded sternly.
"Gomez is a suspect in the murder investigation," a jovial voice behind them an announced proudly.
"Are you, really?" Morticia asked, not taking her eyes off Gomez.
"Just a silly misunderstanding," Ophelia assured, obviously annoyed."You shouldn't make fun of it, Vlad."
"Who's making fun?" the man replied, approaching them. "I'm as proud of this chap here as everyone else. Jealous even!"
Morticia looked briefly towards Vlad before her gaze returned to him. Gomez would swear Morticia's eyes shone with unbridled delight at the revelation and her gaze regarded him appreciatively.
Dear Lucifer, she was so beautiful it made his mouth dry. He was damned all the way to hell.
"Vlad, dear, this is Morticia," Eudora introduced when Ophelia didn't seem inclined to do so."Ophelia's younger sister. Morticia, this is Vladimir Addams, Harald's sister oldest son."
"Vladimir Addams," he introduced himself before placing a polite kiss to the back of Morticia's hand."Why Ophelia, you never said your sister was such a breathtaking angel."
"An angel," Ophelia repeated, vastly amused before adding with a deliberate sarcasm."I'm not sure mother would agree with that description."
"Now, I'm even more enticed," Vladimir smiled charmingly at Morticia.
"Well, it was a pleasure to finally meet you, my dear," Eudora smiled at her."You'll have to visit us again so I can properly show you the rest of the house."
Morticia smiled back.
"Thank you, I'd love that."
"Do you dance?" Vladimir asked.
"Always," Morticia replied.
"How wonderful, you must honour me with a dance then," he retorted, placing another kiss to her knuckles."I am told I'm an excellent dancer."
"Not as excellent as Gomez, though," Opelia teased."My husband has no match on the dancefloor."
"Don't listen to her," Vlad dismissed."His dancing skills are nothing but urban legends."
"As is your wit, cousin," Gomez replied, taking a hearty sip of his champagne. His mouth felt unbearably dry.
"Watch it," Vlad grinned."Two funerals in one night will be quite a treat."
"You know I wouldn't kill you tonight," Gomez retorted softly before adding in a deadpan manner."You still owe me money."
"Why, cousin, what an impolite thing to mention next to such charming ladies," Vlad exclaimed in faux outrage."Let me steal this breathtaking angel to the dancefloor to protect her tender sensibilities."
"Tender sensibilities," Ophelia repeated mockingly, looking at her sister knowingly. "Good God, I need to tell Mama about it. Perhaps you're not as much of a lost cause as she thought."
Gomez noticed Morticia's jaw tense, she looked briefly irritated before her lips curled in a purposeful smile. She turned towards him and reached for his glass, looking straight at him.
"To the fortunate dead," she said, and lifted the elaborate crystal to her lips, drowning the rest of his champagne.
Gomez swallowed heavily as she returned the empty glass to him, barely sparing her sister another glance and then grabbed Vlad's hand and pulled him towards the dancefloor.
"See?" his wife's irritated voice reached him."This is what I was talking about."
It was all such a terrible cliche she wanted to laugh out loud. Or weep.
Or both.
Her brother-in-law, oh good God, it was laughable.
She would have to tell Debbie about it, it was such an absurdity. Of all the men, he was her brother-in-law.
She'd never felt such a violent lust towards anyone before and her fingers prickled with the almost overwhelming need to touch him so much that she had to wrap her fingers around her glass to prevent herself from doing so.
And he found her attractive too, she had no doubt about it.
Well, at least she wouldn't be the only miserable person in this equation.
She was almost infinitely glad when Vlad asked her to dance. She really didn't want to spend another second in their company.
Actually, she would gladly go home.
"Shall we waltz?" Vlad asked, pulling her, quite literally, out of her pitiful musings.
"This isn't a waltz," she pointed out, smiling at the exuberant rhythms filling the vast ballroom.
He shrugged carelessly.
"Who cares, Gomez says one should waltz at every opportunity," he told her."Let's test that theory."
Gomez.
She wanted to forget about Gomez.
She smiled and shrugged gently, accepting his outstretched hand as they started to move fluidly around the dancefloor.
"You know, you look nothing like your sister," he commented and she couldn't help but laugh.
"Your observation skills are just superior," she replied, shaking her head with amusement.
He tilted his head back and laughed jovially.
"I noticed the absence of daisies immediately."
"Yes, well, I left mine at home," she deadpanned.
"I think you wouldn't be caught dead with daisies in your hair," he grinned before adding dramatically."Thank God."
She caught his gaze again, she thought he looked furious like a devil himself and for a moment she just couldn't stop staring at him, transfixed into those half-lidded eyes.
She'll be damned through eternity, she thought.
In fact, judging by the way he was staring at her - they both will.
A/N: Thank you for reading!
