Gilded Obsession

MARCIA

Lucilla stretched languidly, her head resting against Albert’s torso while he leaned back against the headboard. The afterglow of their coupling still tingled through her limbs, but her mind was already at work, pulling at the edges of her obsession, threading them tighter around him.

"You’ve never pulled my hair like that before," she murmured, her tone casual but searching.

Albert didn’t answer right away. Instead, he smirked, his expression unreadable, then cast a slow, deliberate wink at her.

She smiled, pleased. "I liked it."

The morning passed in slow, comfortable preparation. They had a birthday party to attend—Clarice’s eighteenth. A tedious obligation in Lucilla’s mind, but a necessary one. As they got ready, she looked at Albert in the mirror while applying her makeup, watching the way his jaw flexed slightly as he adjusted the collar of his shirt. He had no idea just how much she understood him. How much she owned him.

As they prepared to leave for Simsbury, Albert noticed a crack in the floor-to-ceiling window. Beneath it, the imprint of memory—the faint outline of where their moist skin had pressed the night before.

They stopped at an antique gift shop nestled between West Hartford and Simsbury, a quaint, rustic little store lined with wooden shelves stacked high with artisan trinkets, delicate jewelry, and vintage books. The warm scent of sandalwood and dried flowers curled through the air. Albert picked out an emerald ring, then wandered towards the books, eventually settling on a first-edition novel, while Lucilla, after only the briefest deliberation, selected a designer perfume. Something sweet, but not too sweet.

Albert’s family home was a stately colonial-era mansion set on a 172-acre estate. Its symmetrical brick facade, framed by pristine white columns, was grand yet inviting. The expansive garden, vibrant and well-manicured, stretched toward the tree line, where guests mingled over cocktails and conversation. Sunlight filtered through a cloudless sky, dappling the lush greenery in warm gold.

The atmosphere was lively. Lucilla recognized Clarice’s parents, who had come from Vermont, along with some of Clarice’s friends she had met over the summer.

Lucilla watched as Albert approached Clarice, a neatly wrapped box in hand.

Clarice was an interesting little thing—small for her age, shorter than most eighteen-year-olds, with a slim frame that contrasted against the fullness of her hips. Her body was striking, not particularly attractive, but undeniably alluring. Her facial features, however, were... unique. High cheekbones and a defined jawline, a slightly upturned nose, and eyes of an indistinct color, somewhere between brown and hazel. Whether she was conventionally pretty or not was a question for the beholder.

She took the gift from Albert with an exaggerated sweetness, then, slowly and deliberately, pressed the fullness of herself against him.

"Thank you!" she chirped, looping her arms around his neck in an embrace that lasted just a touch too long. As she pulled back, she placed an intimate kiss on his cheek, her lips lingering just a beat past appropriateness.

Lucilla felt her stomach tighten—not with anger, but with intrigue. The audacity of it engendered an exciting sensation that confused and slightly unbalanced her. The sheer nerve. They were only second cousins after all. Who knows what gothic thoughts she harbored.

Inwardly, she was incredulous. Amused, even.

Outwardly, her expression remained a perfect, unwavering mask.

Then, she saw Albert’s gaze shift, caught by something—or rather, someone—else.

Marcia.

Lucilla followed his line of sight.

Marcia stood near the garden’s edge, a quiet contrast to the rest of the gathering. She wore a dark green dress that hugged her body just enough to hint at its shape but not enough to be blatant. The fabric draped over her with a sort of effortless elegance, accentuating her natural poise. Her red hair, wild yet somehow contained, cascaded over one shoulder. Her freckled face bore an expression of quiet amusement, her green eyes holding an intensity that was neither deliberate nor self-aware. She just stood there, bottle of beer in hand, surveying the surroundings.

Her complete lack of self-consciousness was one of the things that made her so damn enticing.

She wasn’t the most beautiful woman in the garden. But there was something about her, something raw and untamed that made Albert’s breath hitch slightly. She wandered about casually, eventually disappearing completely out of sight. She moved with an ease that suggested control, but beneath it, an undeniable undercurrent of something wilder lurked.

Lucilla caught the shift in Albert’s posture. The way his fingers twitched slightly. The way his gaze lingered half a second longer than it should have.

That was enough.

After moments of small talk, catching up with familiar guests and getting more acquainted with the less familiar ones. Albert excused himself from the party. He wandered to a quieter spot on the grounds—a small seating area near the edge of the estate, where the noise of the party dulled and the scent of trimmed hedges mixed with the faint musk of damp earth. The spot had its heyday while he and his siblings were younger. He lit a cigar, inhaling deeply, letting the smoke curl between his fingers as he stared at nothing in particular.

As he approached the bend that would open into the seating area, he raised his eyes from his downward gaze of his cigar, his eyes caught a glimpse of bright yellow legs crossed at the ankles, feet clad in deep red flats swinging idly from the edge of a wooden table. Marcia.

She was seated with her back straight in perfect posture so that the slimness of her waist and the curvature of her hips accentuated. There was a bottle of beer in one hand while she gently rubbed together the fingers of her free hand. He paused, taking her in for a moment, while he took a long drag of his cigar, inhaling lightly and blowing a heavy gust out through both his mouth and his nostrils.

Marcia heard footsteps.

She turned her head slightly, finding her employer's grandson, Albert, looking at her as he slowly approached, thick smoke billowing from every facial orifice bar his ears, though she wouldn’t bet against his ability to pull off the trick-- reminiscent of an industrial-age steam train, she thought, amused.

Her lips pulled into a pout.

‘’You found me’’ she said.

‘’Pardon me?’’ Albert said.

‘’pardon you? pardon me!’’ she retorted, ‘’this is your home’’ she added

‘’hmm’’ he hummed ‘’well I haven’t lived here in a while, I bet this place feels more like home to you than it does to me’’

‘’I guess’’ she said, taking a swig of her beer, wiping her salmon pink lips with the back of her beer hand. ‘’It certainly doesn’t hurt that it’s a very beautiful home’’

Overhead, the sound of a nearby helicopter caused her to lift her head, directing her gaze upward so that her slim neck flexed and stretched its sinew-- her chest, rather flat, pushed outward ever so.

"You know," she said, nodding at the rolled-up lump in Albert's hand, her voice light but teasing, "that’s a disgusting habit."

Albert exhaled slowly, walking toward her. "I’m aware."

"And yet…"

"And yet," he echoed. Now barely a foot from her.

Marcia leaned against the arm of a wooden bench, switching the resting legs as she recrossed them, staring straight into his eyes "Clarice nearly climbed you back there."

Albert raised an eyebrow, unamused by her familiarity. She was either drunk or ill-mannered or both. " You should go easy on the bottle, aren’t you supposed to be working?"

"Excuse you! Respectfully, I’m not drunk. And I am working," she said, holding up her phone.

‘’Your grandmother is sound asleep. I have my phone on me for when she wakes up and needs me.’’

Albert studied her for a moment, his gaze unreadable. ‘’You better be drunk.’’

She scoffed, amused ‘’Be still sir’’ she said, taking another swig of her beer.

‘’So, there’s a party going on-- why are you out here all by your lonesome?’’

‘’I would ask you the same,’’ Albert replied ‘’but neither of us are alone’’

She looked at him, bemused. Her lips curled slightly downward into the slightest of scowls. Wondering for a moment if her facial expression betrayed this feeling.

‘’I wasn’t invited, and I’m on the clock’’ she said, holding up her phone.

‘’hasn’t stopped you from helping yourself to the booze, has it?’’

‘’no, it hasn’t’’

Her gaze flickered to the space between them, then trailed slowly up his body—from his shoes to his eyes. She smirked.

“You’re standing awfully close to me sir’’ she murmured, recrossing her legs. Her dress inched a little higher over her thighs.

Without hesitation, she plucked the cigar from his fingers and brought it to her lips. There was no theatricality to it—no coyness or pretense. Just an effortless, self-assured motion that sent a sharp pulse of heat through him. He felt strong desire creeping through, so he controlled his breathing and steadied his mind.

She smiled up at him as she dragged, the tip burning a deep amber. Then, tilting her head slightly, she exhaled, watching the smoke unfurl between them.

"This is really good," she breathed, blowing the last of the smoke onto his face. Their proximity was intoxicating.

"I’d offer you a swig of my even better beer, but that would be inappropriate." She gave a mock bow, arms extended in playful exaggeration.

And just as effortlessly, she handed the cigar back to him, her gaze locked onto his.

Albert swallowed hard.

And just beyond them, concealed in the shadows, Lucilla watched.

The air around her turned cold, her pulse quickening.

Jealousy wasn’t the right word for what she felt.

No, this was something darker. Something thicker, more corrosive.