Philip Oscar Chevalier's Story

Isobel admired herself in the mirror, eyes following the curves of her own perfect body. The mirror was floor to ceiling flawlessly polished glass, not a scratch or mark in sight. A wooden frame swept elegantly round the outside, giving it a smooth, lovely finish. Isobel stood before it, clad only a bra and panties. The set was black and lacy; matching - of course. Isobel detested those who didn't wear matching underwear. How could you possibly expect to appear beautiful to the outside world if what sat at the very foundations was imperfect? The brunette's hair was curled meticulously at tips to give it a slight wave. It hung down past her shoulders, the ends resting just above the swell of her breasts; a swell enhanced by the expensive bra she was wearing. To Isobel, it was all about surface. A personality could be faked, you couldn't see it and so someone could tell you anything they wanted you to believe. But the surface was the purest of all. You could have surgery or dress it up, but at the end of the day, the flaws were still there. Everything about them was laid out for you to see in the truest sense imaginable.

Isobel lifted a navy robe from the bed and swept it around her slim figure. She tied it tightly at the front, so it simply looked like a dressing gown. No one would know how scantily clad she really was under the soft, luxurious material. Isobel lifted a bottle of expensive perfume with a heady scent from her dresser and sprayed it into the air in front of her. She then stepped into the misty cloud of scent she'd created, letting it surround her. This was the real way to apply perfume. The middle-class in the old world would always spray it conservatively on each wrist and onto the very top of their chest. But this either made the scent far too strong when they applied too much and the delicate undertones of the perfume became overpowering, or too little and the scent faded before anyone could even appreciate it. This liberal method was in no way cost-effective, but it created a beautiful all over scent of just the right strength. She checked her make-up in the mirror and rearranged her hair until it sat perfectly, tumbling in waves over her shoulders.

With that, Isobel padded across her bedroom to the door and exited, closing it behind her. She walked slowly along the landing, admiring herself in every mirror she passed. As she walked along the corridor she saw Vivian knock on Philip's door. Perfect, Isobel thought to herself. The red head wouldn't be bothering her husband if she was spending time with the boy dubbed her "son", and so leaving Isobel perfectly free to do as she pleased with Marcus. Isobel flashed Vivian a saccharine sweet smile as she passed, regarding her with utter contempt. Though she was polite to Isobel and rarely fought with the woman, they were not friends by any stretch of the imagination. Isobel truly hated the woman with everything she had. Vivian did not deserve her position of power. She had snached it out from under Isobel's nose, in her opinion. And, although she was perfectly lovely to Vivian, there was nothing Isobel would not to take the power from her.

As Isobel approached Marcus' study she saw a teenage boy being dragged away by some staff. Maids were gathered outside the door and Isobel used her hands to shoo them.

"Make sure no one disturbs us until I leave," Isobel instructed the nearest maid who nodded obediently.

"Um... Miss Deramore," the maid tried to tell Isobel something, but Isobel chose to ignore her.

Isobel looked up at the tall, wooden door, eyes filled with an almost childlike delight. It was moments like this she adored. The excitement and anticipation that came before the thrill of seducing him. Isobel knew she had to be extra careful at first, he was clearly in a terrible mood, and Mark's temper was nothing to be scoffed at. He was known to kill on a whim in a bad mood, and, although Isobel doubted he'd ever harm her, she knew the only reason she was in this house was for him. If she fell from his favour, many would be perfectly happy to see her go. She doubted anyone would protest if Marcus' decided to cast her out.

"Marcus," Isobel said in a sing-song voice. Her tone was as clear as ice, high-pitched with a definite flirtatious undertone. She knocked on his office door and tentatively pushed it open.

But upon opening the door, she saw the High King's Advisor already in the room with him. Isobel growled softly in irritation, her expression turning from flirty to thunderous. She had a tenancy to swing from one mood to another very quickly. She was unpredictable and irrational.

---

The warm water poured down around Philip as steam rose from his body where the cascading crystal liquid from the shower head heated his skin. He washed himself quickly and stepped out into the shower, wrapping himself in a pure black fluffy towel. It too was warm, like his skin, warmed by the heated towel rail that was a necessity in every bathroom in the manor. Nothing said affluence like stepping into a preheated towel. It was these small luxuries that told Philip he was on the right track, that everything he'd worked for had been worth it. In his tiny little house in a particularly dodgy area of New York City where he'd grown up, they'd kept towels on the floor. His useless mother had never seen the use in a 'towel rail', let alone a heated one. Not that any of that mattered any more. This was the life he was living now. His mother had been killed in the war, good riddance, Philip had decided. But he was also certain both his sisters were killed too, that was something neither of the sweet girls had deserved. But, this meant he no longer had anything tying him to his old life. He was here now, among the aristocrats. This was his place, this was where he belonged. There was nowhere else for him now, anyway.

Philip left the en suite bathroom and entered his own room. He smiled a little, feeling his bare feet sink into the fluffy carpet, and he dried his body. Then, he pulled on a smart pair of jeans and a loose, long-sleeved top with buttons that started midway down his chest and rose up to his neck. He fully intended to change into a suit for the party in six hours, but he'd already arranged with Vivian the night before to help her choose out a dress. He knew if he left her waiting long enough she would come and find him, giving him the upper hand. And, once he'd helped her choose a dress, she could pick his suit, in exchange. And that would involve changing in front of her, a thought Philip was not at all opposed to.

He dried his hair, but still left it a little wet to give it a slightly messy, playful, flirty look. While he got ready, a maid came in, as she did every single day when he was out of the shower. She made up his bed and tided a little. Philip was a perfectionist and hated seeing anything out of place or imperfect. If his Californian King-sized canopy bed wasn't made-up with all his cushions and throws every single morning, there would be hell to pay. The maid quickly finished up and left. Philip sat down on the newly made up bed, anticipation flowing throughout his veins at the thought of being the sole recipient of Vivian's attention for even a short while.

Upon hearing the knock, Philip knew exactly who was there. There was no one else in the house with such an elegant, light knock. The blonde boy quickly rose and crossed the room, almost too quickly; too eagerly. Not wanting to seem like he hurried to meet her, instead wanting to give the impression that she was unimportant to him and could wait, he stood by the door for a few seconds before he opened it.

Vivian looked as lovely as ever, if not lovelier. She was wearing a long, fluttery, golden nightdress, encrusted with diamonds. Her pale skin was clearly visible beneath the negligee's thin, almost transparent material. It gave her pale, snowy skin a beautiful golden shimmer. It was a stunning effect.

"Vivian," he greeted her, his voice smooth and even, with genuinely friendly undertones. He gave her a charming, charismatic smile and lent forwards to kiss her lightly on the cheek, his lips brushing gently across her soft, smooth skin. He ushered her into his room and closed the door behind her, creating a certain air of privacy and intimacy.

"Of course, you wanted my help in choosing out a dress for tonight?" he asked with a questioning tone. Philip of course, already knew the answer. He'd been planning this moment since she'd first asked him for his assistance the evening before.

With a crack of the door and soon the charming blonde Philip was just inches away from her. A subtle laugh escaped her lips as he softly brushed his lips against her pale cheek. It was funny in a way seeing Danny Boy, as she had once called him years ago, act like a well versed and elegant nobleman. Her broad lips widened in a silly grin. Oh how he reminded her so much of some childhood sweetheart she should have had. “Good morning, dear.” she purred softly, while being pulled into his bedroom.

Like the other rooms it was spacious, overly extravagant and entirely too big for one lone man. It was also spotless, clothes neatly pressed and put away, the huge bed fluffed and done up nicely. With just the two of them flashes of old memories paraded in her mind, a gentle reminder of past feelings rose once again. Vivian’s tongue lightly slid over her lips in habit , wetting them. Her red hair bounced and flowed against her exposed collarbones with her nodding head. Yes, she would expect nothing less than for Philip to help her pick out a dress. And if she could, she would make the process last as long as possible.

Of course this was all part of the game that Vivian played with Philip. Vi enjoyed having that boy wrapped around her finger more than anything. Even more than the initial pursuing and seducing of her own powerful husband, though that wasn’t very much work. The two had a power bond connecting them from the start, an attraction that couldn’t be contained. But with Philip is was different, it was so familiar, so sweet, so gentle. Feelings that had been molded and found through years of friendship. This game that Vi played was cruel, to the both of them. She loved seeing his puppy dog love and the secret masochist in her loved the torture.

This little dress up session would provide plenty of opportunity for Vivian to show off her stunning figure. Of course she would play sweet, and pretend to make him be a gentleman and turn around, but deep down Vi would enjoy every second of revealing herself. Her blue eyes swept around the room, taking in the deep calming silence of the room. In the hallway it was much more upbeat and noisy.

Absentmindedly Vivian’s hands came to Philip’s chest. Her fingers played with the edge, curling around the thin fabric that absorbed his heat. A nearly invisible smile played on her face, lighting it up. “Yes, of course.” Vi responded, there was no going back now. She let a moment of tension play between them before looking away from him. As if scouting the room, she left his side and lolled onto the huge bed. Her weight ruffled the bedding slightly, a puff of air exasperating out. A pool of blood red hair framed her porcelain face before moving herself so that she was able to see Philip. The silky, thin negligee rose to mid thigh as she sat up on the bed.

“There seems to be one problem though..” she began in a serious tone, just to play with him. Her face was stone cold, as if to tell him the worst news. A list of ideas that would ruin poor Philip's day came to her. She could tell him that the High King was expecting her in an hour. That the dinner had been cancelled. More rebels perhaps? Better not. This major tease was already going to be hard enough.

“I don’t believe you have any dresses in here, Danny Boy.” Only in the most private settings did she refer to him as Danny. A couple of servant had caught the name being tossed around, but just assumed it was some kind of pet name. After speaking she brought herself to a kneeling position with her hands outstretched, ready to take his hands and flee to her closet in secret.

Isobel's expression visibly softened at the High King's smile. Her mood changed like the wind once more. The anger diminished, her icy exterior thawing like a pond melting after the winter. Her pouty frown turn upwards into a flirtatious, playful smile. She was going to get what she wanted. Okay, maybe it wasn't going to play out exactly as she'd wanted. Finn being there was such an inconvience and he'd ruined her perfectly planned entry to the study. But she would get the attention she desired from the King in just a moment.

"You can go continue your rounds now, thank you," the High King told Finn, who replied with something inconsequential that Isobel didn't pay any attention to. She was far too busy planning her next words and movements.

The moment Finn shut the door behind himself, Isobel began to walk slowly towards the King. Each of her movements were accentuated, gradual and grand, to show off her lovely figure and tease the King so he'd want her. There was nothing Isobel wanted more than to be wanted by the King. It was the highest compliment for her, the very thing she craved.

She elegantly slid into the gap between his chair where he sat and the desk, body pressed against the desk facing him.. She placed her hands flat on the desk either side of her slender body and used them to lift herself onto the desk. She stretched out a hand to brush his cheek playfully, running her fingers down onto his chin before letting it slip away.

She fixed him with a small, teasing smile. "You seem so angry this morning, Marcus." Her tone was playful and her voice was high-pitched, her pretty forehead furrowed in pretend concern. "I hope you're not going to be angry with me, Marcus. Not when I've dressed up especially for you..."

---

“Good morning, dear,” Vivian’s voice was filled with a certain tenderness. A tenderness that only be achieved through years of friendship and trust. It wasn’t true love by any stretch of the imagination, but her fondness for Philip shone through in the grin she gave him.

“Yes, of course,” she said in response to his previous words. Her hands were at his chest, playing with the fabric of his collar. Her slender fingers brushed the skin at his collar bone as the tension hung in the air for a moment. Philip’s breath froze for a moment. There was nothing he wanted more right now than to reach out and touch her lovely cheek. He wanted to run his fingers along her cheekbones, tracing the pale outline of her face. But he couldn’t. Because, if he gave in, she’d won. In reality, she’d been winning since the day Philip had laid eyes on her. But, he liked to keep the illusion that he had some degree of self-control and that she didn’t influence his every decision, even though they both knew he was fooling no one.

Suddenly, her hands left him as she flopped away on to his bed, her movement self-indulgent and exaggerated. The bed creased around her. The maid would have to make it again when she left, but for now it was no concern of his. Philip leant back against one of the wooden columns that held the canopy over the bed as he watched the negligee creep further up her thigh temptingly. But Philip kept his cool, not flinching at her obvious flirtation.

“There seems to be one problem though…” The First Lady said in a more serious tone. For a second, Philip worried she was about to tell him she no longer required his help and the thought left him utterly lost. But he exhaled a breath of relief as she continued, “I don’t believe you have any dresses in here, Danny Boy.”

The sound of his original name was strange, after being referred to as Philip for so long. But the familiarity was lovely, giving a real feeling of intimacy between the two to Philip. Nostalgia flashed between them, each of them with their own sweet memories.
“I believe you are right,” he told her softly. “That is, unless you happen to have left any dresses here…” The words slipped through his slips before he had time to censor them. It was a flaw that set him apart from the aristocrats, highlighting his common roots. The aristocrats always knew what to say. Words never slipped out by mistake. Every sentence was carefully planned, almost unconsciously.

Philip looked Vivian straight in the eye, knowing she would be perfectly aware as to what he was referring to. In the old world, when he’d first been seeing Vivian, she’d left his house in the morning following a night they spent together. She was wearing a change of clothes she’d sent one of her father’s men to get her, but she’d left her dress from the night before behind at Danny’s, as he’d been then, house. It had cost him nearly four month’s wage, but he had arranged and paid for the dress to be beautifully packaged in an expensive box in a department store, all wrapped in delicate red tissue paper to match her hair and sprinkled in red, scented rose petals. He’d paid to have it couriered back to her. Inside the box, he’d also included a necklace he’d purchased for her in the store. He knew now she would’ve seen it as nothing more than a simple trinket, much lower quality than anything she would be used to. But he had hoped, at the time, that she would have at least appreciated the gesture.

Breaking the tension, Philip took her hands in his, ready to leave his room with her. He used his grasp of her hands to help her up from the bed and lead her out of the room, closing the door behind them.

“I believe you are right,” His smooth voice ringing just below a warm hum. “That is, unless you happen to have left any dresses here…” At his words, a flood of memories invaded her. Vivian’s face softened, taking her back to that night, back to the relationship she kept so secret from her parents and sister. It wasn’t that she was ashamed, that was not the matter, Vivian just feared the harsh opinions and crippling actions her father would take after discovering a measly paperboy was pursuing his daughter. Her blue eyes looked into his orbs as the most sincerely sweet memory came back to her. This boy had really cared for her, so much that he had sent her dress back. Any normal scumbag would have kept the thing, sold it on Ebay.

The returning of the dress was not what had touched her though, it was the simple trinket attached. A long necklace with a coupled charm attached. Expensive yes, but only for the middle class. It was unlike anything she had in her jewelry, but perhaps thats because everything she owned was adorned with so many diamonds. It had been a lovely symbol of some kind of devotion, and in all honesty Vi adored the thing. Even now, she had wished she kept it.

It was sometime after the package that Vivian began to break down. Her family would never approve, sh could never approve of the old Philip. She was upset, to say the least. She thought that she had been so deeply wronged by a simple and poor man. Something that her family thought disgraceful. Vivian flushed the necklace down the toilet, after a month or so of not speaking to Philip. Years later though, and even in this moment, she regrets doing such a horrid thing. Of all the wasteful things she had done, this was the most prominent and tainted memory. He had really cared, she had really cared, but she just couldn’t do it.

Vivian never wanted to tell him, even now. If he asked she would simply say it was lost in the war. Soon he was pulling her from the cloud bed and pulling her toward the door, the two were headed off to Vivian’s closet. A room in itself. Which was good, that way they would have more privacy. There was little to no threat of Marcus walking in, or a maid for that matter. Those rotten little gossipers. Vivian absolutely loathed the young girls that swept and shined the house, they were effective, but also liked to spread rumors about the hallways. It was tiresome.

Into the echoing hallway, there was only a single maid mopping the marble floor down the way. Vivian was sure that they would have a clear pathway to her closet, it was just around the corner after. Her hands reached for his, and almost too flirtatiously led him to her large walk in closet.

Once secured inside Vivian locked the door behind them, her closet was more like a private dressing room; it had a large couch, a vanity, and an attached bathroom. Vi could lock herself up in here and not be disturbed, and she had done it many times before.

“Sit there.” she instructed, pointing to the pale couch. “Now it’s most likely that I will wear black, but I feel as if they might expect that..” Vivian trailed off in thought, getting to work. She was very possessive over being the most fashionable woman at the party. It was one of things that she just had to be; the most beautiful, the most fashionable. Philip’s opinion, although completely untrained, was honest and she appreciated that.

Silence hung between the two as she fingered through her long line of extravagant dresses. They were all custom, tailored to fit her curves perfectly and show off everything that she wanted. She rolled her toes in the carpet, massaging her foot. “Close your eyes.” She said abruptly. Her fingers reached and released the sleeves that held her nightgown on as she turned to face away from him. Underneath she wore only a lacy pair of nude panties. No bra. The women rarely wore a bra anymore, most of her dresses provided all the support she wanted.

Vivian undressed without looking back at Philip to make sure he was being a gentleman.

Marcus stood up slowly, his taller form giving him the ability to look down on Isobel. But he bent down a little so their faces were close, so close, in fact, that Isobel could feel his warm breath on her face. His breath smelt of tobacco, a smell most strongly disliked. But not Isobel. To her, the smell was comforting. It made her think of Marcus. It was what she constantly smelt when they were close, and most memories that involved being in close proximity to Marcus were good ones. The smell was familiar and just… Him. It would be unusual if she didn’t pick up the underlying sent, the smell of Marcus.

Mark smiled at her mischievously. "Angry with you?" he questioned, his mock concern matching her previous expression. "Why would I be angry with you, love?”

The term of endearment made Isobel squirm with delight, pulling in a quick, almost excited, breath. She found the way he spoke to her beautiful. Every word that left his mouth was perfect, each sentence beautifully formed and delivered to create his desired effect. There was such charisma and charm to his voice that Isobel found impossible to resist. The first time she’d laid eyes on Marcus she’d been eleven. His father had had a business meeting in Isobel’s own father’s casino. Isobel had been behind the bar, helping the bartender who she’d grown close to in serving. She knew her father wasn’t keen on her helping out with the tasks that were for the ‘common’, but Isobel liked the bartender’s floppy brown hair and witty observations of the customers. Marcus had been twenty at the time. His father was eager to force him into the spotlight, and so, for some reason he had been at the meeting with him. Isobel had recognised him instantly from the Bennett Inc. commercials. And though, at this business meeting he looked a little out of place, Marcus still glowed with natural charisma and charm. And, though Isobel didn’t speak to him at all that time, she’d watched him with utter fascination. There was something so alluring and attractive about the man, even to an eleven year old Isobel, that she could not put her finger on. And that magnetism was still there now, after ten years, even after everything that had happened. And Isobel still couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Even now.

Marcus continued, “It was just another street rat pretending to be stronger than me, nothing more." He lifted a hand to her cheek, stroking it lightly and looking her in the eye. His laughter was soft. "I have to say, I'm a fan of this night gown, it flatters you..."

Isobel gave him a lovely, grateful smile at his appreciation of the garment. It had been hideously expensive, handcrafted from only the finest materials. But now she was ever so glad for the way the clingy fabric clung to her curves, showing off her lovely figure.
Marcus lent in close, whispering softly. "...but I'd rather see what's beneath that pretty little dressing gown."

“So impatient, Marcus,” she mock scolded. “What am I going to do with you?”

Isobel smiled, thinking over exactly what she was planning to do with him the moment this gown came off. She was as ready as he was for the end of the games and to simply cut to the chase. But many years of seduction had taught Isobel not to give in straight away. The urge may be overwhelming, but you had to fight it and continue to tease. The payoff was always worth it. And Marcus, was definitely worth it.

Isobel twisted her body on the desk, pulling her feet up onto it. She stretched out, full length along the cold wood. She was laying on her side, facing Marcus, her face cradled in her hand. The position pushed her chest forward, flaunting her figure and curves right under the man’s nose.

To many men, this would make them impatient. But not Marcus. It was a quality she admired about the man; his self-control. He could be so angry that he’d lose his control many an occasion, but in a social situation he was controlled and collected. She found his disposition attractive, which made watching him finally lose his self-control and be given what he wanted so pleasing to Isobel.

---

As Philip heard the click behind him, indicating the door had been locked, a whole rush of thoughts filled his head. Maybe he could seduce her right here, right now. The door was locked, no one could come in. He could have her pretty little body back in his arms finally. That cruel King didn’t deserve her. Vivian was the most elegant, beautiful, sophisticated woman he had ever met. It felt as if she were so wasted, stuck ‘married’ to the King. When Philip first heard news she had got married, he was heartbroken. It was as if everything he’d worked for had been worthless. But it hadn’t taken long for Philip to realise their union was more one of convince than anything else. Which meant, he still had a chance. Philip was uncertain that Marcus even spent much time with his wife, let alone slept with her. This thought comforted Philip. The thought of any other man having from her what they’d shared was the most disgusting thought. Philip felt that Vivian, although she’d always controlled him, was his. Not his to do with as he pleased, the way the King saw her, but his to be with and touch her and listen to her. Philip struggled to see why Vivian put up with it. He was not an avid follower of the King’s sex life, but he was more than aware, like everyone else in the manor, that the King was far from monogamous. Philip had no idea why Vivian conformed to the standards expected in a marriage, when Marcus didn’t even try. The blonde had always wanted to ask, but he refrained, probably mostly due to the fact that he was a little afraid of what the answer might be.

“Sit there,” she told Philip, indicating the creamy coloured couch. Philip took his seat as she continued. He was no expert in fashion and, really, he had little interest in women’s fashion at all, but Philip was so enjoying listening to the sound of her voice that the subject matter didn’t bother him. “Now it’s most likely that I will wear black, but I feel as if they might expect that..” she told him.

“Close your eyes,” she instructed, turning around and beginning to undress. Philip had no desire to avert his attention, but he didn’t like to disobey Vivian, and so he turned away. But from the corner of his eye, he was still vaguely aware of the cream flush of her skin, wrapped round her body. Her fiery hair hung down her back as she slipped into the black dress.
Philip opened his eyes to gaze at her in the dress. She always looked lovely in black. It made her look elegant and slim. It was understated and simplistic, yet still impressive and easy to appreciate. “Very beautiful,” Philip commented earnestly, running his, albeit untrained, eye over the dress. But Philip’s intentions were not as pure as he was attempting to portray. The man had a plan of his own as to how this morning meeting would go. Philip stood up from the sofa, searching for a specific dress he’d seen on her before that he knew she had in her closet. He thumbed carefully through the dresses, searching first for the colour. Finally, he triumphantly found the dress, lifting it off the shelf.

“Try this on…” he said softly, handing it to her. “I just want to see it on you.”

He turned away again to give the illusion of privacy, but privacy was the last thing he had in mind when choosing out this dress for her. The material was soft and coloured the richest midnight blue. It looked stunning against her hair and skin, creating an almost ethereal loveliness to her. But the dress also had a zip that ran from the middle of her bottom, right up along her back, following her spine. Vivian would never be able to do it all herself, giving Philip the perfect opportunity. He would need to brush his warm hand against the soft, sensitive skin at the small of her back to help her, teasing further and hopefully tempting her.

Normally Vivian would have dismissed the dress that Philip handed her. It was a long gown, flowing with dark blue fabric that wrapped and flatter her figure perfectly, with a large slit at the front. Although it was not one of her favorite dresses a certain affection for the thing grew because Philip had remember it and chosen it. A row of straight, pearly white teeth smiled at as her hand took hold of the dress.

It was unlikely she would end up wearing this dress, especially since she had wore in fairly recently at another aristocrat event. Some women, some reporter, some man, anyone, would comment on the dress. Then, because of the nature of these people, rumors would be spread about the Bennet household. Something about their funds diminishing, and their poor souls losing the ability to buy a new dress or tuxedo. Vivian couldn’t do that to the rest of the household. She certainly couldn’t do that to Marcus. Public humiliation was nothing she wanted to bestow upon her husband, she neither wanted the shame nor the wrath.

Marcus’ reaction would certainly be unpleasant if she chose to wear something familiar or inappropriate to such an important evening. Nevertheless, Vivian took the dress willingly. Her fingers felt the smooth fabric before she put it aside to remove the dress that she was currently wearing. Slowly removing the garment with Philip standing near made her mind wander into old times, into deeds that would remain a secret once again.

Vivian was now conscious every movement, from the relaxed breathing of Philip to her increasingly nervous fingers. She struggled for a moment unzipped the length of the blue dress. Constant imaged of the two of them flashed in her mind. Mustn't weaken. Vi couldn’t let her guard down, not with with a title like hers. She couldn’t let silly things like past feelings get in her way. Vi was devoted to the High King. As the woman she was supposed to be monogamous. She wondered what Marcus’ reaction would be, it certainly would be more dramatic than his reaction over a dress.

Indeed, she didn’t want to cause an uproar in the manor, but Vivian truly did love Marcus. It was a different, cold kind of love unlike her feelings with her parents, her sister, Philip, or anyone else she had dated, but it was still love. Conflicted, Vivian took a considerable amount of time putting on the second gown. She was fully aware of Philip’s intentions, and what was worse is that she wanted him to.

Vivian wanted Philip to chase after her, brush against her; tempt her. It was all part of the game. She loved it, even the painful want she felt and the dreadful need to touch him. Pressing the dark color again her pale breasts made them spill over as she turned to face an lover and asked,

“Will you be a dear a zip me up?”

Isobel saw it in his eyes seconds before it happened. The gentle sparkling in his pupils that had simmered away for the past five minutes that they had teased and played with each other finally erupted into a fire that blazed in his eyeballs like someone had poured gasoline on the gentle fire. It said everything. It gave her the warning. He was about to lose the calm and decorum he had so desperately clung to since she had arrived in his office.

And, that’s why it came as no surprise to Isobel when his lips clashed against hers with such force and desire that she was pressed against the desk. His hands were quickly on her skin, tracing quickly across her thighs as he moaned, pinning her to the desk. His hands slipped towards where she wanted him so much as the gown rode even higher up her thighs. He playfully tugged at the waistband of her panties, letting it twang back against her skin. It stung slightly as it connected with the sensitive skin of her lower abdomen. But the sting wasn’t painful, as it may have been, had they not been under these circumstances. The feeling of the elastic snapping against her flesh, rouging it, made her moan and it only proved to arouse her further. She too could feel her patience beginning to wean, there was only so much more of this teasing she could take before she too sprung back, like the elastic of her underwear.

"Why are you so irresistible...?" he asked her in his low tone, pulling back. Isobel took a sharp breath as his body got further from hers, unable to take any more.

“I just… Can’t help it,” she told him. She wanted the words to leave her lips smoothly, sounding as if she was in perfect control of all her actions and thoughts. But the words came out a little gasped and garbled, telling her she had to act now before she lost all of her control, if she was going to execute this in the way she wanted.

With that, she reached a hand to her waist and pulled at the tie holding her dressing gown so it fell back, revealing the lacy underwear and flawless flesh. She then reached up, pulling Marcus towards her and finally giving in to both of their desires.



Isobel sat back in Marcus’ office chair, her position no longer poised and controlled. Her chest heaved, her breathing deep and rapid, heart still racing from the experience. Marcus was on the floor, back pressed against the cold wood of the sides of the desk. His lovely form was still uncovered by clothes. Isobel’s head flopped back a little, dark hair fanning out behind the headrest of the chair and she closed her eyes for a second, allowing herself to gather her thoughts.

After a minute or two, Isobel stood up from the chair. She found the dressing gown from where it had been abandoned on the floor and tied it loosely around her naked figure. She glanced to the surface of the desk where her bra and panties had strewn chaotically after being tugged off her. She thought she’d leave them there, something for Marcus to remember her by when she’d returned to her room. She didn’t need them, as the dress she planned to wear tonight was white, it would be no good to have black underwear showing through beneath, and she had numerous other pairs of to wear. Besides, she was sure he’d return them when he was done with them.

She bent down, knees bending so she was almost sitting on her heels. She brushed a kiss against Marcus’ lips before standing up and leaving the office. She shut the door firmly behind her before making her way along the corridor. As she reached the end she spotted a servant outside.

“Give him a few minutes, then send him…” she though carefully for a second, “…a glass of red, from me,” she instructed. The servant quickly nodded and scampered towards the kitchen to inform whoever might be there, most likely Rory or Lillian.

Fully satisfied and completely confident she had pleased, she swept along the corridor and up the staircase, returning to her room to prepare for the party.

---

Philip gave Vivian a lovely smile as she took the dress from his outstretched hand and resisted the urge to smirk. He would be pretty surprised if she actually wore the dress. Philip could dress himself perfectly well, but he was no fashion expert. He could never see Vivian actually taking advice as to what to wear from him. Except… Well, there was this one time… His mind flashed back across the past, memories dancing through his mind. Vivian and he had found a tiny lingerie shop along a back alley where she was certain no one would see them together. There, he’d chosen out an array of underwear and outfits for her which she’d purchased. They had rushed back to his house like two teenagers in love, excited for what was to follow. There, he’d found some old black bed sheets that he’d tied together and laid out like a runway through the whole length of his small house. She’d sauntered down it in each new getup, posing, pretending like she was modelling. Of course, there were no prizes for guessing what followed that little show…

He watched Vivian as she struggled with the zip, hands shaking a little. He tried not to smile, wondering if this was due to the effect he had on her.

“Here,” he closed his large hands over her dainty fingers to stop them struggling with the zip. “Let me help,” he said with a genuine smile. He cleanly unzipped the dress for her, but allowed his hands to linger on hers for just a few seconds longer than was required of him.

With his fashion show memory still buzzing through his mind, he was a little less preoccupied with making a show of turning away when she took her current dress off. He watched her slip the fabric down her body, casting his eyes down the curves and only looking away when she turned back to look at him.

When she turned back to him, breasts spilling over the top of the dress as it clung to every curve, letting him know her perfect figure hadn’t changed a bit since he’d last run his hands over it. He widened his eyes slightly at the sight of her.

“Will you be a dear and zip me up?” her voice was full of a false innocence and virtue. He saw right her charming words to what she really wanted beneath the surface. Philip had known Vivian a long time now and he was familiar with every trick she used to tease and play with him.

“Of course, My Lady.” Her title was used with a sense of false respect and almost defiance. He used it as if it were a problem. In reality, it was. It was her title that prevented him from having her. He had raised himself to her level; he was no longer the lowly paper-pusher she had known before. But he still couldn’t have her…

Philip took a few steps towards her so he was stood just inches from her back, behind her. He gathered her hair and pulled it to one side of her shoulders. Then, he placed his fingers at the nape of her neck, brushing them across it gently. Then, ever so slowly, he began to run them down her bare back where the dress hung open, waiting to be zipped up. He followed the line of her spine under her pale skin, almost painfully slowly. His fingers drifted further and further down until they were just above the top of her panties. He then reached for the zip and dragged it up slowly, covering her skin with the dress. He then gently rearranged her red hair back round her face as it had been before.

“All done,” he told her, his voice soft a breathy, still full of what had just happened.

Her frustration was melted as Philip’s hands guided hers, helping to unzip the dark colored dress. Something about him, even now in their age, was calming to her. Somehow protective, arousing and gently soothing. There was no single word to describe how she felt around the man. Truly, he had taught her more about life and herself than anyone else.

Memories of nights like the fashion show, simple and silly events, flooded her mind. They had done a collection of sickeningly sweet things together. From the times when they pretended to be married out in public to the times they spent building forts out of the sheets. A sense of childishness came with the relationship, and Vivian blamed that on the fact that it turned out to be a fling. A long lasting fling. Philip had brought back some form of her childhood that she had never got to experience. She went from a pretty young thing into a high fashioned high schooler. Her relationships from the beginning were rarely for real feelings. Status were always important, even at age sixteen.

It was in those moments, untouched by the pressure of money and society, that she was honestly happy. It was nothing more than laughter and love, yet these memories stuck out in her mind constantly.

His purposely lingering fingers made her eyes lift to stare at him in a warning way. Forgetting that they were completely alone. Isolated. Locked away where no one, save Marcus, would dare bother them. She could only pray that the High King was preoccupied. Her arms kept the dress from slipping and revealing her whole self to Philip. In front of them was a large mirror, scaling the entire wall, reflecting their every move.

Philip stood so close to her that she could feel his heat radiating from him, it was a familiar sensation. Her eyes were glued to him through the mirror, but once his fingers gently began to trail down her sensitive spine Vivian ducked her head. Looking toward the ground her senses heightened, feeling his finger tips tease at her. It was painfully slow, disgustingly arousing. A shiver went down her spine, and Vivian desperately tried to disguise it. After he finished, Vi realized she had had her breath held the entire time. A breath of fresh air filled her burning lungs, her entire body tingled.

”All done.” Vivian’s eyes shot up at the sound of his voice, looking at him through the mirror again. She cleared her throat, trying to maintain professional. “How does it look?” She asked weakly.

Vivian turned around to face him without thought, finding herself only inches away from him.

Philip watched Vivian release a breath all in a rush as he spoke. He tried not to smile at this response, at the power he, in this moment, held over her. In their relationship, for as long as it had stood, romantically or otherwise, she had always been the powerful one. Philip had prayed that, at the end of the day, that wasn't all their relationship was to her; a power play. But he always had this secret fear that he was. When he'd first met her, he'd been so much lower than her socially that any attention he'd received from her had been a luxury to him. And when their romantic relationship begun, she had wielded all the power then too. He could only see her when she wanted to, if she called and told him to jump, he would've simply asked how high. He felt as though he was constantly proving his worth to her, not only as lover but as a man too. But now, even after the whole world had been destroyed, when their relationship was that of teasing and nostalgia, she was in the powerful position still. She was with another man, and arguably the most powerful woman in the world. Philip still had to prove his worth and his value to her to hold his position within the house, and he was still proving he deserved her attention. He was always the one chasing her, the one who had to work for her affections. But in these rare moments, he held the power. If he teased her just the right amount, toyed with her and brought her to the very edge, he could, even if it wasn't for long, hold her in the palm of his hand.

Looking at her now, enthralled by his touch, her body reacting to his, he wondered, if he kissed her now, would she stop him?

Vivian cleared her throat before asking, in a tone that showed much more vulnerability than her usual, upper-class demeanour, “How does it look?”

With that, she spun round to face Philip. But due to his proximity to her body, her actions now found him just inches from her. They were so close he could feel the warmth of her body; smell the sweetness of her breath; see the flecks of colour in her irises; taste her heady perfume in the air; and hear the thud of her heart in her chest. Each one of these senses brought with it an onslaught of memories. There was nothing they hadn't done together, in their youth. To most, they love had probably appeared almost sickeningly sweet. But to Philip, the memories were something he treasured, praying he could recreate now.

Philip took time in looking her up and down carefully. He started at her face, working his way down past her shoulders, the slit in the chest where the creamy skin between her breasts showed through, following the curve of her waist and down to where the gown brushed the floor, creating a puddle of midnight blue material around her feet. Then, agonisingly slowly he dragged his eyes back up her body once more, before meeting her eye.

He was so captivated by what was going on before him that he didn't even hear the gentle rap at Vivian's door and footsteps outside the closet.

He stretched out a hand to her cheek, as if testing the water. Then he reached out his other hand so he was cupping her cheeks, ever so lightly with his long, smooth fingers.

"Beautiful," he told her. Inside, he felt utterly weak to her. Anything she would've wanted now, he would've given to her without a question. But he managed to force his voice out, slow, strong, seductive.

Suddenly, there was a voice, "Viv?" In shock, Philip dropped his hand from her face and took a step back. Immediately, the moment was shattered.

It was Marcus, come looking for his wife, Philip realised in irritation. Of course it would be him. The most crucial point Philip had been at in months. So close to possibly, finally, after all these years, getting what he wanted from Vivian.

Footsteps neared the outside of the closet. "Are you in there?"

Philip's next thought was panic. He was aware Marcus was not all that fond of him as it was, and as much as Philip himself detested the man, he did not want to make things between them any worse, for Vivian's sake. To be found in her closet by Marcus, especially with Vivian in a dress that she'd clearly only been trying on, would be detrimental to both Vivian and Philip.

He looked at Vivian with an air of panic, before glancing at the door to indicate the problem, although he was certain she was fully aware of the situation. Then he looked back at her, meeting her eyes with a questioning, worried look, as if asking what he should do. He knew her so well that with a single look he was able to communicate everything he was thinking to her, knowing for sure that she knew exactly what he wanted to tell her, just with that look.

The sweetness of Philip’s hands, so gently and so lightly, on the surfaces of her reddening cheeks made Vivian’s head spin. With her neck stretched toward him, the lids of her eyes slid down slightly, only being able to see with the veil of her eyelashes in the way. The touch of his fingertips on her smooth skin was familiar, transporting her back to their time. An innocent, reminiscent, smile grew on her lips as she listened to Philip’s tantalizing voice. So deep and strong, so full of confidence and nostalgia. His compliment sent another symphony of shivers down her skinny spine. Vivian enjoyed any compliment from a man, but one so simple and divine from Philip made her glow.

Completely entangled in old memories, Vivian had forgotten where she was. Vivian had forgotten who she was, who she was married to, this whole thing. Like Philip the tap on the door did nothing to disturb this overwhelming bliss. It was only when she heard the voice of her husband did she snap into reality. As if on cue, she and her old lover stepped apart. Vi’s eyes dilated, suddenly terrified of what Marcus would do.

She knew that Philip needed to hide. Marcus would never believe that she was innocently getting his advice on clothing, and she had no other good excuses for him to be in here. Vivian responded to her husband in a chipper voice, making sure there wasn’t an any kind of suspicion. While she spoke, her eyes played with Philip’s knowing that he would respond accordingly. “Yes, love!” She called, “I’m in here, give me a moment!”

Where was Philip to go? The bathroom. The second shower. It was sectioned off and had only been used once before. Her eyes flashed to the door that led to the overly extravagant restroom and mouthed what corner he needed to turn.

With the intensity rising and her heart fluttering uncontrollably she reached out and grabbed Philip’s arm before he had a chance to run to the other room. It was an old habit; back in their old life, when Philip had to hide in various locations, she would pull him back for one last kiss. Once she had a hold of him though, Vi stopped. What was doing? With confusion on her face she let him go, trying to ignore the fact that she had just done that. She panicked, knowing that Philip now knew. She had lost the game.

Vivian forced herself to think of Marcus as she grabbed the front of her dress and made her way toward the door. Not looking back to make sure Philip was out of sight, she unlocked and opened the door. Vi ran a hand nervously through her hair but midway through, somehow made the gesture look fresh and sexy. “Hello..” She said cooly.

She could only pray that Philip was out of the way. She was unsure what her Marcus wanted, but was sure that she could get rid of him before secrets were spilled and drama was written.

A certain darkness came with the attraction between Vivian and her husband, Marcus. It was almost disgusting how much she enjoyed even the slightest, lightest touch of his hand. Although their relationship was very political and lustful, Vivian truly believed that she loved this man. Even with the doubts in the back of her head, her marriage was not entirely for status and power gain. Hunger to be in control did possess Vivian, but she was not so heartless that she would live her entire life with a man she did not love.

When Marcus was near, it was almost as if she were an entirely different creature. Her eyes sparked at the sight of him, she purred at his touch. With teasing kisses along her jawline she tilted her head back every so slightly, smiling. The tracing of his hands on her waist and thighs sent a shiver down her spine, feeling a bubble of heat in her chest; already becoming aroused by him. Even with Philip just a wall away, she could not help herself, she melted in Marcus’ hands. She bit her lip, remembering that her dear friend could hear every word and action. Her eyes flashed quickly to the entrance of the restroom. After which she cursed herself, such a suspicious act would surely not go unnoticed.

Trying to cover up her tracks, Vivian brought her hands to his tie and began playing with it. “Of course.” she purred, dragging her husband into the closet by his lazy tie. “We should match, after all.” Her fingers instinctively began unbuttoning Marcus’ tailored shirt. As she worked her way down she continued conversation, casually trying to remain cool and collected, for Philip’s sake.

“I won’t be wearing this, of course. I have just the perfect thing..” She said, pointing toward a dress that she had indeed chosen a couple days prior. Having Philip here was all a ploy. Vivian obviously knew what she was going to wear days ago.

“Yes, love! I’m in here, give me a moment!” Vivian's voice chimed out to her husband. Philip flinched at the term of endearment. That man deserved no endearment what so ever. He was a cruel monster that deserved nothing more than to spend the rest of his life in mental and physical agony. Least of all did he deserve Vivian. She was much too beautiful to watch him cheat on her over and over with whichever whore he'd decided to let into his bed this time. Vivian shouldn't have to suffer that. And, worst of all, she shouldn't have to remain loyal to him despite it. If Marcus could have whoever he wanted, Vivian should have every right to be in his arms whenever she wanted. Philip only wished, she still wanted.

"Alright," Philip heard Marcus say; the sound of his voice made Philip's skin crawl. He heard Marcus' footsteps becoming slightly more distant as he stepped away from the wardrobe.

Philip watched Vivian's eyes flash wildly back and forth, internally debating where he could hide. He watched her eyes finally dart to a door that lead off from the room to God only knows where. She mouthed that he had to take a left turn, but Philip knew her movements so well that he'd already followed her line of sight to where she wanted him to go.

For a second, Philip looked at her. They'd been so close, he was sure. If he'd just had five more Marcus free moments his lips may now have been on Vivian's, hands in her hair, body pressed against hers. He turned away from her to leave, no longer able to look at her with that in mind. But just as he went to leave, he felt an urgent hand on his arm. Vivian's. The movement was simple, it could be meaningless. But not to Philip, and not to Vivian. Nostalgia and longing tumbled through his body as he twisted back towards her, leaning straight in. It had been an old habit. To snatch one last moment together; one last kiss. Vivian remembered. Vivian still wanted him. Emotion rushed through him. Elation, love, lust. But she froze. Philip, now so close to her, found her eyes with his, searching them.

Then, suddenly, she let him go. The warmth of her hand left his skin, and the warmth of all his old memories was dragged away with it. But he didn't feel disappointed, the way he had done at the sound of Marcus' voice. She may have let go of him, they may have been forced apart. But these actions said more than any of her second thoughts did. It was instinctive, the way she'd behaved in grabbing him. He may have lost her for now, but he'd won her forever.

He watched Vivian gather her dress in her hands and make her way towards the door. This shocked Philip from his current state. As much as he hated Marcus and wanted him to see Philip with his wife, he knew he couldn't do that to Vivian. He didn't know what Marcus might do to Vivian if he caught them, and he didn't think he could bare to see anything happen to her. So he quickly slipped out of the way, through the door Vivian had indicated.

“Hello...” he paused at the sound of Vivian's voice, cool and collected as she spoke to Marcus. Philip looked back round the corner at her. The door was now open and through the crack, round the corner, he could see Marcus. He drained a wine glass before taking a predatory step towards Vivian.

"Hello to you, too. Are you wearing this tonight, my love? You look absolutely stunning in it."

Marcus' greeting made Philip's blood boil. How dare that sleazy, heartless man speak to Vivian like that?! Philip watched Marcus walk round her, like a lion paced round its prey. Then he stopped behind her and put his hands on her waist. He brushed her hair over one shoulder, kissing up her neck and running his hands across her body.

Philip was alight with jealous, anger and hatred. He should be the one to touch Vivian like that, not Marcus. He shouldn't be allowed to have her in a way Philip never could. Truth be told, Philip still felt Vivian was his. In reality, even at the height of their relationship, she had never been his. If anything, he'd been hers. But watching Marcus touch her was still agony for Philip. How could she bare him?

"Would you be a dear and help me choose a tuxedo for tonight? You've always been better at choosing clothing than I am," Marcus cooed. He took her hand in his. Such a simple gesture, but it struck a chord in Philip. Marcus could touch her freely without fear of rejection, show her he wanted her, let others see that she belonged to him. He and Vivian had never had that, despite how deeply their love had run before.

For a second, Philip genuinely considered stepping out. He was strong. The nuclear war had given him incredible strength, that of two men. He could've fought Marcus easily. And though, of course, his guards would stop Philip, if he was fast enough, maybe he could get away? Maybe he could get Vivian away from Marcus, take her away somewhere far from here where she'd be safe from him. They could be together. They could finally have the life Philip felt they deserved.

Suddenly, he saw Vivian glance back towards him. But it wasn't the gesture that mattered, it was her face. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes alight, smile dancing on her full lips. She wanted him. She wanted Marcus. She loved him.

After that, Philip no longer heard her words. Just her actions. The way she began to touch him, pushing him backwards and unbuttoning his shirt. She fawned over him, like he deserved her attention and her love. Philip could watch this no longer. He silently slipped back round the corner and shut the door, careful to make no sound. He sunk down on the bathroom floor, leaning against the back wall. His eyes were dead and dull, face expressionless. But inside, his chest was burning. He couldn't even begin to comprehend what he was feeling. The way he felt about Vivian, the way she felt about him, the way she felt about Marcus.

Philip was broken. Torn in two. She was woman he truly loved, had put above everything else, would've given anything for. And he'd watched her fall in love with someone else. All their teasing, flirting and memories were worthless. He may as well burn them, let them shatter on the floor, tear them into shreds. Because Vivian didn't want him. She never really had.

It was rejection of the coldest, cruellest kind.

Vivian’s blue eyes trailed over Marcus’ bare chest. A faint smile grew on her lips; distantly remembering the smoothness of his skin, the heat that he radiated. Without thought,her mind flashed to lustful evenings and blissful moments. She could not help but be reminded of her serious attraction for him, especially with his nicely toned body in front of her. Tempting her; flaunting what seemed to her like a perfect collection of molecules that formed his flawless skin. It was no wonder he was so powerful, he seemed like a god even to the most influential woman in the world. She watched with anticipation as Marcus played with the dress she was going to wear that evening, and nodded at his request.

Usually this was a normal affair, she would choose a dress, try it on, and have Marcus dressed accordingly. But despite all the desire she had to be with Marcus alone, she remembered Philip in the bathroom. She couldn’t do this. Not with someone she felt so close to, so deeply with, just feet away. Vivian was torn. She was torn between an animalistic craving for lust and power, and a fierce longing for passion and nostalgia.

Vivian tisked at Marcus, suddenly changing her mind. “Not tonight... I want it to be a surprise.” It was unlike her to so rapidly change direction with the King. Vivian, on her good days, almost always did whatever the king asked of her, from sexual favors to official business. To make up for her strange attitude, Vi closed the gap between the two and placed a couple of loose kisses on his neck. Her hands instinctively trailed along his broad chest, but before Marcus had the opportunity to snatch her up into a fit of lust she spoke again, “Now, I will pick your suit, then you will go.” Her words were soft, hitting his skin like little bubbles of heat.

She could only hope that this would get Marcus away from here. In all honesty, Vivian wasn’t concerned about Philip anymore. She was worried that Marcus, with Philip’s incredible strength, would feel the wrath that the young man felt toward him. And in any case, if that were to happen, there would be no doubt that Marcus would either throw him to the streets or have him executed. The thought made Vivian’s blood boil, not only would the Bennett household be full of scandal but she would be a made a fool. Nearly everything Philip did came directly back to her, after all she was the one who brought him into the manor.

Vi moved from Marcus smoothly, unwrapping herself and confidently went to the other side of the closet that held mostly ties and suit jackets. Her fingers brushed over a bundle of silk fabric as her mind calculated what tuxedo to pick out from her husband. Upon stopping she spotted a black tux that would suit the event perfectly. Soon after grabbing the set and placing it on the couch and grabbed a bow tie that would undoubtedly match her dress.

“Here.” She said, moving back toward Marcus. Perhaps her movements had been too quick, her actions too rushed to have him leave. She only hoped that he would not suspect a thing. If he did she would just use the excuse that she didn’t want him to see her before the dinner tonight. That always seemed to work.

Her ploy to get him to look past her strange behaviors obvious did not work. The fluttery kisses that she left on him only made things worse. Marcus clamped up underneath her, sensing her urgency. Surprisingly though, being a man of many words and colors, he said nothing to her. The King just stood there, watching her as she put on a little act. Marcus’ clenched jaw made a bitterness settle in Vivian’s mouth. She hated when he did this, a sort of silent, child-like pout. Her eyes hardened as she sensed his disapproval.

“Don’t be a sour puss.” Vivian remarked lightly. Although her words were bright and loving she was not very pleased with the man. In some ways she just wished he would be aggressive and violence rather than passive. These quiet torturings were unbearable for Vivian. In spite of her, and because he could do whatever he well pleased, Marcus was now going to stretch every second. He was going to antagonize her, he was going to take as long as he possibly could to put on the tuxedo she had picked out for him.

Normally, even in the most innocent manner, if Marcus was undressing she could not resist the temptation of her eyes trailing all over him. She knew his game though, and the fact that he was choosing to be so silent and reserved just made her annoyed. As her husband removed his clothes, in a disgustingly slow fashion, she watched him carefully. However, her eyes were not playful and alight as usual, they were cold, almost glaring at him.

While the High King carefully pressed every seam and straightened every wrinkle Vivian took a seat on the arm of couch. Realizing that she was glaring at him, her eyes shifted around uneasily when he turned away, the rest of the while he eyes were fixed on the ground. Her mind raced as she avoided vision contact with her love; she wondered how many minutes had passed by, and she wondered how Philip felt. By no means did she intend for this to take this long. She then wondered what would get her Marcus away from the whole situation. Her long eyelashes beat at a steady rate for a couple of moments as her blue eyes calculated every second. When she heard Marcus’ voice she looked up at him and put on a small smile.

He did indeed look handsome. “Splendid.” was word she chose to describe him, although her mind bubbled with many other inappropriate adjectives. By all costs she avoided having her eyes shift toward the bathroom door again. Getting up from her perch, Vivian skilfully began to unzip her dress. By now, wearing long gowns nearly every day, she was able to undress herself in a matter of minutes. She really needed little to no help with these things.

Although not entirely in the mood for this, she supposed it would help with regaining the isolation that she and Philip had once had. Vivian slipped out of her dress and made her way to Marcus, now only in a pair of panties and a bare chest. A burst of confidence lit in her as her steps toward him were filled with sex appeal. It was not unlike her to be naked with the man, and in a way she felt much more comfortable with him. It was as if she had some kind of control. With that, she nuzzled herself against him; trying to get him to loosen up. “There’s only so much time until the ball, m’dear..” She cooed at him, reminding him that she too needed to get ready.

Then, within moments, her husband was gone. Not expecting such a suddenly leave, she realized that she must have said something that reminded him of a prior engagement or duty. Or perhaps he had forgotten her strange behavior altogether. A dull smile painted her face as her husband reassured her of his feelings. His voice was plush, with real meaning and loveliness that she rarely saw in him now-a-days.

Instead of responding, her blue eyes watched him as he exited. Her silence seemed cold, unwilling to return such an affection line of words. Time moved in slow motions, and she was unable to stop herself from tripping over her thoughts. She had intended to tell him that she loved him. She really had. She was petrified though, knowing that Philip was in the other room. Vivian knew, if it had not happened already, that her words would kill him. And there was no part of her that wanted to hurt that precious man.

The subtle small that was on her lips faded as Marcus and her grew farther apart. Then finally with a thud he was gone. She was left alone, nearly nude and feeling unlike herself, filling with anxieties she could not calm.

A stab of pain hit her in the stomach and chest simultaneously. The guilt was overwhelming. She was unsure for what reason though; to feel shame for sneaking around her beloved’s back or shame for betraying Philip for this many years. Her first instinct was to cry, but quickly transformed her feelings into anger. Without thought, Vivian resorted to smashing a nearby vase against the wall. Feelings that she had tried to forget in this new life flooded over her, and soon they were gone, dripping away like the water that now trailed down the pale wall. She clenched her jaw, trying to rid of the watery ring around her eyes. Such weakness, such childish crying would get her nowhere. She hated being so emotionally exposed, it made her feel soft and bendable, even to her past lover.

Remembering Philip, she quickly found a silk shirt to clothe herself with. Embarrassment shaded her face with red and her fingers twitched with adrenaline as she walked toward the bathroom. Vi opened the door with a swing, needing to rid of her presence as soon as possible. Her eyes jaunted around the room for a moment before spotting him; he was a puddle against the wall with dead eyes. A burning in her throat made her want to pick him up and go back to the way things were before the war. She resisted the feeling though and with a stern voice said, “Please, leave.”

Her words were formal and unpleased. Not with him, but with herself. Before Philip could comfort her any further she cut him off. “Just go.” Her voice now hoarse and full of sticky emotion. The sound of Vivian’s desperation was disturbing to herself. The voice she had just used was one that was rarely used in this time. It was her old self.

Philip was vaguely aware that the conversation had continued between Vivian and Marcus, and he knew Marcus had then left. But anything other than the very bare bones of the conversation, Philip had blanked out in an attempt not to hurt himself anyone.

He couldn't believe it. How could Vivian... Marcus was cruel and cold, she hated him. She was only with him for the power and wealth she had gained. He was an asset, simply a means to an end, not a lover. Philip had thought knew it, even if she refused to say the words herself. But the body didn't lie. Not Vivian's, not when he knew it so well. She may be able to control the words leaving her lips, but there was little she could do to stop her body reacting. Those flushed cheeks; excitement. She liked being with Marcus, the thrill, lust, she wanted him. Full lips; it signified a kiss. But not a dutiful peck on the lips, because he demanded it and she had to keep on his favourable side for her own means. No. This was kiss with passion, with want, the kind of kiss you gave someone when you loved them but there was no way to say it in words. And her eyes. Vivian had always had the most beautiful eyes. They'd always sparked green, a beautiful light behind them that he'd never seen replicated in anyone else's. But when she turned to look at Philip, those lovely eyes had been alight. Alight, in the way she used to look at him. When they were lying alone in bed and she knew he had to go soon. He'd held her, and she'd looked at him with those beautiful eyes that said everything she'd never ever be able to give him, because of her family and social expectations placed upon her shoulders.

Philip heard a crash of glass. Sharply, a thought flicked through his mind. What if Vivian was hurt? Or what if she'd hurt Markus? Because she'd seen him for what he truly was. But Philip dismissed the idea. Of course she wouldn't. She loved He remembered the way Vivian had hated hurting those she loved. Though she'd never admitted it, he'd seen the way she used look around when she'd heard a noise when they were together. At first, Philip had assumed she was worried for her own safety, he'd thought she'd been checking around to make sure no one was coming and so she wouldn't be seen humiliating herself and her family by fraternising with a poor boy. But then he realised, that after glancing around, her eyes came to rest on him. She may have been worried for herself, but it was him she didn't want to see hurt. She'd loved him, and she'd protected him. She hated hurting him without good reason. Because she loved him. She wouldn't hurt Marcus...

So caught up in his own thoughts was Philip, that he almost didn't notice Vivian's entrance to the bathroom until the door swung back on itself. Her face was red, and her eyes glistened slightly with tears and she was clothed in a thin silk shirt. Her eyes flicked across the room before coming to rest upon him.

“Please, leave.” Her words were cold and stern. “Just go.” Her voice filled with emotion, emotion Philip knew well from years ago. Which only made the past few minutes hurt even more; to know that it was still the same girl who'd loved him that stood before him now. That she could still be that same girl.

Philip stood up very slowly. If she was going to hurt him, then he was going to cause her as much pain as he possibly could too. The way she'd hurt him was something you couldn't undo. It felt as though something within him had torn, broken irreparably. He felt powerless to what she was doing, powerless to stop it. He couldn't let her win like that.

Standing up to his full height, Philip took a few steps towards her, until the space between them was only just breathing distance. They weren't touching. But if she'd moved a muscle she would've been. Gradually, he reached up a hand and clasped her chin in it. He knew he was strong, and he'd never hold her tight enough to physically hurt her, he could never bring himself to that, but he knew the level of strength he was using was less than comfortable.

He brought her face very close to his before telling her ever so softly, so that anyone who was further than breathing distance wouldn't have heard, "Okay."

Then, he dropped her grip on her instantly and left the bathroom, making his way back towards his own bedroom.

The closeness of the two of them made a flush of guilt wash over her. Tears wanted to spring and the spine that held her together wanted to crumble under the pressure. Philip’s hand held her firmly, without harm and malice, but still in a cold manner. Vivian bit her bottom lip, trying to keep herself from seeping more tears. Her eyes looked into his, and wished that somehow she could turn back time. Now, she was in love with two men and in two very different ways. As the heat radiated off of Philip and conjoined with hers time slowed to a near stop; every breath and motion was magnified by ten.

His soft voice almost took her by surprise.. She expected something more from him. Something else? Vi really had no idea what she expected from this moment. She supposed that it would end bitterly just like before, but Philip was so eerily neutral it made Vivian sick to her stomach. Her eyes watched as he exited the restroom and followed him all the way to the bedroom door.

There was part of her that hoped that Philip would make everything better, come up with some brilliant solution to her problem. But that’s now how it worked in the Bennett house, not in this life. Vivian was condemned to her own disaster and she had no one but herself to drag her out.

The only thing she could do now was distract herself. The ball was only in a manner of hours and Vivian had more than enough getting ready to do. Beautifying herself would suffice as a decent distraction for now.

---

The clock struck five o’clock in a loud array of chiming bells. The ballroom was filled with prime aristocrats, only the most beautiful, powerful and important were invited to such an event. An event of celebration and laughter. Kisses and handshakes would be exchanged, business advances would be made and scandal would surely rise. Though the exterior of the party may seem bright and exciting the interior is dark and dirty. The members who dress themselves to a tee for this party are often covered in lies, secrets and wrong intentions. Such an event is not just for the gathering of like people, but to celebrate what good they’ve gone in the world.

The ballroom was crowded with the richest people in the world, some even coming from across the sea. The spacious dance floor was scattered with old and new aristocrats, the true and the fake. In the back spaces, in both the balcony and below, were collection of assigned tables and chairs. The ceiling was lit with a seemingly simplistic light fixture, but upon careful inspection the large bulge was composed of only diamonds and gold. The pillars that held the structure were tastefully adorned with expensive flowers that had been freshly picked and twined together, making the marble glisten with moisture. The floor was waxed so well that the aristocrats could see their faces in it’s reflection. A set of door to the kitchen was in the far corner, hidden away by a new statue of Marcus and Vivian. Along the back wall hung original works of the most famous old world art, including the Mona Lisa, Starry Night and the Birth of Venus.

At the front of this large display was a stage, colored with matching flowers and an extravagant pedestal, with hanging gems and jewels. Marcus would begin the dinner ceremony with a toast, and along the night various other figure would stand and speak to the menacing crowd.

---

Vivian had spent the remainder of her time drinking a small glass of white wine and smoking in her own reflection. Her eyes trailed over every inch of her face and took in every pore, before deciding how to do her makeup. Usually, she would have someone else do her hair and makeup but Vivian was in no mood to have a servant girl in here. Vivian was in a perplexed silence and sweet numbness that overthrew her. She took careful notice to where her thoughts wandered as she continued to put her evening face on. Her took rigid control when they seemed to be floating toward either Marcus or Philip and shook them until they died temporarily.

The short time that she was alone was a dull torture, but soon she was dressed and ready for the party. With just minutes before the guests would be ushered into the impressive hall Vivian put on her last bit of jewelry and entered the ballroom, running late, moving at a remarkable slow rate. Despite her feelings she needed to put on a face. After all, she was the luckiest woman in the world.

She was married to the most powerful, and often argued the most handsome man in the world. Vivian was the queen of this new world. People everywhere adored her, women wanted to take her place and men wanted to take Marcus’. Vivian was truly one of the most privileged.

Her hair was swept back in an attractive, loose curl while her body was curved in a black and gold dress. The embellishments on the dress seemed very plain for what Vivian would usually be wearing, but with a good eye one could see that all the shine and glimmer was from real gold and diamonds. Her dress was simple, but impressive, seeing that even most aristocrats could not spend such funds on her dress. Her shoes were just black, with similar accents on the heel.

After entering into the room she soon veered herself toward her assigned place at the front, with Marcus. Ideally they were the figures that all aristocrats strived to be, and with the two of them standing elegantly on the stage, the aristocrats would have a solid example.

The other lower aristocrats had no jobs, they were just required to welcome the newcomers. They were free to enjoy their time at the party, unless they were otherwise asked to speak to the crowd.

Philip made his way back towards his own bedroom, steps perfectly even and calm. But that was forced. He knew there was no use in emotions at this time, not when the truth had been presented so clearly before him that not even he could pretend not to see it. But, it still didn't mean he didn't feel it.

He dressed quickly, putting on a simple suit. Simple, but still easily attractive. That was something Philip considered a gift; his looks. They were maybe the only thing his excuse for a mother had ever given him, but they'd been an asset to him throughout his life. Growing up, he'd worked hard, thinking it was possible to better himself and save his sisters from a life of poverty, just through hard work. But he came to realise that everything was about the way you looked and the connections you had. That was one of the few things that hadn't changed between the old world and the new. Philip realised now, it was more than likely that he didn't get the job at Vivan's father's estate agency wasn't because of his hard work, as he'd though then, but because he looked correct to be a part of their company.

When Philip entered the grand ballroom, it was already filled with ostentatious, superficial aristocrats, conversing with each other over what would more than likely be the weather or something else of little significance. But it was Vivian who caught his eye. He knew exactly where she'd be, sat at the front, with Marcus, like a figurehead. And he'd promised himself he wouldn't look. She didn't need his attention, not when she was so wrapped up in Marcus'. But his eyes flicked to the front as soon as he entered the room, despite his promises to himself.

She looked beautiful, all pale skin and a tumbling, loose curl of stunning red hair. Her dress was black and gold, not the one she'd tried on for him earlier. He felt himself beginning to crumble, but quickly glanced away. In part, so she wouldn't catch him staring, but also so he didn't have to feel his whole body, everything he felt, all his memories reacting to the sight of the beautiful, yet completely unobtainable women that he'd once thought he'd known.

Philip scanned the room, finally setting his eyes on a woman. She seemed young, most likely in her late teenage years, no older than nineteen. She was with a man much older than her, clearly her father, whom Philip recognised as a minor aristocrat. The young woman looked bored, as her father stood talking with a more senior aristocrat, paying no attention to his beautiful daughter. She bore a resemblance to Vivian, not strikingly so, but it was the red hair, pale skin and perfect bone structure that had caught his eye. Her cornflower blue eyes were not Vivian's beautiful green ocean colour, but other than that she was very similar. Catching her eye, Philip gave her a slow, flirtatious smile, which she reciprocated.

He glanced back at Vivian for a moment, watching her expression. She stood elegantly, her face the perfect mask of unnerving, perfect passiveness. It was as if the events of this afternoon had never happened, as if they had been irrelevant in her mind. Philip was not a malicious man by any stretch of the imagination, but she'd made him feel so worthless. That was what she did now, that was the woman she'd become. She'd played with him, making him think he had a chance. She'd run her delicate fingertips across his heart, only to grow claws and rip it out, leaving him a bloody mess on the floor. She deserved to hurt like he had, when he'd seen that flush in her cheeks. She deserved to have to sit, expressionless, and watch him flirt with another woman. Because her the powerful position prevented her from making a scene, and the impression she had tried to give of not caring who Philip was with took away her ability to do anything but smile, tight-lipped. She'd made her bed, if he couldn't be with her there, then she could go lie in it herself.

Philip swept up two champagne flutes from a silver tray, carried by a passing waitress. He took a sip from one before crossing the room to the woman. When he reached her, he held it out to her, face the picture of perfect charm.

---

---

Vivian had lost him. There, right before her eyes, Philip played his unmistakable charm on a young aristocrat. She was young, and far more radiant than Vivian. Vivian glowed, but not in the same innocent way that the girl did. The light that came from Vi was powerful, and even dark. She was a matured woman, having a radiance that foretold her entire life story within a look.

Her eyes sparkled in the chandler’s rays as they bobbed over the crowd, trying not to stare at Philip. She thought she knew exactly what he was doing, it was all part of the game. A nervous lump formed in her throat as her attention became more intensive on her past lover and the young woman.

Part of her wanted to leave her little post and create a scene. Another part of her wanted to remain secure, reigning in her position; remaining the most powerful woman. Although her face and words were gracefully continuing conversation with the aristocrats, her mind and eyes were distracted. She couldn’t help herself, all she could focus on, all she could see was Philip and the woman on the ballroom floor. A beat of jealously pulsed through her, though she would readily deny it. No lady would admit feelings of jealousy, especially for someone she isn’t supposed to have feelings for at all.

After realizing many aristocrats had taken their leave, observing the Queens lack of attention, Vivian tried to suppress her negative feelings. Needing a distraction, and wanting nothing more than that distraction to be her husband, she turned her pale face toward Marcus. As if on cue and without warning her husband was gone, flying into the pool of the rich and beautiful. With her hair falling into place, Vi’s deep eyes trailed Marcus, her mouth slightly agape. Where on earth was he going?

Then, without much movement in the ballroom, Vivian’s vicious eyes spotted Isobel. Though the woman’s pathway was different than Marcus’, Vivian knew all too well that the woman was going to meet. The Queen was aware, she had always been aware of the affair, but never had she felt such hatred toward Isobel. Vivian had always felt safe in her position, often reassured that Marcus would never really fall in love with another woman. But tonight, with the haste and sheer joy that Marcus projected on his way out, Vivian knew that he loved Isobel and that she would soon lose him too.

Suddenly, she felt ill. She was standing alone, magnified by the lights that shone down on her; pale and losing more color. A certain anger was boiling inside of her, her mind struggled for sanity as the room began to circle around her. She was crumpling, falling from her high place within seconds.

Vivian needed to leave, before things escalated. Surely, this would be top of the rumor mill tomorrow. The Bennett family was falling apart. The Queen was weak; unable to keep a level head at the dinner. Quickly, with glossy eyes, Vivian stumbled down from the front stage. She avoided all eyes and friendly mouths as she tried to find the nearest exit. With her head down, eyes wide, and fingers laced in an anxious manner, she made her way through the crowd. She tried to avoid him, but with the circumstances and large number of people, Vivian brushed past Philip. The electricity she had once felt next to him, the love she had once absorbed was now stale and bitter.

Without any words, and no expectation of a reaction, Vivian excused herself in a narrow hallway. It was unused, and entirely uninvolved with the party, in fact it wasn’t even decorated. Once the door closed behind her the noise of the event was muffled. The silence buzzed in her mind as Vivian leaned her face against the cool wall. Just a few moments. That’s all she needed. That’s all she prayed she needed.