Marceline Outfit Novels & Stories

“Whoa…” Amusement dances in Marcello’s eyes while scanning his niece from head to toe. Mariella’s just wearing a simple knee-length peachy dress, bought by her mother a month before her death. “You look stunning tonight.” “Uh… Thanks.” It feels like she was complimented by Marcella because for the record, Marcello looks like a boy version of her mother. “Let’s go?” Mariella nods and follows her uncle to the back gate where his car is parked.

I chose to go with a light brown shade of lipstick, and let my hair down in it’s natural waves. I exit the bathroom, and find Marcel sitting on the bumped out window seat reading that Stephen King book with his glasses on. He looks ridiculously good in glasses, it still makes me grin a little that my imagination was completely spot on. “I need to get dressed.” “There is a dress laying on the bed,” he says without looking up. I look down at a short blue sparkly dress. “Um okay, well can you leave so I can get dressed?”

Slit up the thigh—almost to my hip. The fabric caught light when it moved. Liquid. Predatory. I put it on. Looked at myself. My hair fell in waves past my shoulders. Same wine-red as the dress. My body filled out the fabric like it was made for me—because it was. I looked like sin. I looked like power. I looked like a woman who'd burn your world down and not lose sleep. The woman in the mirror smiled. There you are. Marcel sent a car. Black. Sleek. One of two in the world, he'd said. Custom. Bulletproof glass. Engine that sounded like a threat.

His voice was firm, though his mind was clouded with questions. La Rouge pulsed with red neon lights. Music throbbed, laughter and dancing filled the air. Adrian walked in with steady steps, his tall figure standing out in the crowd. His eyes instantly landed on Marceline, seated elegantly in the VIP lounge, clad in a shimmering black gown with a glass of wine in hand. “Adrian.” Marceline offered a faint smile, as if there were no hostility between them. “At last, you came.” “What exactly is your purpose, calling me to a place like this?” Adrian sat across from her, his gaze icy.

Sighing, I take off my shirt and set my gym towel on the edge of the treadmill when I catch sight of her. She hasn't exactly noticed me since I didn't bother turning on the lights to the gym. But the lights from the house are bright and I can see her clear as day. I watch as Marcella stands at the shallow end of the pool, observing the water. Then she looks around a bit as if trying to make sure no one is watching. In slow, cautious, and precise movements, she takes off her white silk robe. Fuck. Is she wearing a....swimsuit?

Lia: By the time I finished fastening the last clasp of my underdress, Marcel was already watching me. He hadn’t said anything yet, but I could feel his gaze tracing every movement. Not suspicious. Not irritated. Protective. The early light filtered through the curtains, catching the faint curve of my stomach as I reached for the outer layer of my gown. It wasn’t dramatic yet, just enough to alter the way the fabric fell. “Come here,” he said quietly.

“We’re almost ready.” Celeste took a sip of her coffee. “No trailers? No fuss?” Mara’s grin was quick, conspiratorial. “I promised you plain, didn’t I?” Celeste laughed softly, warmth humming through her ribs. “Yes. You did.” Inside, she changed into the costume, simple trousers, a worn cotton blouse. A version of herself that wasn’t glammed or armoured, just… human. She sat at the small vanity Mara had propped by the open French doors, dusting the faintest touch of powder over her skin while someone pinned her hair into a loose knot.

It almost felt like I was back in the other mansion. Marcel was standing by one of the couches and he was fully dressed like he was heading out. I don't know why he loves putting on black every time as right now he is dressed in a black suit with a dark shade of blue undershirt. But why then did I dream of him wearing a white shirt? That doesn't matter Marcel didn't pay any attention to me when I got in but I guess it's because he was actually on a call and from what I could eavesdrop from their conversation I could tell he was talking to someone back at the mansion. My best guess?

" Well since you're finally here you should do the right thing for once and get them inside, our guests have been waiting, and that's not nice." Marcellina reprimanded him before heading back inside and the four people followed her in with Penelope hanging on Marshall's arms and Phineas Who had his little hands wrapped around both his father's and his uncle's own. As usual, he preferred not to be carried especially not by his dad. When they got into the room where the so-called visitors were waiting, it was packed with four people, two who were trying to setup up an elevated platform and the other two were discussing while pointing at a tablet and that's when Marcelo noticed her. she was dre

he said with an apologetic expression. My hand clenched tightly. What was wrong with that woman? Even after I warned her to stay away, here she was again. “You’re home, Dom.” I heard her voice behind me. I turned to see her walking out of the house like she owned it, wearing her usual irritating smile. She had on a black dress and a hat. The style looked familiar, and then I remembered—Marceline had worn the same style once, only hers was red. “I was waiting for you,” she said softly, stopping just a few steps from me.