Saving Juliet (19 page)

"Welcome to my home, Lady Mimi. But while you are here, you can never tell my parents that you are Capulet. They despise all Capulets and have vowed to run them out of Verona, or kill them in the attempt." He wore an expression as woeful as a basset hound's. "A raging river of hatred flows here. Can you feel it?" He hugged himself.
"Hatred, hatred, everywhere.
My parents speak of nothing else but this hatred. It consumes them."

I think I could actually feel the hatred, or maybe it was the ugly room that put me on edge.

"Only love can free me from this prison of hatred. Only love."

"Only love?" I gasped. "Is that a bathtub?" A large porcelain tub sat in the corner of Romeo's room, next to a screen and a closestool. The tub was filled with water
--
clean water. Rose petals floated at the surface. I dipped my fingers in. It was lukewarm. "Romeo, are you going to use this water?"

"I am too tired for that bath," he said, draping himself over his bed.

"May I?" I didn't wait for his reply. I pulled the screen around the tub and kicked off my shoes. The dress's cinched waist wouldn't budge so I tugged at it and broke the lace. Not bothering with the sleeves, I yanked the entire dress over my head and threw it on the screen. Off came the shirt, underskirt, bra, and panties. I stepped in and melted. Never had lukewarm water felt so good. I dunked my head,
then
reached for a bar of soap that smelled like lemon.

"Romeo," I called, lathering my hair. "When we were in the orchard, you said that you had a chest overflowing with gold. Is that true?"

"I have more gold coins than I can count."

I wiggled my toes gleefully. "And just now you said that only love can free you from this prison of hatred. Did you mean that?"

"Yes, only love.
Rosaline's love."

"What about someone else's love?"

"But I love Rosaline."

I worked the soap down my arms. "Yes, but that's not really love. I know you think it is, but take it from me, it's just a crush. I felt the same way once. I couldn't stop thinking about this one guy, and I dreamed about him every night." Okay, I still dreamed about him but Romeo didn't need to know that. Bending the truth is perfectly acceptable when one is trying to save a life. Two lives.
Maybe more.

"Yes, I dream about Rosaline, too."

"Uh huh."
I dunked again, wondering if Benvolio liked the scent of lemon. "But those feelings fade quickly when you meet someone else." Listen to me. I sounded like a mature, experienced woman. What a laugh.

"My feelings for Rosaline will never fade."

A stack of folded towels sat next to the tub. I had started to shiver so I wrapped a towel around my hair and another around my body. The water had turned gray. How embarrassing. The last thing I wanted to wear was that heavy dress, which was filthy, stained, and marked me as a thief. Romeo and I seemed about the same size. "Romeo, can I borrow some of your clothes?"

"Take whatever you'd like," he mumbled. I peered over the screen. He had turned toward the wall and was stabbing it with a small knife, chipping off flakes of plaster. I hurried out and grabbed the clothes basket. His black tights and white shirt fit perfectly. The puffy orange shorts were a bit loose but I cinched them with a woven belt. What a relief, to be able to walk around without two hundred pounds of velvet weighing me down. A pair of boots stood against the wall, made of soft, well-worn leather. I slipped my feet into them and sighed.
Like being reborn.

Romeo scooted to the end of his bed and hung his head over the edge. "Tell me why Rosaline refuses to love me."

I worked my fingers through my wet hair. "Rosaline is not meant to love you. Someone else is."

He slid off the bed and sat on the floor, tucking his knees tightly to his chest.
"Who?"
He stared at me with eyes so heavy with hurt he could barely hold them open.

I sat beside him, feeling strangely maternal. I wanted to tousle his downy hair but didn't. Only two years separated us and in many ways I was as immature as he in matters of love. But I knew what it felt like to be depressed and lost. "Romeo, you had a chance to meet someone and I messed it up. She was at the Capulet party and if the two of you had met, I'm pretty sure you would have liked each other." I didn't say that I was pretty sure they would have fallen in love. At the time, I had major issues with the whole destiny thing. My mother always told me that my destiny had been decided before I was born, stamped with a golden Wallingford seal. One could look at Romeo in the same way, created by Mr. Shakespeare for a single purpose. But Shakespeare wasn't running this show. Who's to say that Romeo and Juliet couldn't just be friends?

"There's a girl named Juliet who lives across town. She's a Capulet and her parents are forcing her to get married. She doesn't want to because she basically hates the guy and he's a pervert anyway, according to Friar Laurence. So, she's going to leave Verona, but she can't do it without money and she can't do it without an escort."

"Why do you tell me this?"

"Because I'm hoping that you'll volunteer to be her escort."

"Help a Capulet? I'm supposed to hate Capulets."

"Do you?"

He sighed. "No. I've never hated anyone." I believed him. It's a rare person who doesn't feel hatred. I began to realize that beneath the whining exterior lay a true gem of a man.

"Juliet needs your help, Romeo. Will you help her?"

I waited for his answer. He had to agree. He just had to. I didn't know squat about the world outside Verona. Juliet and I would be caught as easily as blind chickens. But all my hopes were dashed with a single, sad shake of his head. "No, I cannot leave. What if Rosaline changes her mind?"

I got to my feet. He needed a wake-up call. "What are you saying? That you're going to lie in this room, moping over a woman who will never love you? She's dedicated her life to God. Don't you get it, Romeo? You're wasting
your
life in a totally dead-end relationship." How could I get through to him? I felt the walls of the orange and black room closing in on me. Time was running out. "You said that you were trapped. That's a terrible way to feel. I know the feeling all too well. We might all be trapped."

"Trapped?"

"Totally and completely
trapped"
I said. "I don't even know if Troy and I can get home. We might have to start a new life here or outside Verona. But what I do know is that Juliet can't stay here. She has a chance for freedom." I turned to him. "Anyone who helps her might be in danger, and who am I to ask you to take such a risk? I just thought you might like to get away from this place for a while. Get away from all the heartache and all the feuding." I folded my arms around my knees. "She's not even fourteen, Romeo. They are selling her body and she's not even fourteen."

"Rosaline is only fourteen." Romeo stood, straightening to his full height. I hadn't realized he was so tall or broad shouldered. "I would kill the man who tried to sell her body." He walked over to a trunk and took out a velvet bag, then filled it with coins. He tied the bag to his belt. "I shall help this girl. When do we leave?"

"Really?"
I leaped to my feet. "You'll help?" He nodded and I threw my arms around him. At that moment, Romeo Montague, a secondary character of little appeal, was promoted to heroic leading man. "We need to leave right away. Let's go find Troy."

Thanks to Mercutio's voice I knew where to find the guys. His falsetto waltzed down the hallway as he reworked Troy's song.

Girl, thou hath me ringing, girl, thou hath me dinging

The bells of love, the bells of love.

Girl, thou hath me sharing, girl, thou hath me swearing,

The vows of love, the vows of love.

Girl, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, girl.

I'm speaking of thee, girl.

Mercutio had completely transformed the song, slowing down its original hip-hop rhythm. He stopped singing to play a flute solo while Troy strummed a mandolin. I felt so much better in my clean clothes and soft boots. With Romeo at my side I had a good chance of pulling this off. I hummed as I stepped into the courtyard.

Suddenly, it felt as if someone had stabbed me in the gut.
For there sat Benvolio, on a bench at the edge of the courtyard, with a woman on his lap.

And he was kissing her.

***

"The course of true love never did run smooth
.
"

T
orchlight silhouetted Benvolio's classical profile as he whispered in an ear that was not mine. The woman giggled.

I just stood there, hoping that I was staring at a man who simply looked like Benvolio.
Maybe his identical twin, but not
my
Benvolio.

He didn't notice me at first, since I was dressed like a man. But others noticed. "Romeo, you have emerged. And who is this?" Mercutio asked, twirling his flute like a baton.
"A lamb in wolf's clothing."

"Mimi?" Troy asked.

Benvolio roughly pushed the woman away. "Go," he told her. She stopped giggling and ran from the courtyard. Rising on his long legs, Benvolio strode toward me. He took both my hands in his and kissed them. I let him because I could feel Troy's eyes burning into my back. I decided to play it cool.

"Mimi," Benvolio cooed. "Your beauty makes the torches burn brighter."

Hello? You already said that to me.
That must have been his standard pickup line.

Mr. Shakespeare once wrote that "jealousy is a green-eyed monster that doth mock the meat it feeds upon." In other words, it can make a perfectly rational person act like an idiot. I controlled my urge to scream at Benvolio. Maybe even to slap him. Did I have a right to be jealous? We hadn't made any kind of commitment, had we?
Of course not.
Talk of marriage isn't the same thing as actually agreeing to marriage. Marriage wasn't what I wanted anyway. I just wanted a boyfriend, even if he was from the sixteenth century.
A nice, loving, loyal boyfriend.
Was that too much to ask?

"I did not see you come in," he explained.
Obviously.
"Why are you dressed in that manner?" He circled me like a tiger. Hadn't he ever seen a woman in pants?

"Mimi," Romeo whispered. "I need to get a few things for our journey. I shall return momentarily." He left the courtyard.

Benvolio placed his hand on my waist and guided me to his love bench. A trellised lemon tree climbed the wall behind us. "Mimi," he said, sitting so close I could feel the heat of his thigh. His words were entwined with the scent of warm lemon peel. "Cupid pierced my heart the moment I first saw you in the apricot orchard." What might have sounded flattering before I had found him in a liplock now just sounded slick and
rehearsed.
"Have you given any thought to my proposal?"

"Uh, can we talk?" I asked, hoping to go someplace where Troy couldn't hear. Though he pretended to be absorbed in his music, his gaze kept darting my way.

Benvolio's smile was stiff.
"Of course."
He led me around the garden wall and under an archway to a room lined with shelves of linens. "We haven't much time. I must lead the guard on night duty."

"About your proposal..."

"Mimi," was all he said. Then he kissed me.

Okay, so I was mad at him, but I had also been lusting after him since the moment we met. I couldn't help myself. I kissed him back, and he kissed me back, and we kissed and kissed and kissed until I thought my lips would swell up like balloons and burst.

Until I thought my eyeballs would roll backward, not from ecstasy, but from sheer boredom.

That's right
--
sheer boredom.

Surprised? So was I! What in the world was wrong with me? How could I find a man like Benvolio
--
a man with black curly hair and chocolate eyes and the face and body of a Roman god, boring? But the kisses felt empty. I don't know how else to explain it. Add to my growing list of things to discuss with Dr. Harmony, the possibility that I'm a total lesbian. That would just about kill my mother.

"You will become my wife then?" he asked, taking a quick breather.

Uh oh.
I supposed that kissing in a linen closet in the sixteenth century meant that we were officially engaged. I put my hands against his chest, trying to force some space between us. "I'm not ready to get married, Benvolio."

That seemed to amuse him. "You're as ready as any woman." He grabbed my butt with one hand and began kissing me again. His other hand started untying my shirt. I tried to pull away but he pressed against me with his weight, pushing me into one of the linen shelves. I tried to yell at him but his mouth completely covered mine. He was hurting me. I had to get away. I raised my knee, hoping to drive it into his crotch, but he twisted sideways. That twist gave me an opportunity.
"Stop!"
I cried. His hand clamped over my mouth and he pushed me onto the floor. Then he kicked the door shut.

"Don't fight, Mimi," he whispered. "There's passion between us. You can't deny it. We don't have to wait until our wedding night." And then he was on top of me, and I realized that I was about to be raped. How could this be happening? My mind raced, my hands searched the air for something to grab on to,
something
I could use to fend him off.