one would have been a wife worth having.”
Jacopo sighed, then set his face in a stony grimace.
“I hear the dowry is enormous. Oh, if I had just moved more quickly, more cleverly . . .”
“Mama, please . . .”
“Your brothers wish you to attend them at their office this afternoon.”
“I cannot. I meet with Capello within the hour.”
This time her look was closer to disgust. She sighed dramatically. “I fear you have chosen your new partner as badly as you’ve chosen your wife. But who am I to say?” She turned to the cathedral doors. “Your brothers will be disappointed.”
She disappeared into the church, leaving Jacopo shaken, and I thought near tears. Humiliated twice in the space of an hour, he managed to compose himself, and his trembling reasserted itself into bitter black.
“Women,” he cursed, and strode away.
Danger, Juliet! I silently cried. This man is poison.
Then I cringed, thinking of my family’s hatred of hers. Was I any less lethal to her well-being than Jacopo?
Emerging from behind the door, I let the sun beat down on my head, praying for its power to gift me with intelligence, a way to win Juliet and live with her in the light, blessed by all, cursed by none.
I would find a way. I would.
Chapter Five
“H ave you any idea what a spectacle you made of yourself?” Lucrezia was bristling as we put distance between ourselves and our chaperone, walking down to the Arno as our bearers set a simple picnic on the riverbank. On a normal day my friend and I would be strolling arm in arm, our heads together, sharing a story or a laugh. But this was no ordinary day.
And I was in no ordinary state of mind.
“What harm have I done?” I replied, more a retort than a question. “I spoke with intelligence of Dante in a Dante symposium.”
“No, Juliet. Before a huge crowd of Florentines, you engaged quite passionately in a dialogue with a stranger . . . about love.”
To this I had neither answer nor retort, for it was altogether true.
“He was a stranger, was he not?” Lucrezia asked, prescient distrust creeping into her voice.
The moment of truth had arrived.
“No, not precisely.”
“O, sweet Jesu.” She turned me to face her. “Friend, what have you done?”
“Nothing. Nothing. Honestly, Lucrezia, there have been no improprieties.” I couldn’t help smiling to myself. “At least not yet.”
“Juliet!”
“You asked for the truth. Now you have it.”
“Who is he?”
I was rendered silent again, anticipating a further explosion at my answer, but there was no avoiding it. Lucrezia was searing me with her eyes.
“His name is Romeo.”
“I know no Romeos. Is he Florentine?”
“His family is. He’s been away at university. In Padua. Before that, he lived in Verona with his uncles.”
“I cannot believe this. Next you will be telling me the size of his foot. How do you know this man?”
I swallowed hard. “I met him at your betrothal ball.We spoke for a time in the garden.”
“Unchaperoned?”
“Yes, unchaperoned. But all we did was talk. Nothing untoward happened.”
“How could ‘nothing untoward’ have happened that night if its consequence was your outrageous display this afternoon?”
“There is something . . . ,” I said very softly.
“What?”
“There is something you should know about Romeo.” Then I went quiet, paralyzed with trepidation.
“Tell me, Juliet.”
“He is Romeo Monticecco.”
Lucrezia grew suddenly flushed. She said nothing, but I knew her mind was working furiously. Then she said, “That disturbance at the ball. I heard it was a Monticecco whom our kinsman chased from the house.”
“That was he.”
“ After you and he spent time alone, unchaperoned, in the Medici garden ‘simply talking’!”
Defiance suddenly flared in me. “If you want the whole truth . . . something more did happen.” I held Lucrezia’s searching gaze. “Love happened.”
My friend turned away then, confused and overcome. I
Jacopo sighed, then set his face in a stony grimace.
“I hear the dowry is enormous. Oh, if I had just moved more quickly, more cleverly . . .”
“Mama, please . . .”
“Your brothers wish you to attend them at their office this afternoon.”
“I cannot. I meet with Capello within the hour.”
This time her look was closer to disgust. She sighed dramatically. “I fear you have chosen your new partner as badly as you’ve chosen your wife. But who am I to say?” She turned to the cathedral doors. “Your brothers will be disappointed.”
She disappeared into the church, leaving Jacopo shaken, and I thought near tears. Humiliated twice in the space of an hour, he managed to compose himself, and his trembling reasserted itself into bitter black.
“Women,” he cursed, and strode away.
Danger, Juliet! I silently cried. This man is poison.
Then I cringed, thinking of my family’s hatred of hers. Was I any less lethal to her well-being than Jacopo?
Emerging from behind the door, I let the sun beat down on my head, praying for its power to gift me with intelligence, a way to win Juliet and live with her in the light, blessed by all, cursed by none.
I would find a way. I would.
Chapter Five
“H ave you any idea what a spectacle you made of yourself?” Lucrezia was bristling as we put distance between ourselves and our chaperone, walking down to the Arno as our bearers set a simple picnic on the riverbank. On a normal day my friend and I would be strolling arm in arm, our heads together, sharing a story or a laugh. But this was no ordinary day.
And I was in no ordinary state of mind.
“What harm have I done?” I replied, more a retort than a question. “I spoke with intelligence of Dante in a Dante symposium.”
“No, Juliet. Before a huge crowd of Florentines, you engaged quite passionately in a dialogue with a stranger . . . about love.”
To this I had neither answer nor retort, for it was altogether true.
“He was a stranger, was he not?” Lucrezia asked, prescient distrust creeping into her voice.
The moment of truth had arrived.
“No, not precisely.”
“O, sweet Jesu.” She turned me to face her. “Friend, what have you done?”
“Nothing. Nothing. Honestly, Lucrezia, there have been no improprieties.” I couldn’t help smiling to myself. “At least not yet.”
“Juliet!”
“You asked for the truth. Now you have it.”
“Who is he?”
I was rendered silent again, anticipating a further explosion at my answer, but there was no avoiding it. Lucrezia was searing me with her eyes.
“His name is Romeo.”
“I know no Romeos. Is he Florentine?”
“His family is. He’s been away at university. In Padua. Before that, he lived in Verona with his uncles.”
“I cannot believe this. Next you will be telling me the size of his foot. How do you know this man?”
I swallowed hard. “I met him at your betrothal ball.We spoke for a time in the garden.”
“Unchaperoned?”
“Yes, unchaperoned. But all we did was talk. Nothing untoward happened.”
“How could ‘nothing untoward’ have happened that night if its consequence was your outrageous display this afternoon?”
“There is something . . . ,” I said very softly.
“What?”
“There is something you should know about Romeo.” Then I went quiet, paralyzed with trepidation.
“Tell me, Juliet.”
“He is Romeo Monticecco.”
Lucrezia grew suddenly flushed. She said nothing, but I knew her mind was working furiously. Then she said, “That disturbance at the ball. I heard it was a Monticecco whom our kinsman chased from the house.”
“That was he.”
“ After you and he spent time alone, unchaperoned, in the Medici garden ‘simply talking’!”
Defiance suddenly flared in me. “If you want the whole truth . . . something more did happen.” I held Lucrezia’s searching gaze. “Love happened.”
My friend turned away then, confused and overcome. I
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