Chapter Two

February 23, 1895
Monty Ranch, West Veronaville

Whenever Juliette thought of parties, she preferred to remember the birthday celebrations of old, when she’d been only a little girl–silly hats, stupid games, and more sugar than any child ever needed. Following her parents’ deaths, she and her siblings had gone to live with their grandfather in his manor, where any “party” thrown could not have been more different than those of her early childhood–not at all.

No, Consort’s idea of a party was an occasion on which several grown men–all of the Elite class, of course–gathered, without their wives and children, and simply drank until they were no better than animals. After a sufficient amount of alcohol had been consumed, Consort liked to hire a few prostitutes to hang around the estate, at the disposal of anyone who wanted them, as casual and nonchalant as if they were clowns or thespians or some other form of paid entertainment. Little though she liked the idea of the whores, however, Juliette had to admit that their presence at these get-togethers was in her best interests; after making his rounds with them, Consort lacked the strength, energy, and sheer drive to come banging on Juliette’s locked bedroom door, demanding entrance.

But the men were still at the manor, drinking and copulating with the courtesans, and every woman in the family knew that the only worse thing than being around a drunk, horny Consort or a drunk, horny Albany was being around a drunk, horny Consort and a drunk, horny Albany at the same time. Perhaps if Kent–or, now that he was back, Cornwall–had been present, Juliette might have stayed, as they were the only two men capable of protecting her and her sister from the vile lecheries of the others, but as ill fortune would have it, neither of them frequented such parties.

So it was that Juliette slipped away and sought refuge on the roof of the home of Patrizio Monty himself; she figured the house of her grandfather’s great rival was the safest place to hide from her grandfather himself. Besides, every girl knew that Patrizio’s grandson Romeo was the absolute cutest boy in all of Veronaville.

“Jules? What are you doing here?”

Juliette’s eyes flickered open to reveal Patrizio’s other grandson, Mercutio. He was about three years older than she was, the perfect age at which to find her a nuisance. She’d met him by chance one day in the park near the river several years ago, shortly after both had lost their parents–in fact, her father had killed his mother, prompting his father to kill her father and then himself, which in turn had led to her own mother killing herself. Add that to the class difference, and the fact that her grandfather and his grandfather were archenemies, it seemed absolutely impossible that the two could even stand each other.

But on the contrary, he was her best friend; she only hoped that Consort never found out.

“Nothing,” she lied, grimacing as he approached. There were some things, Juliette knew, that she couldn’t tell even Mercutio–what happened in Consort’s house stayed in Consort’s house.

Chuckling softly, Mercutio shook his head. “Seriously–it’s two in the morning and you’re on my roof, and you live all the way across town. Is something wrong?”

“No,” stressed Juliette once more. “I was just bored, all right? Stop pestering me!”

“Jules, no thirteen-year-old girl in her right mind goes to the other side of town at this time of night and sits on her grandfather’s enemy’s roof just because she’s bored.”

Juliette sniffed; she appreciated his concern, but it was the last thing she needed. “Well, I do. Got a problem with that?” she added boldly, trying to sound tough like her brother often did.

Despite himself, a slight grin emerged on Mercutio’s face. “You shitting me? There’s a pretty girl on my roof!”

“Go tell your brother that,” she teased him, giggling as he cringed. Oh, Romeo! Every girl in town liked Romeo… well, except for Miranda, but Miranda hated everybody, so she didn’t count. Juliette just couldn’t keep her mind off that boy, with his silky dark hair and his adorable hat…

Setting himself down beside her, Mercutio shook his head. “Sorry Jules, but I don’t think you’re… his type,” he finished hurriedly, coughing slightly as he did.

“And his type is…?” Juliette pried.

For some reason, Mercutio scowled defensively. “Does it matter?” he snapped. “We’re all human, you know! Just because my brother…”

He trailed off as suddenly as he had began. “Sorry,” muttered Mercutio hastily. “Er… I don’t know what Romeo’s type is.”

Juliette rolled her eyes. “You’re so odd sometimes.”

Apparently, he chose to ignore her comment this time. “Juliette, are you sure there’s nothing you want to talk about?”

Either he was too smart to believe her when she told him she was fine, or too stupid to leave her alone. She really couldn’t decide–either way, she had to tell him something to make him shut up.

“Mercutio…” she addressed him cautiously. “I just… need a place to sit and think.”

He frowned. She wasn’t sure if he bought her excuse entirely, but he closed his eyes and nodded. “Come here, Jules.”

Shrugging, she scooted towards him, allowing him to wrap his strong arms around her and whisper in her ear.

“Think all you want, Jules,” he told her, “think all you want.”

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