Chapter Eighteen

June 11, 1895
Monty Ranch, West Veronaville

In spite of everything, Mercutio found himself smiling as he watched Juliette pull herself off the bench and glide toward him. He couldn’t help it, it seemed; every time he saw her, his felt his face bursting like a firework, a shower of brightly-colored sparks where was once only the black void of the night sky. She just did that to him. He couldn’t explain it–not that he cared to. He liked it.

But as she drew close enough , he felt his smile fall. He hated to see her so broken.

“Jules–”

“Mercutio, don’t say anything,” she sighed, rolling her gray eyes–at least the action gave them a trace of life. “I can’t stay for very long. I shouldn’t even be here.”

“Never stopped you before,” he mused, noting that this was his grandfather’s property–Patrizio Monty’s property.

She didn’t even blink; her resolution was such that it needed no affirming gesture. “It’s different this time.”

Mercutio raised an eyebrow. “Jules… what happened? Did you find a husband?”

Slowly, she nodded. “My uncle, Kent. He’s only six years older than me, and he’s just looking for companionship. He’ll be good to me; he likes me, but not in that way.”

“Sounds better than your ten-year-old cousin, or your grandfather,” agreed Mercutio, though it did seem an odd idea to be agreeing to, or even considering at all.

Juliette shrugged, then turned around and began to walk away; even now, she appeared to be much further than she actually was. “Anyway, I’m not supposed to see you anymore. Since my aunt heard me telling you, they think it’s yours, you know? Not that I was supposed to see you before, but…”

There was no ‘but’, her silence told him. ‘But’ nothing. She simply was not supposed to see him.

And yet, here she was–that had to mean something.

“Jules!”

As she spun around, he strode toward her and clenched her hands in his own–softly enough not to hurt her, yet firmly enough to keep her close. “If that’s not what you want,” he began, considering each word with the delicacy she merited, “you can always just run. You can always just leave Veronaville… if you want.”

Gaping wordlessly, she shook her head. “I can’t leave. I’m thirteen and pregnant–how am I supposed to live if I go?”

It was true–the world was unkind to those of ill fortune. There would be no charity for her, as she would be dismissed as nothing but a harlot. Even a meager wage would be difficult for her to come across, and of course, she would not have the time to support herself and the child when the child actually came.

Unless…

“Let me come with you,” he offered as he wrapped his arms around her, twirling a lock of copper hair between his fingers. “I’ll take care of you, Jules; both of you.”

Juliette closed her eyes. “Mercutio…”

He didn’t let her finish.

He didn’t want to hear her protests; he wanted what was best for her, and it seemed she was resigned to her fate.

He didn’t know how long he kissed her–how passionately he kissed her. He couldn’t focus on the kiss when there were more pressing matters at hand. All he knew was that it wasn’t long enough; he wanted more. Needed more.

But before enough time had passed, she backed away. “That’s not your place, Mercutio. You did nothing wrong; you shouldn’t have to pay the price.”

“It’s not a price to me, Jules,” he muttered under his breath. “I always loved you.”

“It’s not your place to love me.”

It might have hurt less if she’d slapped him. At least that would not have lingered in his ears for days and weeks and months, as her words surely would. “You think your place is to tell me what is and isn’t mine?”

“No,” she assured him as she tread carefully around him, her shoulder brushing against his. “My place is here. I hope yours is better.”

NEXT CHAPTER:

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