Till Death Do Us Part: A Paranormal Why Choose Romance (Vows Duet Book 1)

Chapter 36

Chapter 36

724 Years Ago

“On Thursday, sir? That is not long from now.”

I lift a brow at Friar Lawrence’s hesitation. “My future wife’s father will have it so, and I am not about to argue marrying Juliet sooner than later.”

Even then, his reluctance remains, and I turn over the conversation I had with Lord Capulet not an hour ago. His grief over the death of Tybalt has grown into anger, causing him to lash out at Lady Capulet and Juliet herself. As soon as I saw it with my own eyes, I knew I must intercede. He was all too happy to be rid of an agonizing Juliet.

Friar Lawrence clears his throat, looking lost in thought. “You say you do not know how Juliet feels about this marriage? That does not bode well. I do not like it.”

I call up the words of Lord Capulet, frustrated that all of this could be circumvented by Juliet agreeing to be my wife, the way I know she yearns to. “Juliet weeps without ceasing since Tybalt’s death. She is not in a place to declare her love for me, for romance cannot flourish through tears. Lord Capulet considers it dangerous that she is succumbing to sorrow and, in his wisdom, has chosen to hasten our marriage to assuage her tears and keep her from sequestering herself, making things worse. Now do you understand?”

He mumbles something under his breath, his attention darting away from me as a door shuts. “Look, sir, here comes the lady now.”

My heart leaps in my chest as I turn to see her, and then tumbles down into my belly at the look of sorrow on her face. “I am happy to see you, my lady and my wife,” I say gently, taking her hand and pressing a kiss to it.

Juliet makes a soft whimpering sound in her throat, causing me to study her face closer. Her pain is so great that I can see it, like a living thing, in space around her. While I grieve for my cousin, Mercutio, killed in the same duel that took her cousin’s life, it does not seem as strong as hers does. Even so, I can see the way she seems torn in regards to me, wanting both to run away and run toward me, as she did in that alleyway only two days ago.

“I am not yet a wife to you, Paris,” she murmurs.

“That ‘not yet’ will be, love, on Thursday,” I tell her, watching her reaction.

She sends a look toward Friar Lawrence, full of confusion and panic. “If it has already been decided, then I have not a say,” she answers, her tone at odds with her demeanor.

“That’s a certain truth,” Friar Lawrence agrees, muttering again.

I furrow my brow, eyes darting between them as they exchange another look. Uneasy about the loaded nature of their gazing, I step between them, capturing Juliet’s attention fully—as it should be.

“Have you come for confession?” I ask, lowering my voice. With a soft touch, I graze my fingers over hers, a little sigh of relief leaving me when she latches onto my hand with a tight, needy grip.

Almost as fast as she took my hand, she drops it, taking two quick steps back with an anxious look in her eyes. “If I were to answer that, I might as well confess to you instead.”

The words are tossed at me, laced with frustration and anger.

“Do not deny you feel something for me,” I plea quietly. Friar Lawrence’s feet make noise as he shuffles behind me. “Do not deny that you love me, Juliet.”

Juliet searches my eyes before her jaw clenches. “I will confess that I love deeply of many, including my slain cousin, Tybalt,” she says, avoiding giving me what I am looking for.

“I am sure you will confess of your love for me also,” I reply, lifting a brow.

“If I confess that, it will be worth more said in confession than to your face.”

I reel back at the way she slings words like weapons, but I do not anger. She is in a vulnerable state, lost in her mourning. I move forward, not allowing her to flee when she registers I am hunting her. I put a firm hand under her chin, lifting it so I can study her face.

“My Juliet,” I murmur. “You have cried so much.”

Her eyes flash with anger again, but she leans into my touch, softening a bit. “The tears have not done anything so drastic. My face was already unattractive.”

An animal-like snarl leaves me at her self-pity, surprising both of us. “You disparage yourself with such words,” I say firmly.

I feel the tremble in her jaw under my grip. “Those words are truth,” she whispers, eyes filling with tears once more, “and I already knew it to be less pretty than other ladies in this city.”

My grip slips and then tightens around her throat, the action beyond my control. Her upset falters, leaving a trace of desire, obedient to my authority, in its wake.

“Your face is mine,” I rumble in warning, reminding her who is in control by flexing my hand. “I will not tolerate you slandering that which belongs to me.”

Her eyes flutter shut and lips part with a gasp. “Maybe so, since my face belongs to me no longer,” she breathes, her breath hitching when my free hand grazes across her clavicle. Her walls are crumbling and I can see a path in to win her over for good. If I must take her before our wedding night, right here in the sanctuary of the church to prove my love, I will do so.

Friar Lawrence clears his throat, disturbing our moment. As if coming back to herself, her eyes snap open and Juliet bats at my hand, dislodging it. She sidesteps me to go to the friar, gnawing on her lip as she casts me a torn look.

Her eyes stay on me, though she speaks to him. “Are you free now, Friar Lawrence, or shall I come to you at evening mass?”

He gestures toward the front of the room where the large cross awaits her confession. “I have time now, sorrowful daughter,” he tells her, then turns to me.

For the first time during this conversation, I see deception from the holy man. There is a lie living within the murky depths of his warm, brown eyes. He is hiding something.

Friar Lawrence nods at me when I do not make to leave. “My lord, I must ask you to depart so that I may have time alone with Juliet,” he says, clasping his hands together.

A flare of anger surges through me. Here, he hides a truth from me, and by the looks of Juliet, she is aware of it. I wish to take her away from him, to keep her from being further embroiled in whatever plot he has become mixed up in.

“God forbid I should interrupt confession,” I say, and I cannot keep the contempt from leaking into my voice. I give my future wife a hard look and once again go to her, seizing her with gentle hands before she can escape me. “Juliet, I will wake you early on Thursday. Until then, a holy kiss to remember me by.”

I take her mouth with mine, uncaring that Friar Lawrence is within reaching distance. Stiff at first touch, Juliet’s lips soften almost immediately, responding to the way I assert control. One of her hands finds my face while the other clutches at my coat, pulling me closer. Her mouth opens for me, letting me in so that I may claim it, wresting a groan from me. My tongue strokes against hers and a small noise full of pleasure is caught in my mouth.

In this moment, I can feel the way Juliet holds herself back. Her affection is on display—her love is present, and it makes me grin into our kiss.

A third hand touches me, this one prying as it pushes me away. “Holy kiss, this is not,” Friar Lawrence snaps as he forces Juliet and me away from one another. I relish in the way her fingertips drag against my skin as we are separated, knowing she is clinging to me as much I wish to with her.

The moment our connection is fully broken, horror crosses her features, tears filling her eyes. Stunned by her reaction, especially following the way she clung to me during our kiss, I do not move as Friar Lawrence ushers her toward the cross.

“I must ask you to depart so that I may have time alone with Juliet,” he repeats over her cries, dismissing me with a shooing hand.

Not wanting to upset Juliet more than she already is, I take a steadying breath and walk away. In two days, I can soothe the pain she is in without interference.

In two days, she will be my wife.