Chapter 54
Late in the morning of my second wedding to the same man, Mamma had to wake me. Not surprisingly, I was exhausted. And happy. When I opened my eyes and saw her smiling face, the first face I had ever seen in this world, I was even more happy.
Mamma, my blood sisters, both of my grandmothers, Princess Isabella, and, oh yes, Nurse helped me to my feet and broke my fast with tiny bits and bites they fed me by hand, as if I was a babe again.
I’m pretty sure that by now everyone either knew we’d had a secret wedding or simply assumed we’d done the horizontal bassa danza recently and illicitly, because there were jokes and gleeful smiles and such a loving atmosphere.
I found myself taken from my warm bed into the frigid air, where a series of braziers offered heat, but not enough, and plunged into a tub of warm water and bathing salts with scents of rose and lavender.
The rose scent woke my memories of the previous night, and those made me blush, although I claimed the color in my cheeks was the result of the heated bath.
I suspect I fooled no one.
Nurse took a soap and a rag and scrubbed me until my skin lost its top layer and the most delicate new growth glowed, which, by the way, hurt like a son of a bitch.
Next, my dear darling family and friends revealed my gown. …
Gentle reader, I could scarcely catch my breath.
I knew without a doubt there had been arguments and consultations and much forethought put into the color, which would serve as a backdrop for my dark coloring.
They had chosen a rich yellow-gold, a heavy velvet for the skirt and a lush Catanzaro silk for the bodice.
I’m not tall, so little ornamentation distracted from the clean lines, but the sleeves that they presented to me …
Oh, by the dear, sweet Virgin, what magnificent works of art those were!
A rich black velvet embroidered with gold thread and silver glass beads, which would, when laced to the bodice, drape over my arms in a magnificent array, and—this is the important part—all the work had been done with love by my family and Nurse.
Every stitch, every bead, every carefully created floral decoration.
I wept those kinds of tears that don’t convulse with grief or exalt in joy, but trickle down your cheeks like a cleansing waterfall and leave only pleasure behind.
My sisters hauled me out of the tub. They quickly dried me—it was a race to make sure the water droplets didn’t freeze on my skin—and dressed me, and while they did, Imogene kept up a brisk commentary on why I should return every chance I got to Casa Montague, else organizational disaster occur.
Katherina sniped at her, since she was the next in line to handle the household.
She held my handwritten instructions … not that they would cover every eventuality, but she didn’t know that.
Or perhaps she did. Not that it mattered.
She was a smart girl, smarter even than me, and she’d figure it all out.
Emilia informed me that Cesario had been called back to the palace, not merely to handle the boy cousins but also to attend to Prince Escalus, and she hoped Cesario refrained from tripping Cal or farting as loudly as Papà.
I may have mentioned this previously, but Emilia and Cesario had an issue with their sibling relationship. The wedding preparations had kept them busy and happy and apart, or our youngsters would show the Montagues and the Capulets how to fight. Those two … Can you say sibling rivalry?
“Are you perturbed that you, too, weren’t called to the palace?” I asked.
To my surprise, Emilia slipped her hand into mine. “I wanted to be here for you. Rosie, I’m your sister, and you need my support.”
I cried a little more and hugged her. “I do.”
“Besides, I get to be a bridesmaid and dress like you.” She smoothed her yellow-gold skirt. To confuse any lurking evil spirits, all the girls were dressed like me, in similar colors and fabrics, nothing as elaborate as mine, but they were beautiful, and I felt emotion swell in my bosom.
Princess Isabella presented me with her gift, a swathe of pale silk to hang around the marital bed as curtains. “I thought they would blow in the breeze and, until you change everything, enhance Cal’s dreary bedchamber and lighten your heart as you assume your duties.”
“Mille grazie … Do you believe Cal will allow me to change everything?”
“Not without a fight,” Isabella said cheerfully. I suspected she looked forward to the clash.
My hair we left loose as a symbol of purity—merely a little late—and I was once again put into my prince-given cloak, new hat, and leather gloves.
Nonna Ursula had sent a luxurious fall of lace, to be placed over my head as a veil, another indicator of virtue and modesty, and my female relatives escorted me to the luxurious sedan chair marked with the Leonardi crest. Behind it, more sedan chairs waited to carry them to the Basilica di San Zeno Maggiore.
Dressed in his best, Papà joined me. He beamed. “Ready?”
“Yes,” I whispered and waved to the family clustered on the steps of Casa Montague. They cheered and threw kisses, and the tears that this morning seemed so close pressed at the backs of my eyes.
I would not be coming back here to live, to the home where I’d grown up and which I loved so much.
Papà lowered the curtains—I was the bride and as such should be protected from prying eyes—and at that signal, the bearers lifted the chair and ran toward the church.
Overcome, I began to weep in earnest, but as always, Papà knew how to distract me from my sorrow.
He farted.
“Papà!” I flung back the curtains. “Today? Really? Today?”
He beamed. “It always stopped your sisters from crying. I suppose I’ll have to do it for Katherina, Imogene, and Emilia, too.” He waved his hand back and forth to clear the air. “I don’t mind the smell, but it hurts my eyes.”
Upon hearing this oft-repeated bit of fatherly wisdom, I couldn’t help myself. I laughed.
He farted again, and the “modest” bride hung her head out of the sedan chair like a puppy enjoying the ride.
The crowds lining the streets loved it. They ran beside us, handed me flowers, shouted, “Lady Rosaline!” and “Our princess!” and in general made a dark, cold day into a party.
Before I arrived at the church, Papà pulled me inside the sedan chair (after promising not to fart again) and shut the curtains so that we were appropriate for the solemn occasion.
When we halted, I was told to wait for my sisters to descend in their look-alike gowns.
On a signal, the bearers set the step, and Papà exited.
He pushed the curtains aside and held out his hand to me, and I took a quick glance at the scene outside the basilica.
Our family’s beloved church dominated the square with its cream stone and rose marble, and there on the steps where all could witness this event, I would be married.
An aisle had been created for me through the milling crowd, and on either side, Montagues and Capulets stood crowded together, shuffling and shoving, as if a little hostility might warm the air.
Behind them were friends and nobles, and behind them stood my beloved citizens of Verona, the ones who had come early enough to get a place to stand.
On the basilica steps I could see Friar Laurence and Friar Camillo in their vestments, looking appropriately official.
Beside them, Prince Escalus waited, his bodyguards behind him.
In honor of the happy occasion, Cal wore a royal purple jerkin lined in white fur over his usual black clothing.
Way to liven it up, Cal.
I carefully descended. It would not do to trip and land on my face; that would give Lady Luce too much pleasure.
Escorted by Papà, I followed my flight of sisters (and dear Princess Isabella) through the jolly crowds toward my groom.
We passed Fiametta and Chandrika, who were holding hands like lovers.
At the very front were my grandmothers, Nonna Ursula and Lady Pulissena.
In front of them, Mamma stood smiling, and yet her lower lip trembled as she watched her girls ascend the steps.
I broke protocol and my grip on Papà’s hand and went to kneel for her blessing.
She kissed my forehead and cupped my face. “My darling girl, my little grace of wisdom given to me by the Blessed Virgin, my one wish is for you to be happy.”
“Mamma,” I whispered, “I discovered there’s more than one way to be legendary lovers.”
She laughed for joy, kissed both my cheeks, helped me to stand, and handed me back to Papà.
We climbed the stairs.
Prince Escalus stepped forward; Papà put my hand in his and gave us his fatherly blessing.
Cal pressed his lips to Papà’s hand in thanks for his benevolence in giving him his daughter.
By this point, my sentimental and overly dramatic father also had tears in his eyes, so I whispered in his ear, “Papà, I love you.”
He retreated to stand next to Mamma.
Cal and I and our attendants faced Friar Laurence, Friar Camillo, and God Himself. We recited our vows in clear voices so all of Verona could hear and bear witness, and so we were married.
I expected my somber and stodgy groom to kiss me in public with dignified restraint, but, gentle reader, in that I was mistaken.
Upon lifting my veil to reveal my face, Prince Escalus of the house of Leonardi gazed at me with such great catlike triumph and raw possession, I had only a few seconds’ warning before he snatched me to his chest, bent me back, and kissed me with such need and desire I had no choice but to return it to him redoubled.
By the time we came up for air, the square rang with cheers and laughter. Families and citizens threw their caps in the air and embraced in their own jubilant celebrations. Friar Laurence chuckled, and Friar Camillo smiled as if slightly shocked.
Cal removed my left glove and lifted my hand into the air in victory.
The diamond ring glittered as brightly as the sun, bringing forth gasps and yet more cheers, and as we held hands, an omen, a prophecy, and a heavenly blessing were given to us as the first pure white flakes of snow drifted down through the air.