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Tap tap.
Tap tap tap tap tap tap tap.
“Capulet, wake up!”
Rosaline, who was halfway to her balcony doors by the time his whisper sounded, quickly flings the door open. “Ben—”
The sight of him robs her of her words, and she breaks off with a gasp, her hands first coming over her mouth, then gently to his face.
He is battered and bruised, with a black eye and a bloodied lip. His eyes are a storm of anger, hurt, and desperation. She immediately pulls him into her arms, tenderly but securely, cradling his head against her shoulder.
“Why?” she asks, lightly running her fingertips through his hair. She knows who, but wants to know what was so serious that he and his uncle came to blows.
“He wanted me to marry Lord Minola’s daughter.” He lifts his head. “I refused, and he… he knew why. He said—” He abruptly cuts himself off, not wishing to say more.
“What did he say?” she presses. She needs to hear.
He purses his lips, and, knowing he cannot refuse her, says, “He called you ‘that Capulet whore’. So I punched him.”
"Confirming his suspicions,” she replies, and he nods, sweetly pecking her lips.
“I need to leave Verona,” he says, dropping his forehead against hers. “I have to get away from him.”
She pulls back, looking up at him, her face a question.
“Come with me,” he answers, gathering her hands in his. “Leave this awful place, with its awful people and awful, pointless feud. Come away with me where we can be together without anyone trying to pull us apart.”
Rosaline opens her mouth, but before she can say anything, a soft noise from the courtyard below reaches her ears. She steps out onto the balcony and sees Benvolio’s horse below.
She whirls around. “Tonight? Now?”
“We can ride until we find the first house of God outside of Verona. We can ask for shelter for the night, and then marry in the morning,” he says, drawing her back inside, where it is warm, and closes the balcony doors.
She blinks. “Are you asking me or telling me?”
He holds her gaze. “Telling you,” he answers.
She huffs an incredulous laugh, then turns her gaze towards the doors again. “I can’t just leave tonight,” she says.
“Why not? There is nothing holding you here. You despise your aunt, your uncle is useless…”
“My sister.”
“Your sister is living with her new husband.”
Livia married two weeks ago. She and her husband Lucio, the third son of the very minor Lord Bartollo, have a very small villa just far enough away from the Capulet villa to be away. They invited Rosaline to move in with them, but she declined, saying they should have time to themselves. Plus, if she moved in with them, there would be no bedroom available for a baby.
“She is still my sister,” Rosaline insists. “She may not live in this house, but she is the only person in this town, apart from you, who truly cares about me. I cannot leave without first telling her. I’m sorry.” He frowns, but nods, understanding. “Two days?” she asks.
“Hmm?”
“Can you give me two days? The St. Valentine’s Day Ball is in two days. We can slip away during the festivities and no one will be the wiser,” she proposes.
He nods. “I am sure Mercutio will allow me to stay with him until then,” he says. “I cannot – will not – return to my uncle’s house. Not this time.”
“This time? So this has happened before?” she asks, lightly stroking his swollen lower lip.
“Romeo used to protect me,” he answers, nodding. “Well, he used to try.”
She pulls him into her arms again, not to pity but to comfort. To assure him that he will never have to deal with his abusive uncle again.
“Your aunt does not beat you, does she?” he quietly asks, his face against her neck.
“No. She would not sully her hands by doing anything physical with them. Her words are her weapons,” she answers.
“Sometimes those are more painful,” he replies, lifting his head. Looking into her eyes, he says, “Two days.”
“Two days,” she confirms. “I will make a plan.”
“And tell your sister,” he adds.
xXx
Livia was sad, but understood. Especially because Rosaline was moved to tears when explaining Benvolio’s appearance and demeanor the previous night.
“I will help you in any way I can,” Livia promised, wiping away her own tears. She was shocked and saddened, but completely understood. “Tell me your plan.”
It was a simple plan. Benvolio was to wait with their horses at the Bartollo villa, which is conveniently close to the palace. Rosaline will slip out at a to-be-determined opportune time, flee to Livia’s, and ride off under the moonlight with her betrothed.
Benvolio shared the plan with Mercutio, but not Romeo. After discussing it with Rosaline, they decided that while they trust Romeo, they are not completely certain that he would not break if his father applied enough pressure. Benvolio assured her that Mercutio, being neither a Montague nor a Capulet, would have no qualms about lying to Lord Montague while looking directly into the man’s eyes.
Benvolio also hated the plan, because all he has to do is wait. He hates waiting.
Rosaline and Benvolio were also very careful to avoid one another during the two day period. Apart from one secret meeting at Livia’s, they did not see each other at all.
xXx
“You are only being allowed to attend this ball tonight because I have it on good authority that your young Montague has been disowned,” Sylvestro Capulet says in the carriage on the way to the Valentine’s Ball. “Word is Damiano threw him out when he refused to marry Minola’s daughter,” he adds, giving her a very pointed look.
Rosaline knows perfectly well that Lord Montague did not throw Benvolio out. He left of his own volition. But she merely says, “Yes, Uncle,” and continues staring out the carriage window.
“He may not even be in Verona anymore,” Giuliana chimes in. “He hasn’t been seen in the brothels or the pubs in two days.”
Rosaline doesn’t miss her aunt’s implications, but refuses to be baited. She also knows that Benvolio hasn’t been to the brothels since the previous summer at the latest. She simply gives a noncommittal shrug.
Lady Capulet switches tactics, determined to get under her niece’s skin one way or another. “For God’s sake, Rosaline, you could have put a little more effort into your appearance tonight,” she huffs, sneering at Rosaline’s fairly plain gown and simple hairstyle. “You will have no hope of attracting a suitable husband by attending society affairs looking like a common serving girl.”
“She doesn’t want a suitable husband; she wants that Montague trash,” Lord Capulet mutters, but it is loud enough for Rosaline to hear.
“I do not especially want any husband,” Rosaline answers, still looking out the window. “I am thinking of going to the convent.”
That shocks her aunt and uncle into a stunned silence that lasts just long enough to finish the trip.
The carriage comes to a stop outside the palace, and the Capulets silently make their way inside and to the ballroom. Rosaline takes a deep breath, determined to maintain her composure, act natural, and behave as though everything is normal.
In truth, she is on high alert, looking for her perfect opportunity to escape.
She looks around the ballroom and sees the familiar faces that are smiling and laughing and behaving as if Verona wasn’t an awful place filled with awful people. Terrible, shallow, selfish people.
Then she spies Juliet, now just visibly pregnant and glowing in a dusky pink dress, clinging to Romeo’s arm, smiling.
It is the only genuine smile Rosaline sees, and she feels a brief pang of guilt for abandoning her cousin without warning. Juliet is one of the few bright spots in this place. Romeo doesn’t seem bad either. She barely knows him, but he makes her dear cousin happy, so she figures he must be a good person. Despite who his father is.
Speaking of that awful man, Rosaline spots him near the dais, where the prince and princess are receiving guests. He’s giving dirty looks to her uncle, who is a few places ahead of him in line.
“Ugh,” she groans, plucking a glass of champagne from the tray of a passing servant. As much as she wants to just down the entire thing and reach for a second, she sips it. She needs a clear head tonight.
She waves at Juliet, then joins the receiving line.
When she reaches the dais, she curtseys and waits.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, Lady Rosaline,” Prince Escalus greets, sounding as stilted as he always does when he talks to her now.
Rosaline returns the sentiment, greets Princess Isabella, and says, “Lucio and Livia Bartollo send their regrets. Livia is under the weather today, and Lucio would not leave his beloved wife to attend a Valentine ball alone.”
“Understood,” Escalus replies. He opens his mouth like he is about to say more, but Isabella interjects.
“It is good to see how happy she is,” she says. It sounds just a little to bright and loud, like she knew what her brother was about to say and decided to stop him. “She deserves to be happy. You both do.”
“Thank you, your grace,” Rosaline replies. She curtseys once more, then moves along.
She stays to the fringes of the party, always staying within easy access to doorways.
This is really boring.
A few people ask her to dance. She politely declines each one, knowing she is only further angering her aunt but not caring. She talks to Juliet, but few others. She strenuously avoids her aunt and uncle.
Then, at ten p.m., Escalus appears on the dais once more, standing, his arms outstretched. The music stops.
“If I may have everyone’s attention,” he calls. “I have an announcement to make.”
The crowd moves, pressing en masse towards the dais, everyone wishing to know what their prince has to say.
Everyone wishing to make sure their prince sees them appearing to wish to know what he has to say.
Rosaline moves with them, but deliberately hangs back, allowing anyone who wishes to stand in front of her to do so.
“I thought tonight, at the Valentine’s Day Ball, would be the perfect opportunity to officially announce that Verona and Venice will be henceforth allied through my marriage to the doge’s sister, Lady Vittoria Donato,” he says. He extends his hand, and a lovely young brunette walks out from behind a curtain and steps up to join him on the dais.
While all eyes are on Lady Vittoria, Rosaline silently slips away into the night. The sound of the door closing behind her is muffled by the applause that rises up when the prince chastely kisses his betrothed.
xXx
“It’s about time,” Benvolio exhales when Rosaline finally appears through the back door of the house, into the kitchen where he is waiting. She flies into his arms, hugging him tightly. “You still want to do this?” he asks.
She kisses him soundly, then says, “More than anything. I have had it with this place.”
“Did you leave a note for your aunt and uncle?” he asks, lifting her hands to his lips.
“No. I thought about it, but didn’t see the point. They may be a lot of things, but they aren’t fools. They’ll know what happened to me,” she answers. “Did you get my bag?”
“Of course,” he replies. She had packed a bag and left it on her balcony for him to retrieve on his way here. “I will ready the horses. Go say goodbye to your sister,” he says, kissing her forehead.
Rosaline nods, then leaves him to go into the main part of the house, then climbing the stairs to Livia’s bedroom, where her sister truly is convalescing with a bad cold.
“You made it!” Livia weakly exclaims, then starts coughing. Lucio hands her a mug, which she sips.
“Escalus unwittingly helped,” Rosaline says, sitting on the edge of her sister’s bed. “He’s getting married to the doge’s sister and decided it would be romantic to announce it at the Valentine’s ball.”
“Romantic indeed,” Livia replies, rolling her eyes. “Does he actually love her or is it… what is his phrase? ‘For the good of Verona’?”
“He announced it like a political move. Said something about an alliance,” Rosaline answers.
“Definitely political,” Lucio quietly comments. “There have been rumors.”
Rosaline nods, then says, “I left immediately after the initial announcement, because I knew it was my best opportunity to flee.”
“Smart,” Livia says, setting her mug aside. “You will write when you find a place to stay?”
“You know I will,” Rosaline promises.
“I will not breathe a word of your whereabouts to our aunt and uncle. Unless, for some reason, you say I may,” Livia vows in return.
“Thank you,” Rosaline responds. She leans over her sister and hugs her tightly. “I am going to miss you so much. Please help Juliet understand.”
“I’m going to miss you, too,” Livia answers. “I will make sure to give her the letter you wrote.” She pulls away from her sister. “She will understand. Probably better than anyone.”
Rosaline nods, wiping her eyes. “Unfortunately, Sylvestro and Giuliana do not love me as unconditionally as they do Juliet, so I would not be as easily forgiven.”
“Which is why you need to leave,” Livia says. “Go now. Be happy.”
“Thank you,” Rosaline replies, hugging her sister again.
“And if you find you’re not happy, you can come back and live with us,” Livia whispers.
“You don’t have room for me,” Rosaline laughs, pulling away.
“We’d make room,” Livia insists, and Rosaline is surprised to see Lucio nodding behind her sister.
She turns towards her taciturn brother-in-law and says, “Thank you, Lucio. I know you will take good care of my little sister.”
Lucio has been sympathetic to Livia and Rosaline’s plight ever since he learned the full extent of their guardians’ treatment of them over the years. He merely nods again and says, “I will.”
“Your Montague’s waiting,” Livia says. “I love you.”
“I love you too, Liv,” Rosaline says. She kisses her sister’s forehead, then turns and leaves before she starts crying in earnest.
Benvolio is indeed waiting when she emerges from the house. He places a heavy cloak over her shoulders, then pulls her into his arms. “All right?” he softly asks.
“Yes,” she answers. “Let’s get the hell out of here before they notice I’m gone and start looking for me.” She pauses a moment and adds, “If they even care.”
He simply nods, knowing he cannot truly give her any reassurance about her aunt and uncle’s feelings for her. All he can do is reassure her about his own. He kisses her and says, “I love you. And I care.”
“Thank you,” she answers, then allows him to assist her onto her horse. “Which way?” she asks, pulling her hood up.
“South,” he declares.
“I would love to see the sea. Do you think we could?” she asks.
“Anything you want, my love. But first…” he trails off, tilting his head, indicating that they need to start moving before anything can happen.
She smiles, and they spur their horses into motion, riding off under the moonlight.