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Juliet’s trunks are much heavier than they were when she departed from Verona on the fastest ship in her father’s hold. She doesn’t know if this was purely his intent; after all he wished at the time to find her a new husband when Paris pitched woo to Rosaline and healed the awful business between the Montagues and Capulets. There must, he said, be some duke or minor prince willing to take his accomplished daughter to wed. Did they not see her beauty?
Juliet had smiled and danced and laughed her way from Paris to Spain to London and back again, and now she was home in Verona, seemingly prospectless.
Her father’s men moan and complain about the trunk as it’s carried down the gangway and to a wagon. She tuts them fondly; it will all be worth it and she will pay them a fine fee for being so helpful. All is silent until she is alone again with her souvenirs.
Then she approaches the trunk and knocks upon the lid, which springs open. “You may come out now,” she tells her cousin-in-law Romeo, whom she met at ball in Paris, carried on with endlessly and whose suit she accepted rather behind her parent’s back all in the span of six months.
Romeo who peers up at her from under a curtain of lace and frippery, obviously put out by the long journey. She smiles at his face. They will explain it all to her parents soon – and make it worth their while to listen.