Romeo's Ex by Lisa Fiedler Page A

Mercutio. “Any man with eyes in his head would want badly to have something to do with thee!” He snorts again, rudely. “And I can tell thee just what that something is!”
    Benvolio sends Mercutio a searing look, then turns and stomps away—I suspect to keep from killing him.
    I remove my mask. My eyes sting and my heart aches, but I will not cry.
    â€œWhy, Mercutio, dost thou say such hateful things to me? You must know the depth of my feelings—”
    â€œDeep feelings are of no interest to me, lady,” he says curtly, taking another goblet from an attendant’s tray. “However, should you wish to reveal to me certain other, more intimate ’depths’ of your person—”
    I believe I turn the color of the wine in his glass! “’Tis a most inappropriate thing to say!”
    â€œAye, and yet you are still standing here.”
    I find myself wanting to crumple to the marble floor.
Or slap him. ’Tis difficult to believe that he is the same gentle hero I met earlier this day.
    â€œYou have drunk too much wine,” I surmise. “That is the reason for your boldness.”
    â€œThe reason for my boldness is that I am bold,” he says easily, downing the beverage in one gulp. “I thought ’twas what you liked about me. But then, what dost thou know of me, other than that this afternoon when you opened your pretty eyes I was near to thee?” He wipes his wine-stained lips with the back of his hand. “You interpret me badly, my lady.”
    â€œThen show me the truth of you,” I challenge, stepping forward to brazenly place my palm against his chest.
    He starts as though I’ve branded him with a hot iron.
    â€œYou play with flame, Rosaline,” he warns in a thick voice.
    â€œI shall take my chances, sir.”
    His eyes bore into mine. I wish I could say I see affection there. With a slow and measured breath, he grasps my wrist and roughly shoves my hand away, then whirls, a bit unsteadily given the extent of his intoxication. He takes two clumsy steps before turning back to glare at me once more.
    â€œWouldst thou join me, if I invited thee?” he asks with contempt.
    â€œI would join thee, e’en if you didn’t,” I say, attempting a smile.

    Something flickers in his eyes, and I imagine it might be regret. He turns again and lurches away down the shadowy hall. Despite the terror tumbling in my guts, I follow. But when I round the corner, I stop at the sound of voices. Voices I know well.
    One is Juliet’s. And he to whom she speaks is Romeo!
    Oh, this cannot be good! Juliet and Romeo …
    â€¦ Romeo and Juliet.
    Â 
    They have concealed themselves in a curtained alcove near the chapel. The crimson velvet of the draperies shadows Juliet’s pale gown with a bright, bloody hue. As I press myself to the wall and steal a look within, I see that she is removing her pearl-trimmed visor.
    And Romeo doth remove his mask as well.
    And I see them see each other for the very first time.
    Silence explodes around them, and they gaze upon each other as angels might, angels who have ne’er seen another of their kind. God’s truth, I can almost feel the heat that springs from them!
    My first thought is to rush in, collar Juliet, and drag her as far away from here as ’tis possible to go. My second thought is this: So much for liking Paris.
    Now they whisper something, and in the next moment, he has taken her chin upon his thumb and tilted up her face to his.
    Hell’s teeth! They kiss!

    And whisper more.
    And kiss again.
    Oh, this is bad; this is very bad, indeed!
    A hand upon my shoulder startles me. I whirl to find Benvolio. For a moment, I actually forget that nearby my cousin is kissing her sworn enemy.
    â€œI believed you had departed,” I say, smiling.
    â€œI was about to, until I recollected that you promised me a dance.”
    â€œThen you are no longer angry with