Forbidden Kiss (7 page)

Romeo knew Lawrence felt compelled, nay, responsible for him and therefore insisted on visiting him in this abandoned side of the monastery. Its ancient and moldy rooms, built hundreds of years before the newer wings of the building, appealed to Romeo’s mood and his need for isolation. But Lawrence wouldn’t let him alone.

“You should have left me to die.”

Lawrence leapt at the statement, his eyes pleading for understanding. “But it’s not right, what transpired. Everything went wrong. And then Paris arrived bringing further pain and tragedy. That’s a forever kind of curse he issued against you, Romeo. Coming from one also wronged, his curse has the power to hold throughout the centuries and keep you from finding peace. I had to do something to complete my role. Give you another chance to right these wrongs.”

Romeo shook his head. He’d heard it before. This time didn’t make any difference. “
I should have let Paris kill me. At least I wouldn’t be here with you looking out across forever.”

Lawrence kept a rein on his impatience. White lines around his mouth and eyes spoke of the pressure to stay quiet, a struggle plain and clear. There had been outbursts before as a result of these discussions. The man driven to frustration and anger over Romeo’s denial of “his gift.”

Lawrence held himself responsible for the tragedy. He counseled Juliet to take the potion and pretend the death Romeo took as truth.

In the end, what other choice did he have except to consume the poison? To die with Juliet?

But she hadn’t been dead! Not until she shoved the blade of the dagger under her ribs.

The secrets, lies, and misunderstandings that shadowed their short courtship and marriage followed them into the grave and continued with Romeo’s withdrawal from Verona.

He would live a lie for all eternity. Just not as Romeo Montague. That boy died.

“There will be another time, Romeo. You have to wait and watch. Stay vigilant. You’ll know when it’s time. You’
ll know what to do.”

“Words are little comfort when even you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I have foreseen it. It will come to pass. God will show me the how in time. Fate suffered a blow that night, knocking your path down a new fork. That road will eventually lead back to the beginning. It always does.”

...

Rom didn’t wait for Lawrence to discover God’s intent. He’d packed the few items he’d salvaged from his former life and struck out. Alone. Heading north into the mountains. Into the unknown. Into a life as a mercenary.

If death be denied him, then death be his calling.

But perhaps he should have waited. Lawrence did discover the answer and couldn’t find Rom to tell him. And so Lawrence had left him a message. A message that would endure, however many centuries it took to find Rom in Chicago.

Rom only need find the rest of the message now. To go back to the beginning.

But first, he needed to visit Juliet. If he could still find her.

Chapter Eight

It seemed all her bridges had burned in a matter of twenty-four hours. Each time Jule tried to fall back to safety, another one went up in flame.

She collapsed onto her bed, trying to keep the tears at bay. Her eyes burned with the effort, but not a single tear escaped.

She channeled her frustration and surveyed her belongings in the room, considering the effort it would take to find a new place and move.

She couldn’t live under her father’s roof anymore. Not after tonight.

“Jule, why the long face?”

She jerked up into a sitting position to find Pio lounging in the doorway to her bedroom.

Jule flew off the bed to meet Pio standing up, her heart pounding with surprise.

He appeared as he always did after business hours, jacketless, but with his tie still firmly knotted at the throat of a crisp dress shirt.

He also wore his trademark patient smile.

“What are you doing here?” More importantly, “How did you get in?”

“Darling, I have a key to the house. Your father gave it to me years ago. I’ve used it dozens of times.” He straightened from his casual slouch and gave her body a quick inspection. “Are you all right? You don’t seem yourself.”

“I’ve had some disappointments today, you know, unexpected news.”

“I see.” Pio moved into the room without an invitation and sat on the edge of her desk with his legs folded neatly at the ankles.

“Your father told you then? That we’re to be married.”

“He confirmed what I’d already heard from someone else. When exactly did the two of you plan to include me in this little arrangement?”

“What did you hear? And from whom?”

“It doesn’t matter who told me—”

“Of course it does. This is supposed to be our special time and I have everything planned. If someone is going to be so ungracious as to spoil it, I’d like the opportunity to have a word.”

“You care more about who told me than the fact this is something I don’t want?”

Her statement brought him up short. Surprise crossed his perfect features before his ever-present courtroom composure came to his rescue.
“Jule. I know this may seem sudden, but darling, that’s my point. I have everything planned and the unease you’re experiencing is only because someone—I’d like to know whom—spoke out of turn. Once you have time to get used to the idea, you’ll see it makes perfect sense.”

Jule sent a quick glance around the room, locating the phone, her car keys, and an aluminum bat in the corner. Pio was beginning to creep her out and she wanted to be prepared if this didn’t go well.

“I’m not going to take time to get used to the idea because it’s never going to happen. I don’t care how much money you gave my father, we’ll pay it back. Consider it a loan. Whatever. But your money isn’t going to buy me.”

He blinked once. Then twice. “I’ve never heard you talk so disrespectfully. It doesn’t become you.”

Jule almost growled in anger. “Don’t talk to me about respect. You’ve been preying on my father for years, without the slightest hint of remorse over his situation. And now you think you have him over the barrel. Well, I’ve got news for you Pio, the only thing you’ve done is expose yourself.”

She didn’t think she’d ever spoken so harshly to the man in her life.

“You poor girl. Who’s been filling your head with lies? Montgomery?” He edged ever closer, his body rigid, the tension and threat clear in the tight lines of his face and the hard set of his eyes. “That bastard wouldn’t know the truth if it bit him on the ass.”

“What are you talking about? What does Rom Montgomery have to do with this?”

“Montgomery is history. He didn’t think anyone would ever find out, but I did.”

“Find out what?”

Pio shook his head and took another step closer. Jule backed up until her legs touched the bed.

“This doesn’t help us. Talking about Montgomery as if he still matters. I’m willing to forgive everything as long as you promise fidelity to me from here on out.”

Okay. Uncle Pio was crazy Pio. He now assumed Jule and Rom had been sleeping together. “I think we better talk about this later, Pio. Perhaps when my family is around. I would feel more comfortable with them beside me.” She laughed as if to say, “aren’t I silly?” but it sounded weak even to her.

“No. I need to have your word on this now, Jule. I can’t sleep another night without knowing you’ve left Montgomery for good.”

“Jesus. It’s none of your business who I have sex with.”

She didn’t see it coming. The slap rang her ears and made her eyes cross. When she could focus on Pio again, he seemed serene, as if he hadn’t just sent her to her knees.

“Sweetheart. Let’s not talk that way to each other. It’s hurtful.”

Jule regained her feet and made sure her thumbs rested on the outside of her closed fingers because didn’t want to break her bones when she pummeled his arrogant face.

“You shouldn’t have done that.” She inched to the side, away from him and towards the bat.

He actually looked upset. “It pains me more than it does you, Jule, believe me. The last thing I want to do is hurt you.”

He lifted a hand and Jule flinched.

Pio sighed.

“The reason I’m so distraught over Montgomery is I’m worried his
indiscretions
may come back to haunt you and your family.”

The topic had jumped around so much in the last five minutes, Jule’s head swam. That or the slap had her rattled. “What indiscretions?”

“He’s not who he says he is. In fact, nobody knows who he is. He’s certainly not Romney Montgomery, born illegitimately to a destitute factory worker in 1968. That baby died of SIDS before he celebrated his first birthday.”

“You’re lying. Trying to manipulate me.”

She inched along the edge of the bed, moving closer to the bat.

Pio shook his head, his lips pressed into a sad line. “You’re strong, smart, and resourceful. That’s one of the reasons I love you, by the way. Surely you can see if you look deep down, that I’m telling the truth?”

Funny. None of this assumed identity business ever came up during the discussion with Valerio.

“Do you have proof Rom’s not who he says he is?”

“Of course.”

She wanted to see it. “If he’s lied to me, it could impact my career and reputation.”

He nodded and smiled. “After we’re married, what’s mine is yours.”

This time she saw him coming.

She managed to dart out from under his arms, but he grabbed her wrist, wrenching it back and up. Jule staggered into him sideways as she turned and they fell back onto the bed. She groped for leverage, but he flipped her over, pinning her back to the bed as he slid between her legs.

“What the hell are you doing?” She screamed, trying to buck him. He had strength she wouldn’t have guessed at.

“I’ve tried to make this as plain as possible, dear, without getting into the ugly details, but I see I underestimated your desire for independence.” He drug her hands above her head and balanced his weight to keep her immobile.

“This is my fault. I apologize.” Contrition shone heavy in his hazel eyes. “I should have told you sooner instead of allowing someone to interfere. I won’t let it happen again.”

And he kissed her. Hard.

She fought a hand loose and swung at his head. Off by a few inches, she clubbed his ear instead of his temple. He pulled his head back and stared at her.

Jule tried to force him back with her free hand, his shoulder turning under the force. But his pelvis remained planted next to her groin, and Jule felt the unmistakable rise of his erection.

The feeling sent a roll of disgust washing over her. She tried to think. What would be best? Fighting him for all she was worth or giving up the struggle and going limp, hoping a lifeless body would turn him off?

When she tried to knee him in the balls next, he finally showed the first signs of anger. “No matter how you fight it, we’re in this together. We were made for each other, Jule, and the sooner you get used to the idea, the better for both of us.”

She knew it for certain now. Pio was certifiable. He thought another man and her small show of reluctance represented the only obstacle standing in the way of their happy union.

He lowered his head for another kiss, but Jule turned her head away and strained to get her feet under him. She found an opening and pushed with all her strength. Pio flew back, but a death grip on the tail of her shirt kept him on the bed. The buttons of her shirt gave under the force, sounding like popcorn as they left the material.

Jule launched herself off the bed while Pio sprang a second time. She proved faster. He fell on his face, halfway on the bed. Jule stumbled back under his pull. Wriggling out of her shirt, she left it dangling in his fist and raced for the bat in the corner by her desk.

She grabbed it and spun just in time to force Pio back towards the open door.

He panted, his clothes wrinkled and wadded from their struggle. Jule thought fleetingly it was so uncharacteristic to see Pio mussed. As if he heard her, he automatically raked a hand over his graying hair.

She breathed deep, reining in her fear. “I don’t belong to you or anybody else, Pio. No matter what my father says. Now get the hell out of my house.”

The patience radiating from his eyes scared her worse than the physical attack. He would try again. And again. Maybe not tonight, but soon. She considered making the baseball bat an everyday accessory.

His lids fell over his eyes and his gaze dropped to her breasts. Jule felt the heat from his stare and she moved her elbows in tighter, trying to cover herself as best she could.

“That scar. It looks—” he began, taking a step forward.

Jule swung the bat, purposely missing his outstretched finger by a quarter-inch. “Get OUT!” she screamed, sure the neighbors could hear. All the better if they did. Pio could explain this to the police.

He recoiled and snapped up straight like a taut rubber band. Without another word, he turned and left the room.

Jule stood frozen. She didn’t move until she heard the front door slam and his car pull away from the curb. She sank down to the floor, curling her legs under her as she went.

She looked across to the full-length mirror standing in the same corner where she’d pulled the bat. The black satin of her bra stood out in sharp contrast to the paleness of her skin. Red marks warmed her flesh on the shoulder and the ribcage, just under her scar. The one Pio had almost sacrificed a finger for.

Her childhood scar, a memento from falling from her brothers’ tree house onto a jagged limb, shone white like new fallen snow—whiter even than her milky skin. As if on command, the old wound throbbed and Jule felt the first tears roll down her cheeks.

Chapter Nine

Weddings. At Juliet’s tomb. White dresses, happy couples, flowers and big smiles. Rom watched from across a sculptured courtyard as a happy couple emerged from the crypt, confetti dusting their shoulders like colored snow. They paused just inside the bricked stairwell, all smiles and twinkling eyes as attendants snapped photos and shouted words of encouragement.

Rom turned his head away and considered what remained of the friary where he’d lived a short time following Juliet’s death—before he’d left Verona forever.

Not much still stood of the Capuchin monastery today: the ancient cloisters, a chapel, and Juliet’s tomb—now a destination for tourists and wedding parties.

He grimaced and cursed Shakespeare’s memory for the second time since returning to Verona. And then he cursed himself for falling prey to such a human weakness all those centuries ago and sharing his story with a stranger in a pub. If he had kept his bloody mouth shut, he could descend the steps to Juliet’s tomb, alone, and pay his respects. But now he’d have to wait until dusk, when all the happy couples had set off for their celebrations before he could lay hands on her sarcophagus.

…

Rom had thought visiting the tomb difficult.

Idiot. There was nothing left of Juliet there but cold stone and painful memories.

The house at Via Cappello proved a different story, however.

Making his way to the courtyard at the rear of the thirteenth century home, Rom negotiated a group of American tourists writing love notes.

Just inside the narrow arched doors of the courtyard, he stopped, frozen in shock and a numbing pain that spread outward, paralyzing him in a way he didn’t think possible since leaving Verona. Across the pebbled courtyard stood a bronze likeness of Juliet against a backdrop of greenery. Rising a full head above even the tallest tourist, Juliet canted her head to the side, looking down with a thoughtful expression on the people surrounding her.

People flowed around Rom, oblivious to his pain, bumping him and begging pardon in half a dozen different languages. He didn’t move. Couldn’t move a single step closer.

The past engulfed him like a tidal wave, carrying him back through the centuries. He tasted the poison from that long ago night on his lips as if it were just hours ago.

Recalled the vision of Juliet lying motionless, dark blood staining her funeral dress and pooling around her to drip down the side of the dais where she lay.

Rom fought the past and the memories that threatened to drag him further into the cesspool of pain lying beneath the surface of his heart.

God, he’d forgotten how beautiful she was. Coming out of the past, Rom moved forward with the crowd, edging closer to the statue. People vied for a position near her right side to cup her breast. Decades of similar actions had polished the perfect breast to a golden shine.

“For good luck,” someone shouted as a camera flashed and the next tourist snuggled next to Juliet.

Her hair wrapped around her head in the familiar crown he remembered, exposing a long graceful neck he had cherished with his hands and lips. Long lithe arms, seductive in their perfection, framed her nubile body. The left arm rose with a closed fist to lie heavily over her heart.

He felt an answering weight on his own heart.

Standing a few feet from the statue, Rom discovered the likeness didn’t do the real Juliet justice. The artist had captured the body, but not the details of the face he remembered. Small differences like the curve of her upper lip and the prominence of her cheekbones. Details he’d memorized and recalled thousands of times in his mind’s eye.

He turned away toward the house and the balcony, unsettled by so many people traipsing through his nightmare.

Ah, Christ. The damn balcony.

Women took turns standing in Juliet’s place looking out over the crowd below, making flirting gestures before disappearing inside only to return again. Random shouts echoed through the crowd as people quoted Shakespeare to the women above.

What would the gathered tourists do if they knew the real Romeo stood among them?

…

Jule paced the confines of her bedroom. She wanted to crank the volume on the music and drown out the millions of questions bumping around inside her head.

But she couldn’t. Natala sat silently in the corner reading chair, rubbing her temples.

Jule’s thoughts strayed to Montgomery again. She had to find out what he was doing. Why had he disappeared after she’d told him about the series and what waited for him in Verona?

The events of the night played repeatedly in Jule’s head.

The things Pio had said were crazy and haunting, but what seemed even crazier was that it evoked buried memories inside Jule. Memories she
knew
hadn’t happened in her lifetime. Memories of her and Pio. Together.

...

“Do not deny to him that you love me,” he said, closing in until personal space was only a wish. The friar watched from several feet away, unwilling to arouse the man’s curiosity by forcing them apart.

They were, after all, to be husband and wife in less than a week.

She turned away, unable to meet his stare. Tears pricked the back of her eyes as they had for days. She didn’t want to cry in front of him. Not him.

“Poor soul, thy face is much abused with tears.”

He saw it anyway, suspicion fresh on his tongue. She tried to make light of the situation, dispelling any further inclination to ask her questions about the real reason for her tears. He couldn’t know. Only the friar knew.

“The tears have got small victory by that, for it was bad enough before their spite.”

He turned her around and raised a hand to her cheek, caressing down and under her chin, his thumb pushing her chin up so her eyes could meet his.

“Thy face is mine, and thou has slandered it.” His tone conveyed his unhappiness more than his words.

“
My lord, we must be alone,” the friar said, indicating her need for confession and the reason for her visit to the monastery.

“God forbid that I should disturb devotion,” he said mockingly.

Lingering over her hand, he pulled it to his lips and kissed it in such a familiar manner, that had her father been here, he would have reproached the insult.

“On Thursday eye, I will rouse ye. Till then, adieu.”

With a withering look toward the friar, he quit the room.

On Thursday she would either be gone from Verona to her true love, or dead.

...

Impossible. Unless Jule believed in reincarnation and new age baloney, which she didn’t. She believed in science and facts. The concrete. The physical.

One thing Pio said in particular left her raw and bruised inside. That they were meant to be together. He was simply setting them on the right path. As it always had been and would always be.

She didn’t for an instant believe she belonged with Pio. Now or anytime, past, present, or future. But she couldn’t shake the feeling he’d spoken those words to her many times before.

…

Rom at last pushed through the gated cloisters of the crumbling monastery and into the tunnel descending to the
bed of death
. The quiet seemed loud and too obvious after the happy celebrations of the day.

The time and my intents are savage-wild,

more fierce and inexorable far

than empty tigers or the roaring sea.

His hand gripped the railing, steadying his course, his resolve. No hiding. No turning back. One foot in front of the other. As it had always been.

He kept moving further down, refusing to acknowledge the shortness of breath in his lungs.

Thou detestable maw, thou womb of death,

Gorged with the dearest morsel of the earth,

Thus I enforce thy rotten jaws to open,

And in despite I’ll cram thee with more food.

The tomb opened up before him, two electric torches illuminating the domed room. The present fell away and the past rushed up to greet him with a cold embrace.

...

He laid Paris to rest inside the tomb’s entrance, careful of the man
’s head as it met the bricked floor. Though his heart raced until Romeo thought it would burst from his chest, he didn’t hurry, but gave Juliet’s would-be suitor and his own cousin the respect he deserved.

Too late. Romeo had arrived too late and more people had died and would still. His life, his mere breath, marked each living soul he encountered. No one was safe from Romeo.

Free of Paris’s weight, Romeo stood and slowly crossed the tomb, his footsteps echoing in the small chamber. He stood next to his prone wife, drinking in the sight of her. With his arms hanging heavy at his sides and his fingers curled into fists, he simply stared. Noting each detail.

Her beauty defied even death. Color bloomed yet in her cheeks and lips, a rosy red that spoke of life rather than death. But he couldn’t discern breath in her chest or on her lips.

If death had truly claimed her, then so shall it take him. But first he would look his fill.

“I’ll stay with thee, Juliet. Never leaving you again, guarding you against the dark.” He palmed her hand, slipping his fingers under hers until they were tightly joined.

“Here with you I’ll die, throwing off the unhappy circumstances of our lives. I
’m tired, Juliet. So very tired.”

Slipping his hand free, Romeo crawled up on the dais and lifted Juliet until she rested limply in his lap. He pulled the apothecary’s potion from the pouch at his side and raised it to his lips.

“Here’s to you, my love,” he said, drinking the liquid and throwing the empty bottle away.

With poison still wet on his lips, Romeo kissed Juliet before he felt the world tip to the left and slip away into blackness.

...

When next he woke, Romeo lay in a monk’s cell, his body and destiny forever altered by Lawrence’s alchemy.

But now, here, in the twenty-first century, little from that fateful night remained. The dais was gone, replaced by a period sarcophagus, which Rom prayed rested empty and not filled with some unknown bones.

Paris’s remains, too, were gone, as was Tybalt’s bloody, sheet wrapped body.

Juliet wasn’t here. Her spirit didn’t linger.

Rom released a low, long breath and bent over, grasping his knees. He was lost to discover Juliet was truly, irrevocably gone.