CHAPTER 32

CHAPTER 32

You know what happened next. My shouting woke Papà, who traipsed down the stairs in his robe holding his head and looking worse for wear, yelling for me to stop making so much infernal noise, while I yelled back about Prince Escalus and his conceit, and what did he mean by what he'd said?

But first Cesario clamored to see Papà's bruises, and a six-year-old Montague's clamor wins precedence over my more mature shouting, especially when our father is hungover.

When Cesario was suitably impressed at the swelling of Papà's nose and his two black eyes, Papà sank down at the table, looked at the food, moaned, and, hands on his belly, got up again.

"If you don't tell me why he said that, Papà, and what exactly he meant, I'll shriek again." I'd never meant a threat more sincerely.

"If it makes you feel any better, I also yelled at Prince Escalus because I knew you wouldn't play the flirt. Quite the opposite." The last he said rather sourly. "He agreed and said he misspoke, that he'd witnessed you making matches for the high and low, the mighty and the unsuspecting, and his concern now was that you contemplated him"—Papà cleared his throat and repeated what Mamma had said—" ‘like a stallion to be led to the proper mare for breeding.'"

"Ah." The explanation did nothing to ease my temper. I was embarrassed at being caught out and humiliated to have my excellent, well-thought-out services so rudely rejected.

Papà continued. "He requests that you cease and desist in your matchmaking as concerns him, and says he will make his own match in his own time."

"Fine. I don't care if he sleeps in a cold, lonely bed in his cold, lonely palace for the rest of his cold, lonely existence." I flounced around and started up the stairs, turned halfway up, and caught Papà and Mamma exchanging smirks. They hurriedly wiped their expressions as I denounced, "He can wither into old age alone and friendless, without family or joy. That'll serve him right."

Dear reader, you're right. That was possibly not my finest moment.

Papà changed his chuckle into a cough, scratched his hairy chin, and said, "As long as I'm up, I might as well give Rosie a lesson in defending herself in case of attack."

Narrow-eyed, my mother swiveled to face him.

He stared back at her.

No one said a word.

As if this was exactly what she intended, she said, "A good plan. Will you use the special swords you had made for the children?"

Shit. The woman knew everything.

"Heart of my heart," Papà said, "Rosie has her own weapons."

"Does she?" Mamma drawled.

Hastily he added, "Which I didn't give her!"

She looked up at me. "Who did give them to her?"

"Nurse, Lysander, and Prince Escalus." I off-loaded blame as fast as I could.

"I'll make a point to thank them when next I see them." She displayed strong white teeth in what should have been a smile, but looked like something else entirely. My mother, Lady Juliet Montague, could be scary when she chose. "My lord husband, you should don more manly garb. Rosie, your gown is not your best, so sufficient unto the day. Come, children, finish your breakfasts and we'll go to the secret practice place in the hedges and watch Papà and Rosie take their blades to each other."

"If I do my job correctly, no steel will ever touch her," Papà declared.

"See that you do." Answering steel filled her tone.