CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 4

Me, Rosaline Montague, who prided myself on my good sense, loved a man who I had never formally met for the beauty of his countenance and because he saw into the depths of me, a woman of flesh and blood and mind and spirit, and so seeing, didn't take to his heels.

It was a miracle . . . and I never felt so foolish in my life.

I was a Montague. I was a Capulet. I was Rosie, and I loved . . . "What did you say your name was?"

He whipped off his cap and bowed deeply. "Fair lady, I am Lysander of the house of Marcketti."

I ran the checklist in my mind. "You weren't invited."

"How would you know?" he countered.

"The Marckettis of Venice are traditional enemies of the Montagues. Furthermore, I wrote out the invitations for the guests."

He cocked his head and looked me over from head to toe. His tone challenged me. "You're Juliet?"

"I'm Juliet's daughter. I'm Rosaline. Rosie."

"Rosie. Rosie fair." He spoke my name the way one would speak of a loved one doomed by a death sentence. "I'm crashing your . . . betrothal party."

"At least you admit to imposing where you weren't asked. And yes, you are."

"You are betrothed?"

"So I am told." A good reminder this conversation was proving to be.

"To Duke Leir Stephano?"

"Indeed."

With every expression of concern, Lysander said, "Lady, you cannot marry him. He will put you in the grave ere a new day dawns."

So many good reminders. Thank you, Lysander."My father has made the betrothal. I'm an obedient daughter. I'll wed as I'm told."

"Lady, you are innocent, unknowing." He tried to take my hand. I refused to let him, so he gestured wildly as if to make his point. "Duke Stephano is a beast, a man who kills his wives—"

"His last wife, Titania, was my friend."

"I would save you from such a fate as she suffered!"

I would have you do so, too.To fall in love on the very night my betrothal is announced to another—how the ancient Roman goddesses must laugh! But that deep chuckle I thought I heard must be God himself, the deity who had given us his only son . . . and they were both men.

I waited to see if lightning should strike me, and when it did not, I responded with good sense. "You must know that saving me would be a difficult feat to achieve." But oh, how I wished Lysander would argue.

He did. "True love will find a path." This time he managed to capture my hand. "You must come away with me now and—"

A door behind me creaked open. A man's voice spoke. "Lysander!"

Both the gorgeous Lysander and I jumped guiltily and turned to face—the Prince of Verona.