"Thank you…" I murmured, letting my eyes settle briefly on his untouched pizza before I pulled them away. "I enjoy the way he writes. It was confusing at first, the Shakespearian English, but I'm fairly used to it now. And I like how dramatic everything is. Overdone in the best kind of way, I guess. His tragedies make me cry and his comedies make me laugh."
“You made it sound so simple.” I managed a chuckle, using it as an excuse to lean away from the pizza. “You have quite the sophisticated sense of humor.”
"Thank you," I repeated, faking a bashful smile for good measure. "You can fine modern English translations of his play, too, if that helps. I think I own a series of books where each page of his plays is depicted in Shakespearian English on the right-hand page and modern English on its left, so you can compare as you read."
“I’ll have to borrow them sometime.” I forced a smile back, itching to get away from the food. Even the smell was making me nauseous at the moment, my nerves churning in my gut.
My smile tightened slightly. You most certainly will not.
But instead of voicing my thoughts, I tipped my head towards his untouched pizza. "Feeling a little sick?"
A whole new form of dread pooled in my stomach as Juliet gestured to the pizza I had been carefully avoiding since it was set down on the table. “No, no. Just a bit nervous is all.” I assured her, feeling a cold sweat drip down my back. Please don’t tell…
A tiny frown tugged at my lips. “Are you sure?” I asked him, “You don’t have to lie.”
“I assure you.” I smiled as convincingly as possible. “There’s a lot resting on my mission. I suppose it must be stress.”
I gave him a sceptical look, but played along anyways. "If you say so, Paris. How much longer will you be in Verona?"
“I wish I had an answer for you.” I wrung my hands, a pit of anxiety disrupting my stomach. “I haven’t been briefed yet.”
I chose my next words carefully. "When you do return to Sicily, how long until I can see you again?"
I couldn’t hide the confusion on my face. You clearly don’t like me. Why do you want to see me again? “I assume it would be a month or two at the longest. Even my family isn’t so cruel to keep me away for too long when I’m to be married.”
Oh, thank god. I barely managed to keep the relief from my face. A month or two of the most peace I can get….
I gave him a simple nod, electing not to reply verbally.
I looked away, feeling nauseous with stress again. What did I do wrong? Why does she hate me? I took an admitedly shaky breath and sighed.
“Paris,” I said slowly, once again risking everything to establish something between us. “I want us to be honest with each other.” How ironic, when I was lying to him as we spoke? Kissing Romeo when he wasn’t around, craving the touch of a man that I never had a chance of openly being with..
”Stop. Please, Juliet. Stop.” I craned my neck towards the sky, letting the bloody red sunset bathe me in its color. “You don’t want honesty from me. You’ve made it clear you don’t want anything from me. Do we really have to pretend?” I kept my voice steady, but a mix of fear and sadness threatened to overwhelm me with every word.
My hands tightened into fists beneath the table. "I don't know what I'm supposed to say to that…" I sighed, forcing my eyes to remain on his. "But I do want honesty from you. And I don't hate or dislike you."
“Juliet…” I breathed out her name like a curse, the weight of my outburst cementing me into my own grave. “How can I be honest with you if you’ll never be honest with me?”
I'm sorry… I thought, as I plastered yet more lies into each sentence I spoke. "And what makes you think that, Paris? What would I lie to you about?"
Romeo.
I scanned Juliet’s face for any hint of lying. Either she was the most skilled liar I’d ever met or she was telling the truth. As I came to this conclusion and decided to trust the more reliable answer, guilt pooled in my stomach. I looked away, unable to meet her gaze any longer. “I apologize for acting rashly.” I mumbled courteously, my palms starting to sweat. “I’m afraid I may not be in the best of health at the moment. Perhaps we should go.” I think I’m going insane…
"You don't need to apologize," I told him, voice softening as guilt and shame flooded my conscience, I could barely keep looking at him as it was.. "Your concerns are valid. If you'd like to leave, we can, but I don't mind either way."
I'm sorry… none of this is your fault..
“Can we go sit in the limousine for awhile? I think there’s food and stuff in the back. I… I can’t go home quite yet.” I fidgeted with the cheap plastic tablecloth, poking holes in it with my fingers.
"Yes, let's," I agreed softly, wiping my hands off on my napkin before rising from my seat. Through a nearly Herculean effort, I managed to keep the guilt from my features, but every time I looked back at him… it only increased.
I heaved myself to my feet, grabbed my wallet and leaving a fifty underneath my glass to fully cover the meal and give the waiter a handsome tip. With a shaky breath I pawed at my eyes, trying to force some level of alertness into my brain. After releasing a defeated sigh, I waited patiently for Juliet,
We descended through the restaurant, far too close to each other for comfort while somehow remaining too far to act convincingly in love. When we exited into the cool night air once more, I swallowed the lump in my throat, mentally braced myself, then forced my hand to move and slip into Paris's while I pulled him in the direction of the limousine.
I flinched as her hand grasped mine, but forced myself to relax as Juliet gently tugged me along. “I don’t deserve you.” I murmured, squeezing her hand for comfort.
Don't say that, I begged him internally, Anything but that. Anything at all.
But I merely plastered a bashful smile onto my face and ducked my head in a way I hoped was convincing. "You're a really sweet guy, Paris…"
I didn’t respond, still feeling guilty and a little insane. When will I ever get this right? Thoughts bubbled to the surface—dark ones. Ones I wanted to throw away. Thoughts telling me to flee from this. Telling me to do the impossible, something insane I could never act on. I tried to block them out, a shuddering breath escaping my lips.
Once we were inside the back of the limousine, I eased Paris into a seat, steeling my nerves before settling beside him. "You look unwell, Paris.. is there anything you need?"
“I don’t know what I want anymore.” I stared blankly in front of me, trying to put the pieces together. All I really understood out of all of this was the deep fears encroaching on my heart, dark tendrils wrapping around—strangling and squeezing.