Page 15 of The Hundred Loves of Juliet
I can’t.
Instead I do the first thing I think of, driven solely by emotion. Benvolio always told me I was too rash.
But if I have to be a jerk to make Helene go away, I will.
“Actually, these books belong to whoever pays for them first. And I came in specifically for the Saramago novel.” I reach into my wallet, grab four twenties, and toss them onto the counter as I stride past the register. “Keep the change,” I tell Angela.
I flee Shipyard Books, not bothering with the handrail even though the front steps are icy. Halfway down the block, Helene’s voice catches up to me.
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
Slowly, I turn around.
Even mad, she’s beautiful. Snowflakes fall and catch in her hair like glittering garlands, and her cheeks and the tip of her nose grow rosy with the cold.
She shivers, and I want to offer her my coat. I want to give back her books. I want to…
Stop.I have to end this madness. I promised myself I’d let her go.
I force myself to send her the sharpest scowl in my arsenal. She staggers back at the force of it. The misery of hurting her blooms in my chest.
“Goodbye, Helene.”
It’s for the best. Because I’ve been fool enough before to believe we could turn out to be anything but a tragedy.
VERSAILLES, FRANCE—1789
Despite Amélie’s warning that she would need days to pack, she manages to be ready by nightfall. I promise she’ll be able to buy everything she needs and wants in Venice. I don’t flaunt my wealth, but the fact is, my treasury houses a considerable fortune.
Besides, it’s best if we leave Versailles as expediently as possible. The longer we wait, the more likely our plans will be discovered. Even though the Laurent family is not close to the king, they do have social aspirations and will stop Amélie’s elopement to avoid any whiff of scandal. A proper courtship and wedding would likely have been acceptable, given my title and rank. But the clock has been ticking on Amélie’s life ever since our hearts tumbled hopelessly in love on the pall-mall court. I am determined that she will see Venice before she dies.
My horses and carriage are ready when Amélie and I arrive at the stables. The footman loads her sole trunk of belongings while I help Amélie onto the blue velvet cushions inside.
“Lord Montague, this is one of the grandest carriages I’ve ever seen,” she says as she strokes the gold that trims the windows andthe rich brocade that lines the walls. My family crest—a wolf and two swords—graces the backs of the seats. The ceiling is a painted mural of the Venetian canals.
“I promised to make you a princess by the sea, did I not?” I kiss her hand before settling on the cushion across from her.
“I thought perhaps you were exaggerating. Men do tend to do so, you know.” Amélie smiles, and like always, I melt happily in her radiance.
The coachman pokes his head through the carriage door. “We are ready for departure, my lord,” he says in Venetian.
“Very good,” I say. “Let’s be on our way.”
I hold Amélie’s hand on my knee, and we are silent as the carriage makes its way toward the gates. Each hoofbeat echoes like a thousand war drums to me, sounding the alarm to the sleeping residents of Versailles. I hold my breath.
But soon enough, the carriage passes through the gates, and not long after, we’re away on the dark road. My shoulders release their tension, and Amélie lets out an exhale in relief.
“Will we pass through Paris on the way?” she asks.
“Do you wish to?”
“If it isn’t too far out of our path. I should like to see the city once more before we go abroad. I don’t know when we’ll return.”
“Anything within my power is yours.” I open the window and lean out to give the coachman new directions.
When I return, Amélie is yawning. I sit on the seat beside her. “Rest your head on my shoulder and sleep,” I say.
“What will you do?”
