Page 46 of The Hundred Loves of Juliet
“As do I. You, here in my arms, are a miracle.”
Isabella laughs. “You are prone to hyperbole, my love.”
But my face is serious. “I speak the truth. Nineteen years ago, I lost my first wife, and every day since, I have prayed to be reunited with her.”
Isabella sits up in bed, the blankets falling gloriously from her body, her breasts on full display. I stop myself from reaching out to touch her.
Which is for the best, because she scowls and says, “You were previously wed?”
“Yes, but—”
“I believed I was your first and only love.”
I reach for her hands. “You are. I’m trying to explain. When you walked into the shoemaker’s shop, my prayers were answered. You not only look like Juliet, my first wife. You are her. I don’t understand how the Lord has brought you back to me, but I don’t question his divine will. I am only humbled by his generosity.”
Isabella snatches her hands away. “You think I’m your dead wife? That is why you declared your love to me?” She gathers a blanket around her and scrambles off the bed.
“You don’t understand—” I jump off the bed and catch her wrist.
“Unhand me!” She jerks away. Then she pulls on her undergarments and begins to dress hastily.
“Please stop,” I say. “I love you.”
“No, you are mad. I’ve been deceived, and I shall not play a part in this sham marriage a moment longer.” The buttons on her gown are misaligned, and her ribbons poorly done. But Isabella is already halfway to the door.
I dare not grab her again, so I dart in front of her to block her path. “Where are you going?”
“To the ferry. Back to Sicily, where I shall petition the pope to annul our marriage. You shall send my things and never come near me again.”
“Please, don’t be rash. Let us be reasonable.”
She lets out a scornful laugh. “Reasonable! There’s no reason in what you claim—that I’m your dead wife risen from the grave. Now move aside. You’ve already taken my virginity and ruined me. Do not take my freedom as well.”
I step out of her path. But as she opens the door, I whisper, “Juliet. Please. I love you.”
She glares at me with the full force of the sun that she is.
“My. Name. Is. Isabella.”
I let her go because that is what she wants. But I don’t understand that the curse has already sunk its talons into us.
An hour later, I watch from afar as Isabella boards the ferry. I wave sadly as it sails from the harbor.
Then, inexplicably, the ferry capsizes a mile offshore. I jump into the sea and swim, but they are too far and I am too slow, and by the time I reach the ferry, it has sunk, taking Isabella and my happiness with it.
A plague o’ both your houses,I recall Mercutio saying.
It is only then that I truly begin to realize what he has done.
HELENE
I am hyperventilating on thefloor of the sitting area in the guest suite, because this is as far as I got before I fell to pieces. I’d put on a show of strength when I marched out of the Gallery of Me, but all that bravado is gone. Now my head is between my knees, and I’m gulping air like a beached dolphin.
I wanted Sebastien to be my soulmate. But this is insane.
Breathe,I tell myself.Breathe.
However, I’ve always been shitty at meditation. One of my college friends, Monica, was really into it and once recommended a book that taught an “easy” way to meditate. I got through all of three pages before my mind drifted off to other thoughts. That was years ago. I kept meaning to go back and actually read the book, but life has a knack for throwing itself in the way of all your well-intentioned plans.
