Page 7 of Thus with a Kiss I Die
I felt like the prize pig at an auction.
“Shouldshe carry a dagger?” Nurse was serious. “For the first time, she’s going to the palace as the prince’s betrothed, an important role in these treacherous times, and enemies may lurk in the dark corners and hidden places.”
No one scoffed. My recent ordeal with Verona’s first serial killer had left more scars than the one on my chest. We had discovered by grisly experience that a woman, no matter how protected, could discover danger where she least expected it.
“Yes!” Imogene was all about fighting.
“Not Lysander’s dagger,” Mamma warned. “Nor yours, good Nurse. The prince’s dagger is correct.”
When danger had first reared its head, both Nurse and Lysander had given me daggers, to strap one each onto my arms.
Prince Escalus had given me a dagger also, this one a stiletto to strap onto my ankle.
I had put them all to good use, and his dagger I had slipped into a scabbard lined with ribs and extinguished a beating heart. His dagger, wielded by me, had saved my own most wretched flesh, and for that, at least, I was grateful.
Nurse fetched the blade from the cupboard, knelt and buckled the worn leather onto my leg, then straightened my linen underskirt and velvet overskirt so no sign of it showed.
Now dressed, we girls lined up in front of the bed for Mamma’s preliminary inspection.
She clasped her hands over her heart. “My beautiful daughters!”
We were, of course. That’s not narcissism; when you’re raised knowing your parents are the most beautiful, romantic, admired couple in the known world, it follows that you, too, are a beauty. We all have varying degrees of raven hair, golden skin, and well-lashed, large brown eyes. Katherina and I had developed curvaceous figures; we assumed the younger girls would, too. With another vision of pulchritude always following close behind me, I didn’t waste time on conceit.
Yet standing here, a jewelry box of silks and satins, gold embroidered sleeves and soft shawls woven in Nepal, we knew we were striking, even intimidating.
Nurse helped Mamma sit up.
“Now!” Mamma said. “Emilia, stop picking your nose. Katherina, lift your chin! No one will notice the pimple on your forehead.”
“How can they not?” Katherina snapped. “It’s a unicorn horn!”
Nurse studied it, then produced a yellow-colored salve that reduced the redness.
“Imogene, show me your hands.” Mamma looked at Imogene’s nails and shook her head. “Nurse, take her and use soap and a brush.”
As Nurse dragged her away, Imogene wailed a protest.
Mamma continued, “Emilia, forget you have a nose. Rosie, come here.” She held out her hand. I came and took it. “You’re handling this calmly. Are you feeling well?”
“Mamma, I would rage and cry if I thought it would do any good, but I recognize the truth of your words yesterday. I do take responsibility for my actions.” The certainty was, my world had fallen apart and I had moved from hot wrath to numb horror. “I’m resigned to my fate.”
Katherina snorted.
I looked at her. “In sooth, I am. I’ll be the wife of the podestà. I’ll be wealthy, wear beautiful clothing, host parties, be the envy of all Verona—”
“You don’t care about any of that stuff!” Emilia protested.
“No, but that’s what my life now will be. Before Lysander, I’d schemed to stay here in the heart of Family Montague and be the maiden aunt to all the babies you would have. I’d have been happy. To my surprise, I met Lysander and dared to dream I had at last discovered a love worthy of a progeny of Romeo and Juliet’s. Then . . .” I lifted a despairing hand and let it fall.
Katherina was the daughter who always asked the right questions. “Did Prince Escalus explainwhyhe was there instead of Lysander?”
“He said quite a few things. He wants a wife and he had specifications. Apparently, despite my temper and my unappreciated ability to shout loudly enough to make myself heard, he values me a master diplomat.” In reference to my ability to tactfully maneuver myself out of unwanted betrothals . . . except the last one in which my betrothed was stabbed to death by the aforesaid serial killer. That happened without any maneuvering on my part.
I promise you, it did.
“Diplomacy is good for the wife of the podestà.” Katherina nodded.
I shot her a glare, then remembered my resolve to remain stoic in the face of this adversity. “He said he liked my charming family.”
