Page 5 of Much Ado About Mistletoe
The silence that followed was awesome as everyone tried to decide if the prince intended the double-entendre or not.
I slanted a sideways glance at his face.
Cal had claimed one of the reasons he’d favored me with his suit was because of my large family. Perhaps so he could solemnly drop a line into our loud discussions and see it explode like an overripe melon?
“What doyoulike to eat at the market, Rosie?” No doubt about it. He was being salacious.
“A fat sausage fire-roasted on a spit,” I snapped.
The right side of his mouth twitched.
When my family knew him better, they’d recognize this was the Prince Escalus equivalent of a hearty burst of laughter.
As it was, they exchanged loaded glances, then Katherina hurried into speech. “The wind is growing colder, so I pray you, Rosie, wear your cloak and, Prince Escalus, please bring her home before she’s chilled. We wouldn’t want her to get ill before the marriage.” I had never heard her sound so much like Mamma.
“But I want to see the toys—” Emilia didn’t know the meaning of surrender.
Imogene turned on her. “Prince Escalus wants to be seen with his affianced wife doing charitable things to show Verona what good and just rulers they’re going to be. They can’t do that with a snot-nosed kid jumping around wanting to play with the toys!”
That’s my family. Subtle as a sledgehammer.
I couldn’t bear to see Emilia look so hurt. Going to her, I kissed her forehead and smoothed her frown lines. “After the wedding, little one.” I turned and, to my surprise, found Cal right behind me.
He kissed her forehead, too, and said something in her ear that made her scrub at her wet eyes and smile.
He offered his arm to me.
As was my wont, I placed one finger on his sleeve. Such was my own, minor resistance to the betrothal into which he had plunged me.
He led me to the entry where Tommaso waited, holding my cloak and cap. When Cal was sufficiently satisfied in my future warmth, we stepped out onto the street and walked at a majestic pace toward the Christmas market. Dion, Marcellus and Holofernes strode close behind us and gave us a presence on the streets; if anyone failed to notice the prince of Verona andhis intended bride, three hulking well-dressed bodyguards with swords would provide them context.
“What did you say to Emilia?” I asked.
“I told her I would require her to become a runner in the palace, as Cesario is a runner in the town, and for that I’ll accompany her to the market and will buy whatever toy she might choose.”
He could not have given the child a greater pleasure.
I placed my whole hand on his sleeve.
CHAPTER THREE
When we neared the market, the odor of drifting woodsmoke grew stronger, music drifted along on the breeze, and as we enteredPiazza dei Signori, I sighed in delight.
Prince Escalus stepped back and let me lead the way through the booths that had been set up in the same order that defined them since time eternal, or at least as long as I could remember, and every booth boasted a colorful tent top that protected them from rain and snow.
The winter chill that had arrived from the north made the great bonfire in the center of the square burn brighter, or so it seemed to me. Directed by a Franciscan monk, a group of children from the orphanage sang harmonies tailored for the holy season, while the youngest girls held out a basket and shouted,“Mille grazie, sei benedetto!”as each coin dropped. Breads, sausages and spices shared their aroma without charge. At this time of year, night arrived early and piles of candles of tallow and wax promised to battle the darkness and to symbolize the light of Christmas. Flowers had been dried in the height of summer when their scents and colors were fresh, and they hung on looping wreaths over the tops of the tents. Vendors sold gifts both elegant and crude: for children, for lovers, for parents and grandparents. The ultimate sign of the season was the woodcarver who had come into the city with his year’s work; he soldpresepe, carved from all types of woods, carefully painted and embellished with fresh greenery that lent its spicy scent to the season.
Verona was our most beautiful and mighty city, and within its walls existed a small community of people interconnected by selling and buying, crafting and making, eating and drinking, joys and sorrows. Rarely did I walk among our citizens when I couldn’t put a name to a face, and always, always, they knew me, first as the oldest daughter of Romeo and Juliet, and now as the betrothed of Prince Escalus.
Yet I was unprepared when Ezio Pietra, seller of herbs and flowers called, “Princess!”
I strolled on, my attention on the red, black and white colored chalks on display, thinking they would make a pleasant gift for my artist friend and teacher.
“Princess!” the call sounded again.
Prince Escalus put his hand on my waist. “Rosie, you’re being hailed.”
I stared at him in confusion, both at his gesture and at his words.
