Page 31 of Thus with a Kiss I Die
“Not funny. It’s true.”
“Wit is truth wrapped in delicate glass beads threaded with gold.” While thinking that whenever Elder’s brother made an appearance at our festivities, I’d make a study of him, I started once more toward the dining room.
Cal didn’t, and as I turned to face him, I realized that once more, he’d wrapped himself in a dark cloak of passion, and only the lights were the dark flames that glowed in his eyes. I thought,Merda! He’s going to kiss me again. What good is a ghost if he can’t hover and nag as a chaperon should, and why am I leaning into Cal?
My own mind answered me,Because he may not be your One True Love, but he can kiss until the blood sings like rich red wine in your veins.
Then . . . in a lightning-swift change, I lost his attention. He looked over my head toward the dining room, and I looked, too.
Papà stood there as Imogene and Emilia trooped past him, directing them to the open door of the palace’s atrium.
“What are the children doing? Where are they going?” Cal asked me.
“If I were to guess, I’d say Mamma arranged for them to have a separate feast. Probably there’s a children’s table set up where they can laugh as loud as they want, sing, jump up, and run around—” Cal looked so dumbfounded, I stopped. “It’s all right, Cal, in Veronese society, it’s actually normal for children to eat independently of the adults. It’s only in the Montague household where we insist on keeping the family together for meals.”
“Princess Isabella will remain, and be lonely!”
“I don’t think so.” I nodded as Katherina, Princess Isabella, and Cesario walked out, hand in hand.
“The kitchen will be overwhelmed with two meals!”
“I hope not, since that’s a clear sign of an ill-functioning cook”—which didn’t surprise me, considering the palace’s reputation—“but in any case, Mamma will have also arranged a simple repast for the children.”
“Without supervision, they’ll be wild!”
“Who says they’re without supervision?” I indicated Nurse’s muscular figure stalking after the children. “She’ll keep them under control. Cal, why so concerned that the kidlets are at a separate table?”
“I wanted our families to visit, to get to know each other. I want us to be . . . close.”
“One of the reasons you chose me was for my family.” I was repeating one of the things the romantic fool (sarcasm) had mentioned that night after he’d arranged to have us caught in a compromising position. “You said it’s important to like your in-laws.”
“Yes.”
“In the next months, Cal, I promise, we’ll have more togetherness with the Montagues and Capulets than you could possibly desire, and as the children get to know you and lose their awe, you’ll think twice about this match you’ve brought upon us.”
He did that “looming” trick of his. “I will not.”
I did that “not cringing” trick of mine. “Let them go now and both the adults and the children will retain their polish a little longer.”
CHAPTER18
As we reentered the dining room, the long table held empty chairs where the children had sat, and the adults wore varying expressions of reprieve or boredom or satisfaction.
Marcellus, I noted, looked like a killer granted a reprieve from hanging—Cesario, with his incessant questions, had a way of making grown men fear him.
Friar Camillo viewed Barnadine with some alarm, for Barnadine sat, face buried in his goblet, covered with splashes of the red wine he’d spilled.
Cal escorted me back to my chair by Nonna Ursula, then moved to stand at the head of the table. “The wedding will take place on the first day of winter. No later. Whatever relative and friend wishes to attend and cannot make arrangements in that amount of time need never wait upon us again.”
Zoinds, Cal. Way to put it plainly.
He nodded his head to me, a confirmation that he’d done as I asked, and done as he wished.
“It shall be done.” Mamma sounded so calm, there might never have been a discussion.
I seated myself. He seated himself. The first course arrived, and everyone breathed a sigh of relief. Simple platters of cheeses, salamis, and fruits were passed from hand to hand, and ample baskets of breads and bowls of first-press olive oil followed. We used forks to spear whatever foods we desired.
All except Nonna Ursula, who scowled and proclaimed, “That silly new gadget will never last when fingers do the job so well.” She proceeded to use her hands to load her plate. When she passed me the platter, she advised, “Eat up! The rest of the meal will be wretched. If your reputation be true, and the famed Montague meals be as delicious as I’ve heard, I look forward to the moment when you take over the palace kitchens. I’m too old, Cal’s too busy, and my granddaughter too inexperienced.”
