In Fair Verona // Modern Romeo and Juliet // Private RP - CLOSED

We parked. The moment I had been dreading for weeks springing from my nightmares into reality. I didn’t speak. What could I say to my parents besides, Please don’t make me do this?

“Remember your lessons. Smile. Be gentle. Always, always be polite. Our family counts on it.” Veronica pressed a kiss to my forehead. Her lips were cold.

Lessons, yes, the lessons. For the past week I had been forced to skip practice and instead sit with my mother for hours to practice perfect etiquette. What to do or say in any situation. If she runs off of the room I wait a moment and wait for the Capulets to apologize, before asking to go after her. If she kisses me, I kiss back. She cries, I console. All drilled into my brain.

My father took a single rose and handed it to me, all the thorns scraped off it. He pressed it into my palm and nodded. “Make us proud.” The ’or else’ was implied.

I was ridiculously unprepared for the encounter—Why had my father waited until the last minute to tell me? A cruel trick, a way to keep me on my toes? Show me that I was not the one in control?

Yeah, well, I already knew that much.

A car pulled into the driveway. My stomach twisted into a knot. Angelo, grinning gleefully, put a callused hand on my shoulder, causing me to flinch away. But his eyes darkened and I was quickly hurrying back into position, swallowing as he opened the front door.

My father was the first to enter, shaking hands with Angelo. I kept my head down until Veronica pinched my arm, painfully twisting the skin. “Chin up.” She hissed. I reluctantly raised my head my eyes locking onto the girl inside. Juliet Capulet.

She was… pretty. Unbelievably so. In the way one might look at a piece of art and admire that there’s nothing else quite like it. Or maybe even pity, towards a bird locked away in its golden cage. As expected, she wore a Capulet red dress that seemed talliored to her without fault.

I wanted to draw her. Which shocked me quite a bit, as I wasn’t one to often draw inspiration from others. But there she was, like a living canvas. Standing frozen on the spot.

“It seems Paris can’t take his eyes off her already!” I jumped a bit in surprise as my father patted me aggressively on the back, causing me to stumble into the house.

A rush of terror overwhelmed me. No. No—

There he was, standing a few feet away. The future of the Sicilian mafia. The man I was supposed to marry.

Panic clawing at my throat, I barely managed to offer him a sickeningly shy smile, holding out my hand for him to shake. "I'm Juliet," I greeted, adding a dollop of sweetness to my tone. "It's nice to meet you."

“The pleasure is truly mine. You look beautiful tonight.” I wrapped my hand around hers gently, but instead of shaking her hand, I bowed my head and kissed her knuckle. I released her hand afterwards, holding out the single scarlet rose I had been given outside.

My mind went white, but not with pleasure. With fear.

But my hand moved of its own accord, taking hold of the rose. My smile intensified. Yet more words slipped from my mouth, slowly winding an inescapable web around me. "You're too kind, sir. Thank you."

Her smile sent butterflies stirring in my stomach. I felt my face go a shade darker in color, my blue eyes fixating on her. So maybe this wasn’t such a bad thing after all? She seemed happy that I was here, and did I mention she’s pretty?

“Of course.” I replied smoothly, trying to keep my cool despite the situation. “There’s uh… no need to call me sir. My name is Paris.”

Witty… My father's echoed through my head. But obedient. You must be sharp, but desireable. This, he had been drilling into my head since I'd begun to show my first signs of womanhood. "I know," I found myself responding with a mischievous smile.

Nausea overtook me.

“Right, of course. Rather foolish of me to assume you wouldn’t.” I smiled bashfully, rubbing my arm where my mother had pinched it. I could feel her scathing glare burning into the back of my skull. She was waiting for me to mess up. It was driving me a little insane if I’m being completely honest.

I squeezed his hand as bile rose to my throat. "Not at all…. Paris."

Upon receiving a subtle nod from Angelo, I slipped past my soon-to-be betrothed and bowed my head in recognition of his parents.

“You’ve done a lovely job of raising her Angelo. She’s grown into a fine young woman.” Veronica smiled coldly at Juliet, no warmth in her gaze for her son or anything to do with him. It was about the bondage. The prize. That’s how all of this worked.

I sighed softly, turning to greet Angelo as well. “Thank you for having us, sir. I couldn’t be more honored to be approved by you.” I dipped my head respectfully.

I don't think that I'd ever seen Angelo this happy before—at least, not after the death of my mother. He shook his head modestly and smiled. "Thank you, Veronica, and I might say the same about your son." To Paris, he nodded with more warmth than he'd ever directed at me. "You'll do well, I think. Julieta—"

I froze.

"Why don't you show Paris around the gardens while I have a little chat with his parents? A maid will call you in for dinner."

I couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming wave of relief as Angelo seemed to approve of me. My mother seemed quite proud as well. As long as I didn’t mess this up, I’d be fine. I looked to Juliet, waiting for her to lead the way.

"Of course," I nodded, somehow managing to keep the false smile plastered to my face. It was a miracle that I hadn't caved in to the panic, the sheer terror—how on earth had I not crumbled into a trembling mess?

My stomach twisted as I took hold of his hand, leading him down a pleasantly-lit hallway towards the salon, where we could promptly exit to the gardens.

Juliet grabbed me by the hand, leading me off towards the gardens. Her skin was soft and warm against mine. “Do you go in the gardens often?” I asked quietly.

I was shocked by his gentility. I'd expected the harsh son of a mafia boss, a picture of perfection in my own father's eyes. Not this seemingly softened man.

"I do," I responded softly, leading him down a path. How old are you, Paris? At least twenty. Three years in my senior? Longer?

(what does he look like?)

(He’s probably an inch or two taller than Romeo, fluffy brown hair, deep blue eyes. Stocky build, broad shoulders, and well muscles. Light olive toned skin.)

(thumbs up
how long is his hair?)

(Probably shoulder length, usually tied back, back awkwardly gelled back at the moment.)

(got it
is it still my turn?)

“I dont have a garden at home, my mother never quite believed in them.” I continued, trying to make conversation. “I do like to draw them though.”

(I have to go for about an hour! Sorry!)

(aw okay, ttyl!)

"Draw?" This piqued my interest, despite the fact that I was on high alert, every single cell in my body searching for red flags. "Are you an artist?"

(Back!)

“I would love to call myself one, but my parents don’t quite approve of the title.” I smiled, softly squeezing her hand. “Are you an artist?”

(hey!)

I was mere seconds away from turning around and emptying the contents of my stomach into a flowerbed. "No," I lied to him—Nice or not, he didn't deserve to know about that small, secret part of him. "I—Forgive me for being rude, but…. Can I ask how old you are?" For the first time that night, I faltered. "My father–My father didn't tell me much."

“Don’t apologize, I understand your concern.” I nodded my head politely. “I’m twenty one, just a few years older than you.” I kept my voice even, trying to soothe her. “You must be grateful that your father is distancing you from the war a bit.”

Twenty-one.

Panic began to crowd my thoughts again. Four years—he was four years older than me. He was a man, and I wasn't even an adult. My seventeenth birthday had been three months ago.

"I—" Realizing that my composure had slipped, I forced the smile back onto my face. "Yes, I am. It'll be nice, a bit of peace…"

I nodded silently, sensing some sort of discomfort. Was I coming on threatening? I was trying my best not to, but I must have been to some extent. “I apologize if I may have arisen discomfort from you, Juliet.” I responded after a moment.

(Nooooooooooooooooooooo)

"Oh, you don't need to apologize," I told him quickly, wiping all traces of anxiety from my features. "You haven't done anything wrong, I'm just nervous about……well, appealing to you, if I'm being honest."

Ha. The irony.

I continued the lie, allowing myself to get lost in it for the moment. "I want you to find me nice. Funny. Smart… I don't know. Is that strange?"

“Not at all. I’ve been told I come off as intimidating.” I admitted, looking over at Juliet. She seemed calm now, so I allowed myself to relax a bit. “I’m quite nervous as well.” I realized I liked Juliet, perhaps a bit more than I should have since we were meeting for the first time.