Lady Capulet heard her daughter’s footsteps fading down the hall. Fair Juliet was going to
marry Paris. It was settled—her husband had decided the match. He had left for town to
brag this morning, leaving it to her to bring news to the girl, and she had done it as
well as her own mother had delivered the news to her at such a tender age. She could still
remember her mother’s hand against her cheek, imploring her to consider. “Elizabeth, he is
a fine match!” She had been Juliet’s age when she had married into the house of Capulet
and she knew what it was to be given into such service.
Although, Juliet was a great deal more headstrong than she had been at that age, she
thought. Her daughter was young, and would outgrow it, but her heart led her now. Her
heart—and the steady, throbbing pulse beating between her gentle thighs! Lady Capulet
smiled. Ah, to be that young again! But no, she wouldn’t trade it. She was a lifetime away
from the young girl who had lain trembling beneath her husband’s sweaty, thrusting body on
her wedding night.
She shuddered at the memory, hearing the old nurse knocking at her door.
“Anon, m’lady!” the woman hissed, knocking again. “She is arrived!”
Lady Capulet stood, straightening her gown. She was not so different from her daughter,
she realized, even now. She still led with her heart.
“Enter…”
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