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Rosaline could not imagine ever leaving Verona. And why would she entertain and waste time on such a silly thought? She lived in one of the most gorgeous cities of Italy, surrounded by art, culture and history. Her name also allowed her to be treated like a Goddess among men. Although Juliet was the one attracting all the gazes, with her gold curls, bright eyes and enchanting smile, Rosaline didn’t pale in comparison to the Capulet’s heiress. The two were complete opposites, from their appearances to their minds. It did not stop them from becoming the best of friends, constantly joined to the hip as they paced the length of the Capulet estate or wander through the narrow, secret alleys of Verona.
Though Rosaline couldn’t even imagine ever leaving her hometown, she had found herself pondering at night and dangling ´what if’s. Beneath Verona’s glow, a century-old conflict concealed itself, opposing the Capulets to the Montagues. Rosaline didnt’t possess her cousin’s naivety and unlike Livia, she had outgrew her innocence. Though she didn’t see the puddles of blood staining the streets of fair Verona when morning glow had came, Rosaline knew of the duel that had occurred the night before. She would hear her Lord Uncle rage about yet, another Capulet losing his life to the tip of a Montague’s sword while her father urged him to discretion and quiet, placating words and promises of revenge pouring words from his mouth.
As she walked down the streets, Juliet dutifully standing by her side, Rosaline couldn’t shake the morbid feeling that they were standing on a battle ground. She let out a breath and chose to focus on Juliet’s blabbering about the new brushes she had planned to buy at the market, smiling and nodding when the conversation required it. She couldn’t help but notice the way the old Capulet Nurse’s gaze dart from one stall to the other while keeping an hand tightly wrapped Livia’s. Rosaline let out a small chuckle at the sight of her relentless and younger sister, shaking her head when Juliet stopped her rant, an elegant eyebrow arched in question.
Her mirth was short lived as she quickly took notice of the many states and whispers following them in their wake, as of shadows. Rosaline swallowed the lump in hier throat, pushed her shoulders back and masked her fear with indifference.
The crowd got thicker as they walked further into the market, Rosaline’s grip on Juliet’s arm unconsciously tightening. The latter didn’t show any sign of discomfort, too busy gawking at the various stalls exposed. Surely enough, Rosaline gradually let herself relax and allowed Juliet to drag her from one stall to the other, accepting the fresh fruits shoved in her basket, restraining a flinch when being sprayed with various perfumes.
Livia joined them after a few minutes of aimless wandering, her arms wrapping around Juliet’s free one as she excitedly began to ramble about a jeweller’s stand they had just passed by. A stand that, coincidentally, had been nearby a painter’s established shop. Rosaline did not need to look at her younger cousin to know she was sending her a pleasing look, silently asking for her to go. Letting out a sigh, Rosaline reluctantly loosened her hold around Juliet’s arm.
“Do not wander out of my sight,” she warned, patting the blonde’s hand before her gaze shifted to Livia, “Do not let go of each other.”
Livia did not dare to roll her eyes at her older sister but Rosaline could see her impatience growing stronger as she talked. With a tight lipped smile, she grabbed both of their hands and kissed their palms before squeezing their fingers in reassurance and sending them off. Her bottom lip stick between her teeth, Rosaline watched as the two sauntered to the display that had caught Livia’s eye and found relief in the fact that Juliet’s golden mane made it impossible for them to get lost. After assuring herself that both Juliet and Livia seem to have listened to her, Rosaline crossed her hand over her dress, her now half full basket sliding into the crook of her elbow as she lazily made her way through the market, stopping whenever something caught her attention or to make small talk with the merchants.
Engrossed in a book she had picked up, Rosaline didn’t notice the man - boy, would she realize later - running toward her. Nor did she had the time to move out of the way before he collided into her, sending her and her basket to the ground. Letting out a wince of pain, Rosalie slowly sat up, slightly lightheaded. She looked up at the sound of a groan and found herself satisfied at not being the only one in pain. Satisfaction quickly melted into shame and guilt as striking blue eyes locked into hers. Rosaline watched, as her assaillant slowly got on his knees, a hand cradled to his chest as he tried to gather all of the fruits that had rolled out of her basket before they’d got stepped on.
“My apologies, my Lady,” his voice startled her out of her trance, “I’ve been in quite the hurry, not bothering to pay attention to those who surround me.”
He hissed himself to his feet, a hand holding her basket while the other was stretched out for her to take. Rosaline then realized that she should probably get up if she didn’t want to get trampled on by the crowd.
“Are you alright?” The stranger inquired, his accent foreign and brow furrowed in genuine concern
Blinking up at him, Rosaline cleared her throat and, after retrieving the slightly battered book, accepted the gracious hand. She couldn’t help the small yelp that escaped her lips as he pulled her back up with no trouble and, ignoring his amused quirk of lips, busied herself with dusting off her skirts.
“Are you sure you’re alright my Lady? I could send for a healer to tend to you if to you were to feel ill.”
His hands were calloused, Rosaline noticed with surprise. Surely, he couldn’t be a common woodworker or forger, she thought with a frown. The leather of his coat was expensive and the way he talked were small proofs of his noble upbringing. Realizing that she had been holding his hand for longer than was deemed necessary, Rosaline withdrew her hand and crossed both of them behind her back.
“Tis will not be necessary, my Lord, “she breathed out, “Thankfully, the fruits were the only bruised ones.”
“Aye,” he grimaced, handing her the basket, “Once again, my most sincere apologies. I ought to pay for the damage occasioned.”
“My thanks, sir. That will not be necessary”, Rosaline sighed, “Nothing a bit of water will not be able to fix.”
Giving a nod, he ran his fingers through his tousled brown haired and then let his hand rest onto the back of his neck, rubbing it self consciously. Rosaline watched, her head tilted to the side as he bounced on the balls of his feet, taking in his surroundings. Tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, she adjusted her hold onto the basket.
“You aren’t from around here, are you?”
He turned back to her, his blue eyes wide opened before he gave a small chuckle, the corner of his mouth twisting up.
“What gave it? The helpless expression plastered on my face?”
“Your accent,” Rosaline returned, the ghost of a smile playing at her lips, “Do you need help getting somewhere?”
“Aye, I do, as a matter of fact,” he admitted, turning fully to face her and when her hand went to rest on the pommel of his sword, Rosaline took notice of the weapon for the first time, “I am supposed to be meeting my cousin in la Piazza delle Erbe, by a fountain of some kind…?”
He voiced the last part of his sentence as a question, drawing Rosaline’s attention away from the sword strapped to his side and back onto his confused frown.
“You appear to be luck, my Lord, seeing as you are standing in the Piazza Delle Erbe. As for the fountain you seem to be looking for, that should be the Madonna Verona.”
“That does sounds vaguely familiar,” he admitted with a snap of his fingers, earning a soft chuckle from Rosaline.
“I could take you there, if you’d like,” Rosaline proposed, slightly taken aback by her own willingness to help the person who had practically caused her harm earlier.
He, too, seemed surprised by the situation if the raise of his eyebrows was anything to go by. After a moment of pondering, he shook his head.
“Nay. I have taken enough of your time as it is. I would be grateful if you were to point me in the right direction.
Swallowing the urge to retort that she did not mind or that it was not that long of a trek, she nodded. Letting a breath, Rosaline turned around and raised on her toes, shielding her eyes with a hand and letting a sigh of relief when finding the marble head of the roman statue.
"You will have to retrace your step, my Lord,” she announced, turning back to face him, the latter watching her with an undistinctable glint in his eyes, “you’ll catch sight of it as soon as you’re out of the marketplace.”
“Very well, I think I can manage that,” he breathed out, his mouth twisted into half a smile.
Rosaline returned the smile and watched as he turned to retrace his steps, his pace slower than it had been earlier and his hands lazily crossed behind his back. After having taken a couple of steps away, he turned back on his heels and cocked his head to the side, an eyebrow raised in question. She was used to the whispers following her, whether they be in awe or disdainful. She was not used to being met with genuine curiosity.
“Rosaline,” she introduced her, lifting a hand.
“Simply Rosaline?” he inquired, his tone teasing as he took her hand in his, bending down to peck the back of it.
Swallowing a gasp, Rosaline cleared her throat and slowly withdrew her hand, watching as the latter straightened back, a mischievous glint in his blue eyes.
“It is the only name that matters,” Rosaline retorted, lifting her chin.
“I suppose it is,” he chuckled before turning back and walking away, a bounce in his step.
It wasn’t until he was standing at the entry of the market, Rosaline realized he hadn’t given her his name in return.
“I do not believe you’ve given me your name either, sir,” she called.
Without bothering to stop walking, he turned around, grinned and gave a small bow.
“They call me Benvolio,” he shouted back before turning back and disappearing in the crowd.
Benvolio, Rosaline found herself rolling the name on her tongue, whispering it under her breath. She snorted when realizing it had been the only name he had given her. Sighing, she brushed back the black curls that fell into her eyes and made her way back to the librarian’s stall, assuring him that she would be paying for the book she had taken. Getting a few coins out of her satchel, Rosaline dropped them onto the counter and slipped the book into the basket, mindful of the fruits. She barely had the time to take a step forward before she felt a hand wrapped around her arm. Startled, Rosaline felt herself being tugged back, the Nurse’s glare meeting her wide, surprised eyes for an instant. The old maid was muttering to herself as she dragged them to the stall Rosaline had last seen Livia and Juliet.
“You foolish child!Do you have any idea of what you just did?
"I was merely helping a boy find his way,” Rosaline protested, stiffening a cry of pain when the grip around her arm tightened.
She almost lost her balance when the Nurse abruptly stopped and turn her head to glare down at her. Though she knew she would suffer the consequences of her insolence later, Rosaline didn’t recoil back in fear but chose to stare back instead, her head held high.
“‘Tis no mere boy you were helping but Montague filth,” she spat, her featured twisting in disgust.
Rosaline saw her lips move and assumed that she had kept talking, but the buzzing in her ears and her too loud heartbeat made her desk to any other sound. A Montague, she inwardly repeated to herself, her throat cloaked. She should have known better. Nobody, even the strangest stranger, happened to be no one in fair Verona. Especially the strangest stranger. The Nurse’s grip on her shoulder brought her back to reality, to her endless nagging and to the marketplace’s cacophony.
“What did he want with you? What did he ask of you?”
“He did not want a thing to do with me, nor did he ask for anything.Truly,” Rosaline insisted when hearing the older woman’s scoff, “He was simply lost and looking for his cousin.”
The Nurse paled at the revelation, much to Rosaline’s confusion. She straightened and looked around themselves, her eyes narrowed as if she were looking for someone. Letting out a resigned sigh, she turned back to Rosaline and reached for her hood, pulling it over her head to cover - to conceal - her face.
“You are one clever young lady, miss Rosaline,” she said, taking her chin in her hand and tilting her head up, “Surely, you know what were to happen if Lord Montague caught sight of the Capulet heiress and her young cousins, strolling through the streets with for only protection an old maiden,” she warned, her voice quiet as if she were confessing a secret.
She didn’t leave Rosaline much time to retort or process her words before she had let go of her and turned her attention back onto Juliet and Livia, the two oblivious to the entire exchange. Tucking loose tendrils of hair into her hood, she tightened the laces of her cape and moved to Juliet’s side, focusing on her younger cousin’s excited blabber while unconsciously shielding her from view and fighting down the urge to look for the mischievous and blue-eyed Montague, where she knew him to be near the Madonna Verona.