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Isabella and Helena
Rosaline would like the record to state that anyone still recovering from a breakup with the person you thought you were going to marry, and being flirted with by Benvolio Montague in a perfectly fitted suit would end up in the same situation.
Most people probably wouldn’t even need the breakup to end up in the same situation, but seeing as the entire thing happened because she was at the wedding of her ex’s sister, Rosaline thinks it should be added to the list of reasons she’s collecting to defend herself.
Not that she has to defend herself to anyone.
Except maybe herself.
Benvolio’s lips move from hers and start making their way down her throat, his hand sliding dangerously along the zipper of her dress.
And god, this might just be the most undignified thing she’s ever done. She’s at a wedding, a black tie wedding at that, her very best friend’s wedding, and she’s about to hook up with a man in the bathroom. A Montague of all people. But she does not want him to stop.
Rosaline had been sitting at the bar, watching Isabella and Helena spinning each other around for their first dance, trying her damnedest to be happy. Isabella was happy. Helena was amazing. Ever since they were 13 and Isabella told her that she might like girls, this is what Rosaline had been hoping Isabella would find. A beautiful wife and happiness, and the most perfect wedding to probably ever grace Verona.
And two weeks ago, that’s what it was.
And then Escalus broke up with her out of the blue, and Rosaline would not - could not - talk to Isabella about it, she couldn’t risk the possibility of messing up anything about this wedding, so she was at the bar, avoiding the bride’s brother as best as she could, trying to not let her sour mood seep into the air, when he sat next to her.
Benvolio Montague.
Family rival and Verona’s number one heartbreaker three years running.
And then he smiled at her. In that stupid prefect suit that was probably made just for him, tie undone and hair a mess because even if the invitation said Black Tie, leave it to Benvolio Montague to make sure he looked at least slightly rumpled and rough around the edges.
“You know I heard a rumor,” he said, taking a sip of his drink before letting his eyes slide over to her. “That one of the bride’s best friends was haunting the bar.”
“Sorry to disappoint, Montague.”
“Don’t sell yourself short, Capulet. Especially in that dress.”
Rosaline would also like the record to state that she knows that was a terrible line, but would also like the jury to take into consideration that she had just had her heart broken less than a fortnight ago, and, again, did you see him in that suit.
She’s not entirely certain how harmlessly flirting with him at the bar at the beginning of the night landed them here, in the bathroom, his hand dancing along the edge of her dress at the end of the night, and frankly at this point, she doesn’t care.
His tongue traces along the neckline of her dress, and something inside of her jolts awake.
“Montague.” Rosaline pushes him back just the slightest bit, and he stops, his head popping up from her chest. “What are we doing?”
Benvolio’s thumb traces a circle along her thigh, and her brain almost short circuits.
“Well, you are rebounding from Escalus Price, I presume, and I am feeling quite rebellious against my family.” He drags his bottom lip through his teeth, and studies her. “Is that okay?”
Logically, his answer should make her step away from him, walk back out into the party and pretend that she did not hook up with him in the bathroom.
But it doesn’t.
He’s completely honest with her, and for some reason, that makes her want to stay with him even more.
So she does.
Later, when she’s fixing her hair in the mirror, and trying her best to not look like she hooked up with someone in the bathroom, he catches her eye through the mirror, and she can see the bruise developing on his neck, she starts to laugh. Because the whole thing is completely ridiculous.
Everyone expects Benvolio Montague to hook up with someone at a wedding, but she’s Rosaline Capulet.
Poised and practical. On her way to becoming the youngest Assistant Defense Attorney Verona’s ever seen. Definitely not the kind of woman who would step out on her best friends wedding to hook up with a notorious scoundrel.
“What?” Benvolio asks, buttoning up his dress shirt, his hair even more of a mess than it was earlier.
“Nothing, it’s just,” she turns and wipes a smudge of lipstick off his cheek. “Even if we walk back into the ballroom together, no one would believe it.”
“What, that I had sex with one of the bride’s best friends in the bathroom?” he asks, amusement tinging his features.
“No, that I had sex with you.”
Benvolio finishes buttoning his shirt and runs his hand through his hair, doing nothing to make it neater.
The silence falls between them, and she can’t read his face, and suddenly, Rosaline feels like she said the wrong thing.
But then, Benvolio’s arm slides around her waist and he tugs her closer, kissing her hard enough that she almost wants to undo the buttons on his shirt again.
“Guess it will be out little secret then, Capulet.”
Mercutio and Antonio
Rosaline is still trying to figure how she got invited to Mercutio Prince’s wedding, but she’s here, squished between Livia and Juliet, doing her very best to ignore the group at the other side of the table.
Because someone (Who’s name starts with M and ends with ercuito) decided it would be a good idea to put the Capulet’s and the Montague’s at the same table.
Well, the newer generation at least. The older Capulet’s and Montague’s were decidedly at different sides of the venue.
But she’s not complaining. The wedding is beautiful, and if anyone knows how to throw a party it is Mercutio Prince and Antonio Smith. She had been dragged along a few times by Escalus before their entire relationship blew up, and then a few more times by Isabella and Helena in the past few weeks, and the wedding is just one giant party, fueled with a little more class and and a lot more adults who don’t know exactly how to handle the entire thing.
“Friends!” Mercutio ascends on the table, his cape sweeping far enough that it brushes against Rosaline’s shoulder even though he’s wrapping himself around Benvolio and Romeo. Antonio appears beside him, the happiest of smiles on both of their faces, and for the briefest of seconds, Rosaline allows herself to think about how she thought her and Escalus were heading in this direction before she forces it out of her head.
“The ceremony was beautiful, cousin,” Isabella says to Mercutio, appearing seemingly out of nowhere from her position at the family table across the room. “Almost as good as mine.”
Helena playfully slaps her arm, and Mercutio detaches himself from him boys so he can drape himself over her.
“I thought we promised not to compare them against each other.”
“Did we?” Isabella kisses his cheek, and he pats hers back, and then Antonio is being pulled away to another table and Mercutio is calling his farewells, and the table falls back into the awkward tension that had been building all night.
Isabella takes one of the empty seats and turns her eyes to Rosaline. “So, Rosie, dearest.” She props her head in her hand. “Is the guy you hooked up with at my wedding here as well.”
Rosaline chokes on her own spit.
Livia almost spits out her drink. “You what?”
“Oh, this is good. Who was is Rosaline?” Juliet asks, leaning closer to her cousin.
Rosaline isn’t sure how Benvolio reacts because she refuses to look at him.
“I have no idea what you are talking about.” It’s a bad defense. One that will only make them work harder to get their answer. One she would tear apart in court. “What makes you think I hooked up with someone at your wedding, anyway?”
Rosaline can feel his eyes on her, but she keeps staring at Isabella, because she will not look at him.
“Besides the fact you disappeared for almost an hour, came back throughly rumpled and glowing with that ‘just-throughly-fucked’ look?” Isabella says, raising a single perfect eyebrow.
“Or the fact that you could not stop smiling for the rest of the night,” Helena adds, hooking her chin over her wife’s shoulder.
Rosaline looks up to roll her eyes at Helena, but it’s a mistake.
Because Benvolio is sitting right next her, and the second she looks up, he catches her eye. He has that stupid, satisfied smirk on his face, and it makes her want to punch him and kiss him desperately at the same time.
“Maybe I just had a lot of champagne.”
Benvolio half laughs into his drink, and all of the girls heads suddenly turn toward him.
“Got something to add, Montague?” Livia asks, but there’s no poison in her voice. Just pure curiosity.
Romeo’s staring confused at his cousin, and Benvolio shakes his head.
“No, just, I know what ‘just-thoroughly-fucked’ looks like, and it definitely doesn’t look like having too much champagne.”
The girls all agree, and in the mix, Benvolio winks at her.
And her entire body heats up.
“God,” Juliet sighs, and reaches across to grab her own champagne flute. “It’s been forever since I’ve been thoroughly fucked.”
Romeo’s eye brows disappear into his hair line but then before anyone can respond the lights are suddenly off, only to be flicked back on again, the music suddenly three times as loud.
“We command you too dance!” Mercutio says, from the top of the DJ booth, and then before Rosaline knows it she’s being tugged onto the dance floor, and she’s spinning between Juliet and Livia, and this might be the most outrageous wedding she’s ever been too, but she’s having fun.
She spins and collides straight into someone’s chest.
She knows it’s going to be him before she looks up.
Before she can move away he grabs her hand and spins her again, and the smile falls on her face without her permission.
They are not Montague’s or Capulet’s or anything right now. Rosaline allows herself to soak in the moment, to let the happiness of the day seep into her bones.
The song changes, and Benvolio pulls her close, his lips brushing the shell of her ear.
“Mercutio gave me my own room.”
Rosaline’s entire body floods with heat. But she doesn’t show it. She has a very good poker face.
She almost says ‘what of it’ but she holds her tongue. Rosaline knows what he’s asking, but she wants to make him spell it out.
She wants to know that he really want it too.
“He gave everyone their own room.”
She doesn’t realize they are swaying back and forth until she pulls back to see how he reacts to her words.
Benvolio nods. “Because he’s a good bro who wants people to get laid at his wedding.” He’s looking at her like he did when they were across the table from each other.
Like he’s undressing her with his eyes.
Like he wants.
“A hotel room is a lot classier than a bathroom,” he reasons, his palm burning a trail along her spine. “More room to conquer, more privacy.”
He says it casually, like it’s no big deal he’s asking her to hook up with him again, like this is something they do all the time. And maybe he does, but she’s still new to this.
Rosaline knows she she should say no. There’s a question in his eyes that tells her he know it too.
“I’ll think about it.”
Benvolio laughs, a short, joyous sound, and three people turn to look at them, but Rosaline just hides he head in his chest, and pretends not to notice Romeo and Juliet staring into each others eyes.
She knocks on his door later, much earlier than she wants to, but he opens it in an instant, stripped down to his undershirt and a pair of sweats.
Rosaline’s just in an old shirt from college and pair of shorts because she didn’t pack anything cute to wear to bed, but Benvolio’s eyes travel up and down her body in a way that make’s her feel like she’s wearing something sexy.
“What are we doing?” she asks him, because she needs to know, because he was able to give her an answer last time.
His eyes snap up to hers and he smiles, that easy, confident smile that dragged her to the bathroom last time, and pulled her into his room this time.
He thinks for a moment, studying her. “Fighting back against our families.” He sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, and smiles again, this one more dangerous. “Enjoying ourselves.”
He takes a step forward and slides his hand around her waist, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead before tugging her inside.
She stops protesting her thoughts after that.
Benedick and Beatrice
Technically, Rosaline isn’t supposed to even be at this wedding.
Isabella has been called away for an emergency conference and Helena had showed up with puppy dog eyes and homemade banana bread, and really, there’s just something fun about weddings.
This one is by far the most causal Rosaline has been to this year, a garden party vibe secluded in the backyard of the newly married couples house, which, even to Rosaline who grew up in her Uncles house, is huge.
She knows the bride tangentially, her being a friend of Helena’s and occasionally bumping into her at parties and that one time in court when she was there to drop off something for Isabella.
And really, for knowing a total of two people at the wedding, Rosaline is having fun. She’s wearing her favorite floral dress, and she’s making easy conversation with the people at her table. Until someone mentions appetizers, and the table disperses, Helena promising to grab her some snacks as Rosaline decides to run to the bathroom.
And that’s when she sees him.
Halfway between her table and the back door to lead inside, she sees him, his hand resting gently on some blonde woman’s back.
It shouldn’t, but it almost makes her stumble.
As if he can feel her watching him, he turns at that exact moment.
His hand drops from her waist, and he raises it in hello.
Rosaline almost sprints to the bathroom.
“Get yourself together, Capulet,” she tells herself in the mirror, applying a new layer of lipstick. He’s just a boy, with a killer smile and deadly lips, and she can handle this.
Just a boy who she has hooked up with twice and made her smile and told her she was beautiful when she woke up next to him the morning after Mercutio’s wedding. A boy who held her shirt hostage in exchange for a kiss, who looked at her like he wanted to say something other than goodbye.
Just a boy.
She jabs her lipstick back in her bag before looking herself over the mirror again. She looks good. She knows she looks good, and she’s having a good time, and she is not going to let Benvolio Montague or the gorgeous blonde on his arm get to her.
“You know, I was not expecting you to be here.” Benvolio pushed himself off the back porch the second she finds her way back to the garden, almost making her drop her phone.
“Feelings mutual, Montague,” She manages to say, once she’s sorted herself out. He’s here, and he’s talking to her, and she really would like to get back to her appetizers.
“How do you know Ben and Bea?”
Now he’s following her, skirting along the edges of the garden, easily falling into step next to her.
She hates it.
She hates how it makes her skin heat up just thinking about him.
“Bella had an emergency, so I am Helena’s emergency stand in wife/date. I think her and Beatrice grew up together.”
Benvolio nods as she talks, and she does not think about his lips or his hands or how they ended up at the last two weddings they ran into each other at.
“What about you?”
“Oh, Benedict and I went to University together. Ben and Ben.” Her offers her a smile, and her stomach constricts.
Helena and the rest of her table is still up, so Rosaline marches past her table, Benvolio still trailing on her heels until they make it the other, more secluded side of the garden. She settles herself on the edge of the fountain and he thinks a second, but then follows her, almost close enough that their hands are touching.
She hates that she notices it.
“Do you think it’s funny that we only run into each other at weddings?” She asks, because she doesn’t know what to say.
Benvolio laughs, and he leans back, dragging a hand through the water.
“I can’t figure out if it’s fate or if we just have really similar groups of friends.
That brings a smile to her lips, and his eyes travel from the edge of the water to her face, and she can literally feel the tension of the conversation change.
“You look beautiful, by way. This might be my favorite dress yet.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, did my pajamas not do it for you?” She teases, and for a second everything is okay, they can do this and be normal people about it, but then she watches the tinge of color touch his cheeks, and oh.
He liked her pajamas.
She hates it.
She hates that blushing Benvolio is somehow even more attractive and that here, like this in the garden as the sun is just beginning to set, that this, whatever is between them feels like something more.
“I liked your pajamas very much, Capulet.” He leans in close, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear. “Enough that they haunt my dreams.”
Rosaline shivers, and her mind is thrown violently back into his hotel room, and his lips on hers, and she should leave.
She should stand up and go back to the table and laugh with Helena and stop thinking about Benvolio Montague.
“Look, Capulet-"
“That girl you were with before, did you come with her?” She interrupts him before he has a chance to finish his sentence.
Confusion erupts on his face, and then he’s shaking his head so fast Rosaline thinks he might hurt himself.
“Stella? No, not since college. Her current boyfriend said he couldn’t see us together, so I had to prove a point that we made a very fine looking couple, and tha-“
She cuts him off, pressing her lips into his.
She shouldn’t be doing this. Kissing him, again, wanting to keep kissing him.
But they are alone in this side of the garden, and for the next few minutes, Rosaline wants to pretend.
Pretend that this is okay, that this is normal, and something that they do all the time.
His hand comes up and cups her cheek, and she sighs into his mouth, and Benvolio freezes.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but my car is like less than a two minute walk away.”
She pulls back just slightly. “And?”
He ducks his chin, and his cheeks go red, and it’s almost endearing.
“I could use a really bad line on you right now, or just tell you that I would really like to have sex with you in the back of my car.”
She has to stop the laugh in her throat. “You are so romantic,” she teases.
Benvolio drags his bottom lip through is teeth, and she knows it's stupid, but she surges forward to kiss him again.
“I could totally be romantic if you wanted me to,” he says, intertwining their hands together.
“Shut up.” She presses her lips against his again. “Lead on, Montague.”
He tugs her off the fountain and they slip through the crowd.
She spies Helena, still on line for appetizers, and Rosaline lets herself relax. This will be the last time, she promises herself. No more Montagues, no more weddings, no more hooking up with the man currently leading her away from the party.
Once last time, and then she will stop.
One last kiss.
Helena won’t even notice she is gone.
Orsino and Viola
Vegas is bright and obnoxious and everything that Viola should hate, but currently, she is squeezing Rosaline’s hand so tight, she’s going to cut off circulation.
Orsino and his boys are on the opposite of the little chapel, and Rosaline was doing her absolute best to ignore that corner, mainly one of Orsino’s boys.
This was supposed to be a girls weekend. A bachelorette party. Just friends from work and Viola’s friends, and too many drinks, no boys allowed.
Until the bachelor party walked into the same bar because apparently the best man and maid of honor do not communicate, and then the next thing Rosaline knew, Orsino was on one knee again and asking Viola to marry him right now.
So they were here, in the dingiest little chapel Rosaline had ever seen.
And apparently, with Benvolio Montague.
She really needed to expand her group of friends.
There’s hushing and giggling and then Viola is flipping the cheap veil over her head and the groups collide, and Benvolio’s hand nudges gently against hers.
“Capulet.”
“Montague.”
Maybe she should stop going to weddings.
Maybe she should ask him if his hotel is closer than hers.
“How do you know-“
She cuts him off before he has time to make a full sentence. “Are you seriously going to ask the soon to be ADA how she knows the mayor of the next town over?”
“Right.” His jaw is tense, and he is not looking at her. Which is weird.
“What about you?” She should just leave it alone, but at this point she can’t go to wedding without running into him, and it’s getting a little ridiculous.
“Merc and Ant. Ant and Seb. Seb and Vi.”
He say’s it like it should be obvious. And once he says it is it. His best friends husband’s best friend’s sister’s fiancé. Of course they would hang out. Of course they would know each other. Of course she should have realized this.
She can’t tell if something is bothering her or if something is bothering him. She doesn’t know if she wants to find out.
Rosaline allows herself one long look at him. It’s the most casual she’s ever seen him, minus his pajamas, just a dark pair of jeans and nice tee shirt, and god, she’s already running through the scenarios in which she pulls the shirt off of him.
He catches hers staring. She doesn’t look away.
The something tense behind his eyes flashes, instantly evaporating into a look she’s staring to recognize as want. He drags his teeth over his bottom lip.
She lets her hand bump against his again.
Really, Rosaline should be watching Viola say her vows. Really, Rosaline should be mentally planning for how she’s going to get to the airport tomorrow, a day earlier than everyone else for work things. Really, Rosaline should be thinking about many more important things than Benvolio Montague.
“How close is your hotel?” She asks, because really, Rosaline lets herself be reckless a few times a year, and mainly, she’s only ever reckless with him.
Benvolio ducks his head and this time, when his hand bumps against hers, her intertwine’s their fingers.
“Two blocks.”
“You may now kiss the bride!”
The small chapel erupts into cheers, and then Viola is throwing her handful of wildflowers into the air, and people are planning the next bar they are going to, and Rosaline squeezes Benvolio’s hand.
“I’m going to head back now ladies,” Rosaline says, detangling herself from Benvolio and into the hoard of friends, throwing her arms around Viola. “I’m so happy for you.”
Viola’s eyes are bright with happy tears, and Orsino’s reaching for her, and Rosaline pulls her in for another hug.
“I’m so glad you came.”
“Me too!”
And it’s moments like these that Rosaline remembers the they are allowed to do crazy, stupid, human things. Viola is the literal mayor of Illyria, and now she’s here, getting last minute married in Vegas.
A voice in her head that sounds surprisingly like Livia and Juliet is telling her she’s allowed to have fun sometimes, allowed to do crazy, stupid, human things, like slip her arms around Benvolio’s waist and press her lips against his spine through his shirt.
She knows they should talk about this. She knows she needs to ask him if everything’s okay, if the tension in his shoulder’s earlier is something he wants to talk about, if them using each other as distractions is smart or healthy or good.
But she can ask him that later.
He twists in her arms, and smiles at he, and her stomach twists in that dangerous way that tells her this is more than hooking up when they run into each other at weddings. But she ignores it.
“Ready to go, beloved?”
Her eye brows twist in confusion and he laughs, full and wonderful, and that feeling in the pits of her stomach grows.
“I don’t think we are pet names level yet.”
“Yet?”
There’s a promise in that word, and in the way he tugs her closer, the way they wander the streets back to his hotel, a promise she wouldn’t mind exploring.
Maybe.
Hamlet and Ophelia
Technically, the wedding has already happened. The Prince of Denmark and Lady Ophelia had married at the ass crack of dawn in Rosaline’s opinion, but in Denmark, it was probably a perfectly respectable time.
But, it was all anyone could talk about all day, the bar she was in was currently replaying the lavish ceremony.
Everyone thought the bride looked beautiful.
Rosaline thought she looked terrified.
Livia pushes another drink into her hand and sighs dramatically. “I would love to marry a prince.”
Juliet laughs. “There’s no prince’s in Verona, Liv.”
“Excuse me!” A voice from behind them says, and the girls turn to find Mercutio smiling at them. “There are Prince’s in Verona. But all of the good ones have been taken.”
It takes less than a second for his boys to appear behind them, and Rosaline’s eyes are instantly drawn to him.
Benvolio looks devilishly good, and she quickly takes a gulp of her drink to avoid having to say anything.
“That is very true,” Livia sighs again. “Do you know of any outside of Verona?”
Mercutio’s smile grows three sizes bigger and he wraps his arm around her shoulder before breaking into a story about how all the Prince’s were terrible, and she should stay away from them at all costs.
Rosaline feels like the same could apply to the Montague’s. But she feels Benvolio slide up next to her at the bar, and something inside of her is terribly happy about it.
“Fancy meeting you here,” he says boldy taking her drink and taking a sip.
“Well I mean, this technically is a wedding.” She grabs her drink back, and he offers a her a lazy, satisfied smile that makes her heart speed up.
“Technically, that means we should probably have sex. You know, to ensure the happiness of the couple.”
He say’s it casually, like it’s no big deal, but it sends a thrill through her. And she can see him waiting, tense, to see what she will say.
“I’m not having sex with you in the bathroom, Montague. And I’m not planning on leaving the bar yet. We just got here.”
She says it casually, like she isn’t thinking about grabbing his face and pulling him to her right now.
“Guess that means I have to romance you, huh, Capulet?” He bumps her shoulder, and her skin sparks where he touches her, and everything is either falling apart or falling into place.
“I’d like to see you try.”
His smile turns lethal, and then he steals another sip of her drink before pulling her out onto the dance floor.
And somehow, they go from shamelessly flirting to her talking about her fears of the new job, and Benvolio talking about his job as a political cartoonists for the local newspaper, much to his uncle’s dismay. And he tells her about his uncle and the argument they had before Vegas and about how Romeo is going to be the death of him. And she tells him about Livia and Juliet and their ridiculousness, and about how hard she had to fight to get out of her uncles house.
He kisses her, sometime later that night after they’ve run out of stories and she’s exhausted from dancing and laughing and he’s kissing her.
Something inside of her feels like it is glowing.
The new Prince and Princess of Denmark kiss on screen, their first kiss as husband and wife, and Rosaline finds the girls to tell them she is going home early. Livia just quirks an eyebrow at her, questions already forming in her eyes that Rosaline will avoid tomorrow morning. Juliet is too caught up in Romeo to notice.
She blows them a kiss and then finds her way back to where Benvolio is waiting, eyes bright and mouth smiling and kissable.
So she kisses him, and lets him take her home, and lets him romance her, and lets the possibility of this, of them, of yet seep into her bones.
Even though she knows that they will both leave in the morning, and that they probably will not run into each other until the next wedding or the next time they accidentally run into the same bar.
But she ignores that for now.
And kisses him again.
Romeo and Juliet
It should not be happening.
Nothing about today should be happening, but here they are.
Juliet Capulet and Romeo Montague are getting married.
Rosaline thinks the world might be ending.
It’s too early in the morning, and the day is too perfect, and this should not be happening. Her Aunt and Uncle are sitting across the aisle from Romeo’s dad and the unforgivingly dangerous Tessa, and Rosaline is trying to be prepared for anything that could go wrong.
Juliet is currently getting her hair fixed, and Livia is checking on the flowers, so Rosaline is making her last trip around the venue, checking and double checking, and trying to not let the stress ruin her.
“We need to stop meeting at weddings that aren’t even ours.”
His voice catches her completely off guard, and she jumps before she can process who said the words.
But then, the realization spreads throughout her body, and she’s turning to Benvolio Montague, hair a mess and ears turning a delightful shade of pink.
“I do think proposing marriage before a first date is frowned upon in most circles.”
Benvolio shrugs and he takes a step closer to her, and Rosaline feels that dangerous twist in her gut again. But she’s not mad about it.
“Also, we knew that we were bound to meet at this one. We are in the wedding party,” Rosaline says as he makes his way right next to her.
“I would like to see you, again. At more than just the occasional wedding.” His ears are still burning pink, and she’s trying to bite back her smile, but then his hand brushes against hers, and she’s a goner. “Maybe even an actual date.”
“They say you should never meet anyone at a wedding. Too many emotions balled into one day.”
Benvolio rolls his eyes. “We met each other way before our first wedding, Capulet.”
“That wasn’t a no.”
His hand tugs around her waist and then she’s stumbling closer to him, and she knows she has to get back to the bridal suite and make sure everything is running smoothly and on time, but she doesn’t want this moment to end.
He brushes his nose gently against hers. “Dance with me tonight? And then get dinner with me tomorrow. And then come home with me the next day. And then let me celebrate with you when you became ADA, and then maybe a while down the road, one of the weddings we run into each other will be ours.”
The world goes quiet. Rosaline is pretty sure her heart stops beating. “You’ve thought all about this, huh?”
“Enough to know that every time I see you my heart skips too many beats to be healthy. That sometimes I stare at your number and try to come up with reasons to text you. That the second morning I woke up next to you I knew I wanted it to keep happening.” He tucks an errant curl behind her ear. “If you’ll have me.”
Rosaline lets her smile break her face and then pushes her lips against his. “I think dinner sounds nice.”
He wraps his arms around her and pulls her closer, their lips connecting again, and Rosaline has knows they both have to go back to their respective cousins before people start to wander where they are, but for the moment, she does not care.
“What are we doing?” he asks when he pulls back, eyes blown wide, breathless.
“Rebelling against out families,” she says, repeating his words from Isabella and Helena’s wedding. “Grabbing dinner. Possibly getting married in a few years.” Rosaline kisses him again, and then her phone buzzes in her dress pocket, and she knows they have to leave, have to get this wedding started, have to make sure the first Capulet/Montague union goes off without any bumps or mishaps.
But she doesn’t want to stop kissing him.
Her phone buzzes again, and then she feels his against her hip and they pull back, but they don’t step away from each other.
“We have to go,” he says, but he sounds like he would rather do anything else.
“We do,” she says, nodding, reaching into her pocket for her phone.
“I don’t want to.”
“Me neither.”
Her phone buzzes again, this time Juliet’s face lighting up the screen. A call instead of a text.
She really needs to go.
“Catch you down the aisle, Capulet,” he says, pressing another quick kiss against her lips, pulling how own phone out of his pocket.
“In your dreams, Montague.”
Before he can answer she answers the phone and starts her way back to the bridal suite, reassuring Juliet everything is fine, she’s one her way back, it’s all going to be okay.
She does see him at the end of the aisle before everyone is supposed to walk, and he gives her such a dazzling smile that even Livia notices its from her spot down the line, but the music starts before anyone can question it.
And then, Romeo Montague and Juliet Capulet are married. Everything goes amazingly well, and they transition to the reception seamlessly, and Benvolio finds her almost immediately, and his hand intertwines with hers, and everyone at the table’s eyes widen almost comically, and Isabella is yelling that she knew it, and Antonio is passing Mercutio 20 bucks, and Rosaline should care but she doesn’t.
She’s too happy to.
Tonight, she is going to dance, and tomorrow she’s going to get dinner with him, and then maybe go back to his place and try making this more than hooking up every couple of months.
Tonight, she’s going to let herself be happy, and maybe even allow herself to start falling in love with a Montague.
She would like the record to state that it turned out to be a damn good decision.