Belle looked down at the page as the two men waited for her to begin. She had often wondered why Vincenti chose her over the other women; why he came to her that night rather than one of the others. Perhaps it was, she realized now, this deep passion which she lived life and with which she loved. It would bring down the stone walls of any city and spark war across the Atlantic. Through the tragedy she had experienced in her life; the pain and sorrow, and the loss of her parents, she had locked that love of life away. That was until she had met Vincenti, and things began to change. It was as if he had known all along what she had to offer without the slightest indication of such a thing. Even in her mind as she scanned the text, she could hear his voice in her head, and feel the brush of his lips against his hair.
She took a breath before she began to read with the same passion she had within the boundaries of the park. It was not difficult for her to react without a person across from her to give the responses, for she already had the responses within her mind. She had already heard the response, and already felt the way his words made her feel.
“If they do see thee, they will murder thee.”
“I would not for the world they saw thee here.”
“By whose direction found'st thou out this place?”
“Thou know'st the mask of night is on my face,
Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek
For that which thou hast heard me speak to-night
Fain would I dwell on form, fain, fain deny
What I have spoke: but farewell compliment!
Dost thou love me? I know thou wilt say 'Ay,'
And I will take thy word: yet if thou swear'st,
Thou mayst prove false; at lovers' perjuries
Then say, Jove laughs. O gentle Romeo,
If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully:
Or if thou think'st I am too quickly won,
I'll frown and be perverse an say thee nay,
So thou wilt woo; but else, not for the world.
In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond,
And therefore thou mayst think my 'havior light:
But trust me, gentleman, I'll prove more true
Than those that have more cunning to be strange.
I should have been more strange, I must confess,
But that thou overheard'st, ere I was ware,
My true love's passion: therefore pardon me,
And not impute this yielding to light love,
Which the dark night hath so discovered.”
Belle turned her eyes up from the page and looked at them, her heart beating rapidly, the ghost of Vincenti’s voice ringing in her mind. She absentmindedly touched the pendent around her neck that he had given her. He was right, too. This opportunity could open a world of possibilities for her. Perhaps he wanted her to be able to keep her own simply so she would finally accept more from him if she had the ability to give back. Money was no object to him, but to her it meant her freedom, and ability to express just how deeply she felt. There was no doubt, that she would give it all away, but having it, or being able to make one’s own, made all the difference.
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