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

Started February 05, 2019 by @blue_topaz

tune

Unknown POV

I stood in front of his bathroom vanity, carefully running a comb through my hair. The fluffy brown strands frizzed in rebellion, and for the hundredth time that day, I began to wonder if I should’ve put up more of a fight against my father. But to be honest, my mother was the real puppeteer behind it all. As per usual, Veronica was the one who insisted I married into the mafia family in order to stable our ties with the others, and since the Capulets had a daughter, here I was.

I gave up on combing my hair, instead getting gel and smoothing it back with a quiet sigh. In a half hour I’d be ushered into a fancy limousine and shipped over to the Capulet house for dinner. Veronica had ordered guards outside my door and windows so I couldn’t run off beforehand and embarrass her. It’s going to be a long night.

I was reciting lines from the practice script I'd been handed for my upcoming audition when the bedroom door flew open.

Angelo.

I flinched backwards, body going rigid at the sight of him. But he paid no attention to me, only rushed over to my wardrobe. Frowning, I watched him dig through my dresses…..what on earth was he up to now?

"Wear this," he barked gruffly, tossing a scarlet gown over to my side of the room. "And put on makeup. You've got an hour."
My brows drew together in confusion. Had we been invited to some kind of spur-of-the-moment gala? But my father's next words shocked me to the core.

"Paris is on his way."

Ten minutes later I was in a tux, struggling to successfully put on a bow tie. My mother waltzed into the room without knocking, effectively scaring me. “Ma!” I whined as she pinched me cheeks and shooed me over to a full length mirror, trying to bow tie around my neck just a smidge to tight.

“Bello!” She announced, ignoring my complaints. “We’re leaving soon, Tesoro. Get your things.” Veronica left the room, slamming my door. I flinched at the noise and stared in the mirror. I didn’t even look like myself. Hair slick with gel, blue in the face from this bow tie, stinking of cologne and shame.

I shied away from the mirror, getting my phone and checking it for messages. There were none. I don’t know why I expected one of my friends to care enough about my to check on me out of school. They never did anyways. Not unless they needed something from me. I shut it off and walked out of the room, the door shutting with a gentle click behind me.

My father slammed the door shut behind him, punctuating my death sentence. No— Tears were falling down my cheeks before I'd fully registered his words, a full-fledged panic attack crashing down on me. No–Anything but that—

I crumpled the dress into a ball, pressed it against my mouth to stop each choked whimper from slipping out. Paris. My future husband—I couldn't do this. Romeo…

I felt numb. The odds of me getting a girlfriend were slim to none. It wasn’t like I had someone to worry about. I’ve always been too shy in school to stand out to anyone. But still. My future wife? The words just sounded wrong in my head. I’d always sort of had a fantasy that I’d meet a girl at one of my boxing matches. A fan or something. And I’d just know as soon as she smiled at me, with the crowd roaring behind us, that she would be the one I married. Not another pretentious mafia girl. Someone who’d sooner shoot me after we got married and just take the money and run.

(Thanks, Joy
British I’m sorry I wasn’t on, my dad found my phone in my room and took it away! I’m here now, promise)

My hands shook so badly that I could barely get the dress on. I fumbled with the zipper, trapping broken whimpers in my throat, blinking away the stupid tears that threatened to fall. Why was I crying? I’d been crying way too much lately… why?

The answer was clear even to me. I’d held back tears for too long, and now that Romeo had been added to the equation…. And I didn’t even have the time to send him a text. I’m sorry…I’ll tell you everything on Monday…

It took a while before I was steady enough to do my own makeup, and even then it kept smudging. Eventually, I gave up and called for a maid, who prattled on and on about how lucky I was while she did my eyeliner. By the end of it all, I didn’t look like myself anymore.

(I’ll post a picture of the dress when I find one)

(It’s totally okay! I’m glad your back!)

My father gave me a silent, approving nod before heading to the limousine. It was quiet outside. Or maybe it wasn’t and I just couldn’t focus.

Hardwood floors. Concrete. Pavement. Fabric.

I was being mindlessly herded into the back, where my hand glided over the seat. I didn’t put on my seatbelt until my father snapped at me to do so. The engine started up, and suddenly we were moving. I wish I could get lost in my thoughts. Be somewhere, anywhere else.

But the present held an icy grip around my throat, and it didn’t intend on letting go anytime soon.

(thanks! how're you?)
(https://www.pinterest.ca/pin/778911698031559275/ « that's her dress, except a few inches longer in the rp)

I stood straight-backed in the dining room while my father circled me, tweaking a few factors of my appearance. I went rigid each time his fingers brushed my skin, whether it was to tug a carefully curled lock of hair from the half-up do the maid had procured, or to tighten the ribbon around my waist.

"Good," he said curtly, tilting my chin up with the crook of his finger. "You are to behave accordingly, do you hear? A future trophy wife. Make me proud."

It was all I could do not to take off in the opposite direction.

( l m a o
but yes, agreed)

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.