Star-crossed Lovers (✓)

Chapter Eleven

'Thursday?' said Friar Lawrence. 'That's short notice.'

'It's what my father-to-be wants,' said Paris. 'And I'm happy to go along with it.'

Friar Lawrence rubbed his chin. ' You say you don't know what she feels about it? Hmm. That's no good. I don't like it.'

It was another hot morning. Friar Lawrence led the young man towards the cool of his chapel.

'She's been grieving terribly for Tybalt so I haven't approached her,' said the young count.

'Well Sir, her father's not happy about the way she's taken her cousin's death and thinks her marriage will make her forget the tragedy more quickly. He thinks being by herself and dwelling on it's bad: it's better if she has something else to think about. And that's the reason for having the wedding so soon.'

Friar Lawrence could see the logic of that but he knew it was essential to delay the wedding although he wished he did not know the reason for that. As they got to the door of the chapel he saw Juliet hurrying towards them. She stopped when she recognized Paris. He smiled and took her hand. He raised it to his lips.

'How nice to see you,' he said. 'My love, my wife.'

'You may call me that when I am a wife,' she said. She and the Friar exchanged glances.

The Friar could see her impatience and he could also see that she had been crying. Paris did not seem to notice any of that.

'I may call you my wife,' he said. 'Or must do so, Love, on Thursday.'

'What must happen will happen,' said Juliet.

'Oh yes,' said Friar Lawrence. 'That's one thing we can be sure of.' He wished Paris would go.

'Have you come to confess to this holy father?' said Paris.

'It's none of your business.'

'When you do make your confession, don't say you don't love me.'

'I'll confess to you that I love the holy father.' She gave Friar Lawrence a desperate look.

'And I know you'll tell him you love me,' said Paris.

'If I do that,' she said, 'it will be worth more behind your back than to your face.'

'Poor soul,' he said. 'Tears have spoilt your face.'

'Then the tears haven't achieved much,' she said. 'My face was bad enough before they started.'

'Don't say that it's not true.'

'I'm not ashamed of the truth,' she said. 'Especially as I said it to my own face.'

'Your face is mine said Paris. 'And you have slandered it.'

'My face may as well be yours because its not mine,' she said impatiently. She turned her back on him abruptly. 'Are you free now holy Father, or shall I come back at evening mass?'

'I'm free now, sad daughter,' said the Friar. 'My Lord, I must ask you to leave us now.'

'God forbid that I should interfere with devotion!' said the Count. 'Juliet, I'll come early on Thursday. Until then, goodbye.' He bent forward and kissed her cheek before she had time to move out of his way.

Juliet stood stiff and immobile until he had gone then she dashed past the Friar. 'Shut the door', she said. 'And come and cry with me – past hope, past cure, past help.'

'Oh Juliet,' The Friar stroked her hair. 'I already know what's happened. It's taxed my brains to bursting point. I hear you have to marry the Count on Thursday.'