Verona Blood

by Lili St. Germain

  He must see my clear lack of enthusiasm, because his grin turns to an amused smirk, as he turns his attention back to my father and whatever they were talking about. I try to ignore the anger that wells up inside my chest as Nathan tugs my wrist gently.

  I follow, my thoughts messy, my head pounding. We cross the ballroom, empty now save for a few stragglers, and Nathan scans his access card for the private elevator in the corridor.

  Five minutes later, we’re walking in to a sub-penthouse suite on the floor below where the party is being held. Relief floods my limbs immediately at the prospect of being alone and unencumbered for at least a few moments. I enter the room, flop down on the bed, and contemplate whether it’s worth removing my shoes, only to have to put them back on again soon. I decide to leave them on, reclining against cool, fluffy pillows and stiff cotton sheets, the ache in my head still a constant throb. I close my eyes, wishing I could end the night here, wishing I didn’t have to go back out there and be with him.

  Nathan makes a tutting sound, turning all of the lights on in the room. It’s suddenly unbearably bright, and I shield my eyes with my hand in protest. “Don’t pike out on me yet, Aves,” Nathan says, producing a bottle of whiskey from nowhere, pouring liquid into two ice-filled tumblers. “Here, get some of this into you.”

  I accept one of the glasses gratefully, suddenly having a flashback to when I was in Daddy’s office earlier. Christ, no wonder I feel like shit. I’ve been drinking on and off since midday - and that doesn’t even include the pot I smoked with Nathan before I went to break up with Will.

  Will. I wonder where he is now. The way things ended was beyond awful. I need to call him later, try to smooth things over, if that’s even possible. I have no idea if he’ll ever want to speak to me again.

  I take one sniff of the straight whiskey Nathan’s handed me, and my stomach roils. Oh, shit. The three glasses of champagne I pounded have all hit me at once, and I blink, suddenly dizzy and nauseous.

  “You look green,” Nathan says.

  Bile rushes up my throat and I barely make it to the bathroom in time to throw up in the sink. Eughhhhh. Salt water bites at the corners of my eyes as I choke on my own vomit, my head buzzing angrily.

  Two more heaves and my stomach settles. I grimace, turning the cold water on full, letting it wash away the entirely liquid diet I’ve consumed today. I wipe my mouth with a towel, searching for one of those tiny tubes of complimentary toothpaste that every bathroom in the Palatial should have. Bingo. I find the tube on a shelf beside the basin and rip the cap off, squeezing toothpaste directly into my mouth and swishing it around. Better. I’m minty fresh again, and nobody will ever know that I just puked my guts up in a moment where I should be poised and regal.

  Except I look like garbage. I study myself in the mirror. I need to reapply my foundation, get some eyedrops for my bloodshot eyes, and fix the smudged eyeliner under my left eye. I have nothing on me — not a purse, not a phone. “Hey, Nathan?” I call into the room.

  He appears in the bathroom doorway, looking worried. “I told you to eat something,” he admonishes, bringing his hand up to my cheek and using his thumb to wipe under my eye. “You want me to grab you something?”

  I teeter on my heels, no longer nauseous, but still drunk. “Yes please,” I say sweetly. “And hey, Nath, can you see if you can find Jennifer? She has all of my makeup in her purse.”

  Nathan nods, disappearing. I hear the soft click of the door closing, and turn off all of the lights, making a beeline for the bed. I’ll take a micro nap while Nathan’s gone. I close my eyes, and I’m unconscious before my head even hits the pillow.

  I don’t know how long I sleep — it could be three seconds or three hours — but I wake suddenly, uneasily, a loud noise puncturing my dreamless void. I sit up with a start, my head reeling as I search in the dark for the switch on the lamp next to the bed. For a moment I don’t even remember where I am.

  Hotel room. Vomit. Nathan going to get me food.

  Right.

  It takes me a moment to piece together what the noise was that woke me. The hotel room door, slamming shut. They normally have a soft closing mechanism, so whoever slammed it had to use a fair amount of force. Suddenly, my inebriation lifts, and I’m on high alert.

  Without warning, a hand jerks out, pulling me upright. I squeal, but a hand is immediately placed over my mouth.

  "Shh. Be quiet," a male voice murmurs.

  The lamp beside me snaps on and I get a good look at the person who's just scared the living shit out of me.

  “Will?” I say in disbelief. "What the hell are you doing here?"

  Will looks disheveled. His hair is messy, his dress shirt is wrinkled. And he smells of booze. Pot, meet kettle.

  "I'm here to save you," Will says. Oh, shit.

  "Oh my God,” I whisper. “Are you for real? Will, we spoke about this."

  "Yeah. I know," he says, as I try to gauge how drunk he is. "We've been speaking about this for eight years."

  "We can still see each other," I say. “But things will have to be different now."

  "Yeah. I got the memo about that,” he snaps. “Thanks. You know what they're doing to you isn't fair. It's probably even illegal."

  I throw my hands up in frustration. "There's nothing I can do about it now." I point at the engagement ring on my left finger to illustrate my point.

  Will grabs both of my hands and squeezes a little too hard. It's almost painful. "Yes, there is something you can do about it," he hisses. "Something we can both do about it. My father’s jet is fueled up and ready to go wherever you want, Avery. We can go away from all this. It's not like any law enforcement in the world would ever look at this situation and think that you need to be transported back to your fucked up family."

  Oh my God, he wants me to run away with him? "Where would we go?" I ask slowly. I don't know why I ask that, because there's no way in hell I'm going anywhere. I’m really just stalling for time, waiting for Nathan to get back with my food and my best friend and my makeup. “Will—”

  "Just stop, Avery,” he cuts me off. "Just stop thinking about your family for once. Stop thinking about your obligations. Stop chasing your father around like if you do what he says he’ll start giving a fuck about you! The only person Augustus Capulet thinks about is Augustus Capulet. So think about yourself for once, Avery. Think about me.”

  "I can't," I say. "I'm sorry."

  He drops my hands, a look of resignation on his face. "So, what, that's it? You're just going to go out there, with this engagement ring on. Marry that fucking guy who's been stalking you since you were a child?"

  “Since I was sixteen,” I say.

  "Exactly. Sixteen. TEEN. And the only reason you met him in the first place was because he was lined up to marry your sister."

  "I know that," I say. "Do you think I haven't thought about this before, Will? About running away?"

  "So do it," he urges. "Come away with me. We'll go somewhere tropical. Somewhere where there are umbrellas in every drink. Somewhere far away from California where we can have a real life.”

  "We won't have any money,” I whisper. “I might have a massive trust fund, but do you think I'll be able to access even one penny of it if I run away from all of this?"

  Will shakes his head. "I have money, plenty of money. Look, it's not Capulet money, but my father isn’t exactly poor, you know. And unlike your father, he's not a fucking idiot who wants me to marry some asshole for a business deal."

  I feel sick again. I need to lie down. I need to run away, but I don't need to run away from my family. I need to run away from Will, even though what he’s saying makes perfect sense, even though I should take his hand and walk out of here and never look back. But I can’t — I’m like a child who’s been raised in a cult. My devotion to my family, however reluctant, eclipses the love I have for Will. For anybody. And that’s the worst part in all of this. I won’t go against my father, because I am so greedy for his appr
oval, so desperate for the love he dishes out in measured doses, even though what he’s doing to my life is unforgivable.

  "I'm sorry, Will,” I say. "There's nothing stopping us from seeing each other, just like we have been. We'll just have to be discreet."

  Will swipes the lamp on the bedside table to the ground with ferocity, and speed. It falls over, smashing. I flinch at the sound. It’s not the first lamp he’s broken in my presence. Will has broken plenty of things in the years I've known him. Lamps. Noses. Windows. His emotions run hot, always on the surface, constantly threatening to boil over and burn everything in its wake. I've never been afraid of him doing something to me, but I've been terrified of what he might do to someone else more times than I can count. Sometimes, passion comes at a price.

  "You were never going to choose me," he spits. “Even if your father had allowed it. I've waited for you all this time, Avery. I moved my whole life to San Francisco. I left my friends. I left my family. For fucks sake, I got myself legally emancipated to come here for you, because I love you. I fucking love you! And now you're telling me that I'm just going to be your afternoon delight whenever it suits you and your husband?”

  "Don't say it like that,” I protest. “All I want is to be with you.”

  "But it is like that. When I pictured our future, I was thinking a wedding. I was thinking of having a family. Normal things that people do. Do you really expect me to just hang around in the shadows while you go off and fuck this guy and share his bed and have his children? Really? Because let me tell you, Avery Capulet — I’m nobody’s patsy. I’m nobody’s fool.”

  "No," I say. "I don't expect you to hang around in the shadows.”

  "Right," he replies. "So it's like that. Okay. Fine. I'll see myself out, shall I?"

  His calm is false, and it's even more terrifying than his violence.

  “Will, please, don't do anything stupid."

  "The only one doing anything stupid here is you, Avery. You think this will solve everything, doing what that man says? How high should I jump this time, Daddy? Which man should I fuck this week, Daddy? Putting that stupid fucking ring on? So heavy it's probably going to break your hand? It looks ridiculous.”

  I swallow uneasily, his words stinging barbs. “I have a responsibility to this family."

  "Bullshit, you do." He grabs my shoulders, yanking me forward so that our noses are almost touching. “You have a responsibility to me, Avery. I gave you eight years of my life. I want them back.”

  “You’re scaring me,” I say quietly.

  Anger flares in his eyes. “I’m scaring you?” He draws his fist back and punches the wall next to the bed, making me flinch.

  “You should be scared,” Will rages. “You should be terrified. Because if you think I’m going to take this shit laying down, baby, you don’t know me at all.”

  He throws me back against the pillows violently, where I stay, frozen, watching as he storms out of the room. The door slams again, and I’m alone.

  Chapter Eight

  AVERY

  I return to the party a little while later, after some aspirin and a hefty pile of miniature cheeseburgers that were being served to the guests. Jennifer, my best friend since we were little girls, takes great care with fixing my makeup and neatening my hair, while Nathan feeds me little sips of cherry Gatorade.

  I don’t tell either of them what happened with Will. I’m going to pretend it was a bad dream for now, until I can process what he said in the light of day. As it is, what he said — me stealing years of his life — is a cancerous guilt that is slowly making it’s way through my body, settling in my stomach like a lead weight. I’m pretty good at compartmentalizing things in general — I’ve had plenty of practice, after all — but something about his anger, the raw desperation in his eyes, has rattled me.

  Luckily, my delightful new fiancé is around to snap me out of any uneasy daydreams my mind is spinning about Will.

  “Avery, darling,” Joshua says, giving me a look that says Where the fuck have you been, as he wraps a hand around my waist and pulls me in. “I’d like you to meet some people.”

  I groan inwardly, plastering a smile on my freshly-glossed lips. “Show the way, lover,” I reply with a fake sweetness, one that contains a deadly venom bite. I spend the next little while shaking hands with people whose names I will not remember, whose small talk I couldn't give a fuck about, nursing a champagne flute without drinking any.

  “You don’t like your drink?” Joshua asks, steering me into a quiet corner as people start to get loose and loud around us. “I can get you anything you like.”

  “Gee, thanks honey,” I reply. “Can you get me another fiancé? One of my own choosing?”

  Joshua laughs, my insults barely registering on his radar. “Isn’t that the guy who was in your room before? Will Hewitt? I thought for sure you’d take his offer and frolic off into the sunset with him.”

  I feel my mouth drop open.

  “Oh come on, Avery. You’re not the only one who knows your way around this hotel. I own a minority stake in the Palatial, remember?”

  “Right,” I say. “That’s why you’re always creeping around here.”

  He pulls a face, tucking a stray hair behind my ear. “Let’s be real. You’re the only reason I creep around here, sweetheart.” He gestures to the crowd. “To be honest, I was starting to lose hope that this would ever happen. Your father has been incredibly patient with your desires to experience a career and have a relationship before you finally settled down to your real job.”

  Ugh. He didn’t. “My real job?”

  He takes the flute of warm champagne from my hand and places it on the table beside him. “Avery, you’ve got a multi-billion dollar company to run. Not to mention, a bunch of Capulet babies to make. I know you’re young, but don’t worry — that’s what I’m here for.”

  “Thank you, my prince,” I reply, my words dripping with sarcasm. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  Joshua smiles at me as if I’m a petulant child stamping her foot. “You’re so pretty when you’re angry,” he says. “I know you think your ice queen act is protecting you from me, but I’ve always liked the cold.”

  I open my mouth to respond, but I never get the chance. A loud bang echoes in the night, and everyone still on the outside deck draws in a collective gasp.

  Joshua’s hand wraps around my wrist as he jerks me into his side. For once I’m not trying to stop him — I’m craning my neck, searching for the origin of the noise, or at least the damage. The first thing that comes to mind is It’s probably just fireworks. The second is What the fuck has Will done?

  I get my answer soon enough. I scan the guests, but nobody seems to be hurt, just rattled. I check off my nearest and dearest — Nathan and Jennifer are standing beside the exit, seemingly oblivious as she tucks her blonde hair behind her ear and giggles at whatever story he’s telling her. Uncle Enzo is at the bar that sits beside the far end of the pool, his hand outstretched and waiting for a fresh beverage. And my father is standing at a long table beside the pool that is groaning with food and champagne glasses, a few feet from Enzo, a strange expression on his face.

  It’s dark, but not dark enough that I don’t see the red spot on my father’s white shirt. At first I dismiss it, thinking it’s just the rose he had tucked in to his suit jacket earlier, but then I see the round spot spread across his shirt, getting wider.

  “Daddy?” I yell across the pool. My father takes a faltering step toward the pool’s edge, still on his feet, still looking completely fine apart from the red on his shirt and the strange, frozen expression on his face. He looks toward me, his glass falling from his hand in slow motion as he grabs for something to steady himself. He catches the end of the table with his hand, but it doesn’t slow his trajectory forward, into the pool. I hear a scream as he hits the water’s surface, and it takes me a second to realize the sound is coming from me.

  The table full of food crashes
into the pool a second later, tortilla chips and napkins scattering across the water’s surface as a widening puddle of blood marks the spot where my father is rapidly sinking to the pool’s bottom. People scream and flee, confusion in the herd, everyone trying to fit through the double doors that lead to the ballroom and beyond.

  I watch in horror as Uncle Enzo jumps into the water fully clothed, followed immediately by Nathan. I step toward the pool, intending to do the same thing myself, but a hand clamps around my wrist like a vise. I look down to see who is holding me back. Of course. My nightmare.

  “Let go of me,” I half-sob, wrenching my arm as hard as I can from Joshua’s grip. He has moved from smirking asshole into overprotective fiancé in the space of approximately three seconds, wrapping his arm around my shoulders and ferrying me toward the exit. “Let go of me!” I scream. He releases his grip momentarily, and I rush to the edge of the pool just in time to see Enzo bring my father to the edge of the pool. Nathan is already out, soaked from head to toe, and he’s crouched at the edge of the pool, his arms hooking under neath my father’s arms and pulling.

  I kneel beside him, reaching out to help, when Nathan notices me. “Get out of here!” he yells, water like a river down his face. “Josh! Get her inside!”

  “No,” I protest, as Joshua pulls me up and starts dragging me to the exit, where Jennifer is standing with a shocked expression on her face. “No!”

  Joshua, his resolve apparently strengthened by Nathan’s demand, corrals me through the exit. I notice several security guards gather around us as we move, their movements choreographed and swift. They all have guns drawn, all wearing black suits, every one of them with earpieces in their ear. I continue to struggle with Joshua, anxiety pumping through my veins like some kind of adrenalin overdose, my thoughts locked on one objective: to get back to my father. To make sure he’s OK. Is he dead? Will he die before I can get back to him? Is somebody calling an ambulance? Why can’t I hear sirens?