"Please tell me that I have misunderstood thee and that thou hast not bought our friend a prostitute," Nerissa said under her breath.
Gratiano bit into the leg of chicken he held. "Is that a problem?"
"I will kill thee, husband!" she hissed.
Gratiano grinned. "I am simply looking out for Antonio."
Nerissa and her new husband sat at a long table in Belmont's massive ballroom, surrounded by Portia's familiar household and the friends she had made over the last week, all of whom followed Bassanio from Venice. Lorenzo and Salerio and Solanio and Antonio…
Nerissa looked at Signor Antonio Traversa, and thought the merchant must be a fool (he certainly looked one!) for failing to realize that his boyish companion in garish green was not suitable company. At least he was not looking at Bassanio, whom Nerissa had always thought airy, like his head was filled with something other than flesh and bone. She did not dare say "air-headed," because Portia did not like it when her friends questioned the intelligence of anyone with whom she associated.
"Dost thou feel the need to 'look out for' all of thy friends?" she asked Gratiano.
"Do not be concerned, wife," he said.
"Portia doesn't like it." Portia's disapproval radiated from her in waves. Nerissa did not know if anyone else could tell, but it had been her occupation to know her mistress's moods for many years now.
Gratiano leaned across the table to grab a slice of bread sticky with honey. "May I give thee some?" He held the food out towards her.
"Don't be a boor."
"More for me." He filled his mouth with honey. "Oh, no!" he said in alarm and wiped his hands on the napkin on his lap. "I disgust thee!" he said with his mouth full.
"No… you don't." He confused her more than anything. He licked each one of his fingers, and she had to look away to keep from blushing.
"I embarrass thee!"
"No," she said.
He spread his arms over the backs of her chair and that of the man sitting on his other side. The look in Gratiano's eyes would have been brazen if he were not married to her. She leaned one elbow on the table, and propped her cheek on her hand. They stared at each other. He smiled, and soon she did, too.
"Dost thou think he will ever figure it out?" she asked.
"They are two birds of a feather, Antonio and Bassanio. Not an ounce of good sense between them."
At the opposite end of the table, Antonio laughed at something the prostitute in green had said, Portia looked pointedly away from them, and Bassanio was so, so drunk.
"It's like watching a shipwreck," Nerissa whispered.
"Good thing we aren't a bit like them," Gratiano said.
"Thou art every bit as self-involved as they, my husband."
He laughed. "Dost thou wish to leave?"
"No," she said, "I want to stay here and watch the disaster thou hast organized."
He grinned and lifted his goblet of wine. "To thy health!"
She lifted hers in turn. "And to thine!"