There is a clamour as everyone reacts.
"Uncle Pedro!"
"The Prince!"
Leonato rises. "We must prepare for guests!"
Margaret darts from the room. "I shall inform the staff."
Hero looks at her husband. He is still, his expression drawn; so different from the man moments ago. She wants to ask what he is thinking, but not in front of the others.
There is a rush of motion as orders are issued and duties assigned. Hero ushers the children upstairs under Ursula's care, practically bouncing off the walls at the prospect of Uncle Pedro. Once she has extracted herself she is dragged into conversation with every member of staff she passes, asking which rooms to assign, what should be served for supper, how she would like the seating arranged — as if they have not done this a hundred times before.
At last, she finds her husband in the parlour staring at their marriage portrait.
"John," she rushes to his side. "Are you — you look deep in ponderings?"
He turns to her with a wry smile. "And you look anxious, wife. Does the Prince make you so nervous?"
"No, not at all. But — your memories," she wrings her hands. "Ten years ago, you and Pedro were not on such amiable terms."
His eyebrows jump. "And we are now? Amiable?"
"Yes. You are like brothers."
"Hmm." John tilts his head as if trying to picture that. "Then, I shall endeavour to be amiable."
She searches his face. Only recently has he adjusted to their life together and she fears his brother's appearance will undo all their progress. "I know — I know how things were between you. I know the hardships you have suffered. How difficult it was to make peace."
He eases her fists free, saving her palms from half-moon scars and lacing his fingers through hers. "I suspect it was easier with a wife and family to consider. I could put aside my differences to ensure you received the best my kinship could offer."
"And you have." She squeezes his hands. "You have taken excellent care of us, John. But now it is your well-being I am concerned for. I do not expect you to make cheer when in your mind those issues are still unresolved. But I assure you, Pedro is as changed as yourself. No one will disparage my husband in front of me."
The corner of his mouth crooks and he feathers a kiss across her knuckles. "You are magnificent. Hero — whatever my brother's visit brings, it will not change how I feel about you and our children."
Her heart flutters a daring hope. "And — how do you feel?"
He leans into her, his gaze soft and simmering. "I love you. I love all of you."
She gasps, heat prickling her eyes. Tears slip down her cheeks and he brushes them aside.
"I am sorry for the hurt I caused you. For all that I have put you through — past and present. I swear to be a better husband from now on, the husband you deserve."
Hero shakes her head, blinking through blurred vision. "No. No more apologies — just — just say it again — please."
He holds her gaze, fingers gliding through her hair. "Hero… I love you."
She sighs, slipping her arms around him, pressing their bodies together. His kiss skims her temple —
"I love you."
"Again."
— caresses her damp cheek —
"I love you."
"Again."
— swallows her dimples —
"I love you."
"Again…"
— shudders into her parted lips —
"I love you… Hero…"
She rises on her tiptoes, melting her mouth to his, "Oh John… I love you too."
:-x-:
Don Pedro's impending arrival means the children must be wrangled into baths. There is much protests and slopping of water and when the children are finally clean, the adults too are soaked to the bone.
"They inherited their mulishness from you," Hero mutters, wringing her skirts.
John tosses his sodden coat aside. "They cannot have all their bad qualities from me."
She presses a hand to her heart. "Sir, I am a paragon of virtue."
He inclines his head, his mouth twitching. "You were not so virtuous last night."
Hero gasps, lips unfurling in a smile, and swats his chest. "Villain! How dare you besmirch my good name!"
He sweeps her into his arms, peppering kisses along her throat. "Yes, but I am your villain."
She drapes her arms around his shoulders, letting out a happy sigh, "My villain. Your Hero."
His lips brush across hers, the whisper of a kiss. "My Hero."
Their mouths move together, silent words passing between them like the minims of a psalm.
"Come on," she grins, tugging on his hand.
Their progress is slow, ducking around corners and into alcoves, pressing against one another like a couple of youths caught in the fever of first love. His lungs ache, breathless with the laughter that bursts in his chest, his blood thrums, effervescent.
They stumble into the bathhouse, giggling, and fumble to unrobe. Their hands roam, lathering the other in soap, their bodies intertwining under the water. Light and carefree as he never was before, John trails kisses down Hero's throat and over her collarbone, gathering her in his arms, her body pulsing as if it were his heart he held.
Hero pours the water jug over his head and washes him clean. He blinks, vision clearing, as she brushes aside his damp hair, gazing down at him with her beautiful smile.
"Husband," her lips bless his brow.
His eyes flutter and he gasps her name, unbound, his body unable to contain himself, expanding like the universe, spilling out in sparkling streams. He bundles her against him and together they crash beneath the water, laughing, so closely entwined all his ends begin with Hero.
How else can he describe the sensation except for happiness.
:-x-:
Hero's fingers comb through his wet locks, spooned together against the bath's edge. His stomach swoops under her ministrations. God, how did he earn such adoration?
"If you had lost your memories instead of me…" he hears himself murmur, "Would we have arrived here faster? If I could have pulled my head from my arse sooner…"
"John…" she drags her hands down his head, cradling the back of his neck. "I think it would have been different, yes. I would have been more confused and less receptive. But I would have come around eventually, once I knew the true you. I would have fallen in love with you all over again."
He leans his crown against hers, fingers fanning across the bare of her back. "I have been falling in love with you since I first saw you. I was a fool to deny it so long."
"The circumstances were extraordinary. I can allow some foolishness," she smiles, something fragile in her gaze, "So long as you do not forget me again."
"Never," he vows, sealing his mouth to hers. "Never."
:-x-:
They dry and redress, careful of the puddles splashed around the bath's edges.
Hero towels her hair, cheeks still glowing as she turns to him. "Before your brother arrives, there are things you must know…"
:-x-:
The two parties meet in the courtyard and John is struck with the strangest déjà vu — split in time, the past colliding with the present. He sees the grim-faced spectre of his youth, divided from everyone else, while John stands host, Hero's hand warm in his, their children beside them, supported by the rest of their household.
There is silver in Pedro's curls and laughter etched in his handsome features. Otherwise, he is little changed; his grin still wide and beaming. "Brother! Here I am to impose upon you once again and you give me this fine welcome."
John's chest twists. He has seen his brother smile like that before but never directed at him. "Do not think yourself too special. I specifically requested the second-best vintage be served."
Pedro mimes an arrow to the heart. "Aww, brother, if fraternal affection does not move you — and I know it seldom does — what of the duty owed to your prince?"
John glances at his sons then swings his gaze back to his brother. "You will find princes are common in these parts."
Pedro heaves a sigh. "To be reduced to common. But then we all must dull compared to the jewel that is your wife." He extends his hands to Hero. "How fares you, dear sister? You are more beautiful each time I see you."
Hero accepts his hands with a curtsey. "Very well, good brother. Be assured, your charm never dulls. I hope your journey was without difficulty?"
He kisses her hands. "Sweet lady. You are worth all exertion."
She laughs, easing from his grasp and turning her smile to the child beside him. "And you, Prince Rolando? Was it a pleasant adventure?"
"M-Most ple-pleasant," the young boy stammers, looking dazzled, and holds out a bouquet. "He-here, I — I picked these for — for you, aunt."
"Oh, how lovely!" Hero coos, accepting the flowers. "Thank you, sweet prince. Your father better be careful or you will charm the kingdom out from under him."
Rolando blushes and ducks his head. John observes his nephew; with thick curls and eyes that glitter like the night sky, he is the spitting image of Pedro.
His brother chuckles, squeezing his son's shoulder. "Do not let my brother's surliness fool you. Charm is abundant in our family. He is the exception."
Ten years ago that would have cut. Now, John is ungrazed.
"I am deeply fond of surly," Hero murmurs, pressing into John. And truly, if he were not already in love —
"That is because you are an angel and my brother is blessed to have you."
"You shall hear no argument from me," John utters and Pedro flashes his teeth.
"A miracle! Lady, you are divine."
John rolls his eyes, not dignifying his brother with a response, and instead bows to his nephew, extending his hand in greeting. "Welcome, little prince."
"He-Hello, Uncle John."
Rolando shakes his hand with a shy smile and John feels the same rush of protectiveness as he does for his own children. This boy is his blood and he will do all in his power to support him.
"Children, come greet your uncle and cousin," Hero calls.
No longer bound by propriety, Clarissa and Leo pounce upon Pedro, who laughs and embraces them. "What! Is this my niece and nephew? How much you have grown since I saw you last!"
Clarissa performs a flawless curtsey. "I hope your journey was good, uncle."
With considerably less tact, Leo exclaims, "Have you brought gifts?"
"Leo!" Hero admonishes, but Pedro's laughter booms through the courtyard.
"Of course! Of course! I would not dare show my face empty handed. I have treasures for you all. But where is the third?"
Ursula comes forward carrying Tonio, while Clarissa and Leo turn their attentions on Rolando, bombarding him with questions about his travels. The boy smiles at his cousins' antics and manages to get a few words in edgeway.
Pedro clucks over his youngest nephew, waggling a finger. The toddler wails and slaps his hand away.
"Oh! Oh dear!" Ursula pulls the bawling babe back from the prince, gushing apologies.
Pedro chortles. "He is certainly his father's son."
Hero takes Tonio from Ursula, soothing the babe. His cries teeter out as he settles in his mother's arms.
Pedro smirks at his brother. "As I said."
Again, John rolls his eyes, irritation twining with affection.
Leonato and Antonio come forward to greet Pedro. Hands are clasped and backs are clapped to the cheer of "old friend".
"Tomorrow we will throw a revel in your honour," Leonato proclaims, a hurrah rippling through the gathered crowd.
John marvels how alike this moment is to that fateful summer long ago. And —
His brother laughs with his father-in-law, their children cavorting together. His wife looks up from their son, smiling as she catches his gaze…
— how much has changed.
His winter heart melts like snow under golden sun. He wants to take that jealous shade aside, assure him of the good to come, and quell the corroding anger in his breast. But the past is the past, and, in the present, with his family is where John belongs.
:-x-:
"Truly, brother, you are blessed," Pedro declares, helping himself to the wine stock in his host's private office.
"Can I offer you a drink?" John drawls.
Pedro ignores him, leaning on the desk, bottle in one hand, glass in the other. "It is strange to think that summer long ago would lead us here."
"A true miracle," John murmurs, his gaze sliding to the family portrait on the wall. "Much has changed."
"Much for the better."
His fingers flex, digging into his palm.
Pedro swigs his wine and sighs. "I can still remember it as if it were yesterday. The good — and the bad."
John's tongue has turned to lead and he touches the gold band on his finger. This cannot be avoided, best to get it over with. He straightens. "Pedro… I have shared this with few… but see no use in pretending. That summer is not so far gone for me. I had an accident more than a month ago. It… bereft me of… some memories."
Pedro sets his glass aside, his face smoothing into the placid mask he wears for court. "What measure is some?"
John notes the lack of surprise and his brow furrows. "You knew."
Pedro rolls his shoulders. "I had it from your good cousin, the noble Count Padua — who knew of it through the letters exchanged between his wife and yours. I was struck with — ah — familial concern. Hence, I am here."
John absorbs this implication that his brother has crossed land and sea for him, pouring his own glass and gulping it down. "I should have factored the loudmouth buffoon into my considerations."
"No doubt, it slipped your mind."
He throws his brother a flat look. "Your jokes have not improved."
"At least mine can be called jokes," Pedro mutters into his cup.
"Ten years."
Pedro chokes, sloshing his wine. "Pardon?"
"I lost ten years," John repeats. "My last memories — following the fall — were of your men's armed escort back to Messina."
He watches Pedro absorb this information, draining his wine and setting the glass down before rising from his perch,
"Ten years?" He searches John's face. "This is — you are not jesting?"
"If this is a jest, then it is one fate has pulled on me."
The breath hisses through Pedro's teeth and he clasps his shoulder. "John… I am… so sorry. You say — it has — it has been over a month?"
"Near two." He offers a thin smile. "Do not look so grim. Surly does not suit you. I have made my peace with it. I am far better placed than I was the weeks after my waking."
"But John — ten years — !"
"I know. But dwelling on what I may never regain will only lead to madness. Rather, I consider myself blessed, for I have a loving family and the finest wife."
"This is true." Pedro's mouth flickers, the shadow of a smile. He drops his hand, focus intense. "How does it lie between you? With Hero, I mean? Certainly, you still look at her as if she hung the moon."
John struggles against the strangeness of discussing his marriage with a brother he once despised. "We were reconciled before your arrival."
"So it would appear." Pedro's grin is sly and he taps a spot on John's neck. John burns, recalling what mark Hero left on him, and his brother laughs. "I am glad. Otherwise, I would have brushed off my wings and arrows."
"Oh, spare us. Your last stint as Cupid did not end so well."
"I suppose we must do this all again," Pedro sighs and jabs his finger at John. "Listen well, for I do not admit fault often." John scoffs. "I am happier calling Hero sister than I would be countess. In that, I yield my aim was poor. But I hit true the second time with Benedick and his Lady Tongue."
John regards his brother, gauging the truth of his words. "You are content with your favourite thwarted and your misbegotten brother triumphant?"
"I am." Pedro's smile is soft. "More than that, it pleases me to see Hero happy. For never was there a heart more deserving. The wrong I did her, I regret. And I know you do too. You may have acted the villain in the past, John, but you love her better than Claudio could have done. And — while it may shock you — I too am pleased that you are happy, John. Truly."
His younger self would have twisted Pedro's words to feed his loathing, but John sees he is sincere, and, despite their past strife, pride warms his chest. But there is still a thorn lodged in his throat.
"And what of the exquisite Claudio, how does he fare?"
Pedro tilts his head, considering. "I suspect… you will be better satisfied if I leave that for your wife to tell."
Begrudgingly, John accepts this. He knows he is a coward for avoiding the issue. Hero has assured him of her devotion, but still he fears some secret part of her carries a torch for her first love.
"Come," Pedro grins, pulling him from these morose thoughts with a knowing look. "Let us toast."
"To what?"
"Ohh… to the wisdom age brings and the foolishness of youth, which won our good fortunes."
The corner of John's mouth curves. "You have always been sentimental, brother."
"Admit it, you are pleased to see me."
John hums, swirling his glass before answering, "I am."
Pedro looks surprised, then beams, setting his glass aside, and hauling a startled John into his embrace. "I am pleased to see you too, brother."
John falters, a deer in the hunter's sights. Then, something loosens in his chest, the last jagged shard pulling free, and he folds his arm around his brother.
"I am still giving you the second-best vintage."
Pedro chuckles. "You always do."