Lanterns adorn the garden, garlands strung across the posts, torches burn, the last eddies of amber sun ebb into violet night. The orchestra strikes a tune and the revellers stomp their feet and clap their hands, weaving in and out of a merry circle.
At the masquerade long before, John had clung to the edges, sowing his seeds of discord. Now, he is at the centre, his blood rushing with the music, a breathless grin on his face. His daughter skips alongside him, leading him through her own elaborate dance.
"Spin me, Papà! Spin me!" Clarissa cries and he twirls her to her heart's content. "Up! UP!"
John lifts her up, swinging her round and round. Clarissa lights like a firework, delighted laughter sparkling across her face. As the music slows, he hefts her into his arms, holding her close as she nuzzles his shoulder, and sways them along to the song.
Soon, she starts to droop, and he carries her to Ursula and Antonio, who offer refreshments and a seat at their tables. John accepts, exchanging pleasantries. As he chuckles over some joke of Antonio's, his gaze returns to where his wife dances with Rolando. Evidently, the young prince has been tutored, his steps without falter, managing to lead despite the considerable height difference. Hero smiles warmly at him, and John will not be surprised if his nephew falls a little in love.
The dance finishes and Rolando bows low to Hero, who returns a curtsey. Across the garden, his wife meets his gaze and winks. His nephew is going to grow into a charming prince, who will set all the ladies swooning, should it please him.
Leo and a revived Clarissa skid across to their cousin, and Rolando transforms from the perfect courtier to an excitable boy true to his age. The three of them scamper off, to cause some mischief or scrape.
John watches them, smiling, "There goes trouble."
"And here it comes," Antonio chortles, nodding to the dancefloor where Pedro has swooped upon the unattended Hero.
He bends to kiss her hand, asking her something John can guess. Then her hand is in his and they are spinning in a circle, alongside the other dancers. Hero laughs as Pedro whispers in her ear. Even at this distance, John can see the quirk in her smile as she replies and Pedro throws his head back, laughing.
Another version of John would be jealous. But for all his brother's flirting, John understands there is nothing more than friendship between them. Their love — and there is no doubt it is love — is the familial kind. John would be a fool to suspect his brother coveted his wife and an even bigger one to distrust Hero. She loves him, no matter how impossible it seems. She loves him.
Watching the two people who have had the most significant impact on his life dance and laugh together stirs a strange, not unpleasant, sensation in his chest. He smiles, confident Hero is trimming his brother's ego to a tolerable size and leaves to find Leonato.
As he circulates the crowd, he spies Margaret and Conrade dancing together. He pauses. It still bemuses him how those two ended up together, but they look happy. Margaret is laughing, her curls falling around her face, while Conrade gazes at her, softer than John has ever seen him, twirling her in his arms. Who knew the man could dance so well. He is pleased his friend found happiness.
John locates Leonato, looking like Bacchus with his face flushed and enjoying the wine. He lights when he spies John, clapping him on the shoulder. "Ah, son! Is this not the most joyous evening? There are people I want you to meet. I have been talking their ears off already — all good things, I promise."
Pride swells in John and he smiles, sincere, as he steadies his father-in-law with a hand to his back. "Thank you, sir. I will be honoured to meet any acquaintance of yours. But first, there is a matter I would like to discuss with you…"
Night darkens to glistening obsidian and the exhausted children are herded to bed. Clarissa protests but is appeased by the soft-spoken Rolando, following him in, while Antonio carries a sleepy Leo on his shoulder.
Like the sea to the shore, or a compass needle to north, John and Hero draw together.
"My lady, will you dance with me?
She beams, iridescent, their fingers intertwining. "I was waiting for you to ask."
They take their positions; he rests his palm on the curve of her waist. "I should have done this the first night we met."
She leans in close, brushing her lips over his beard. "We are here now."
They fly across the grass, Hero laughing, her curls tossed. Lightning pulses through John's veins, transfixed by her loveliness. They part and reunite, over and over, their bodies gravitating like two halves of one whole. Their eyes lock, sparks leaping between them, smiles blazing like wildfires. He holds her close, running his hands across her waist, savouring the feel of her as she melts into his touch, then whips out his arm, sending her spinning.
Her skirts flame around her, the torches burnishing her curls in amber and gold. Blessed laughter warms his ears, drowning all other music in an angel's choir. His chest is tight and breathless, his heart pattering out a beat: I love you. I love you. I love you.
Her fingers catch on the tips of his own and she is spooling into his arms. Her eyes aglow and he realises he is murmuring —
"Beautiful… so, so, beautiful…"
"John… John, my darling, John, I love you."
He crushes her hand to his lips, holding it there as if he might embed his kiss. "Hero… my heart… my love… my whole…"
The music slows. They sway in each other's arms, content to rest their heads on the other's shoulder and savour the sweet peace as the stars sparkle overhead, infinite.
:-x-:
John wakes slow, blinking through the last dregs of sleep. His vision focuses, shifting around the room, calm, still. Outside, he hears the twitter of birdsong. Sunlight spills through the cracks in the shutters, illuminating the dark room and bathing the figure beside him in gold.
Hero slumbers on, curled against him, his arm around her waist. He can feel the steady rise and fall of her breathing. Her face is serene in pleasant dreaming. He reaches out, combing his fingers through her silken tresses. She hums, eyes still closed and he repeats the motion, marvelling at the softness of her hair.
"John…" she sighs, the corners of her mouth unfurling in a smile.
He dives down, trailing kisses along the length of her throat. "Beautiful…beautiful…"
She releases a sleepy laugh and blinks her lashes open. "Good morning, husband."
He drags his mouth over the smooth of her shoulder, then rises to peck her lips. "Good is any morning that begins like this."
"Mmmm…" she arches into him, deepening the kiss.
His hand tangles in her hair while his other splays across her back, clasping her to him. "Hero… Hero…"
He venerates her lips, letting her understand how much he adores her. She smiles against him, nuzzling his cheek, his chin, her hands gliding over his chest and shoulders. He feels the sins of his youth flake from him like ash under her redeeming touch, turning him golden.
His eyes find hers, her gaze bright and reverent, and he cradles her head in his hands. "Hero… I want you. Every day. I want to be with you. I love you." He holds her gaze until he is sure she sees the depth of this truth in them. "I love you."
"John…"
Before she can finish there is a commotion at the door and their children topple through. John and Hero spring apart. (Now he understands why she was so insistent they redress after last night's activities.)
"Clarissa! Leo!" Hero slinks from bed, over to their children. "What are you doing?"
"We were listening in to see if you were awake but Leo shoved me," Clarissa explains, scrambling to her feet.
Her brother jerks upright. "No, I didn't! You were hogging the door!"
"Oh, and you brought Tonio with you," Hero sighs, scooping their youngest son into her arms and tossing John an exasperated smile. "Come along then, darlings."
She saunters back to the bed. The children cheer, hurtling onto the mattress and upon their father.
"Papà!"
"Papà!"
He laughs, returning their embrace. "Good morning, imps. What havoc do you have planned for today?"
Hero scoots onto the bed, leaning against him. Tonio reaches out to tug his sleeve. John catches his chubby paw, squeezing it gently while Clarissa and Leo speak at once, their voices rising in a cacophony of sound that has the adults wincing. Amused, John glances at Hero, who is watching him with a soft smile.
He winks and turns back to the children. "Did I hear right? You plan to tidy your rooms?"
"Nooo!"
Hero snorts into his shoulder and he swallows a laugh. "Ah, right… you are to tidy your rooms and wash the dogs."
"Papppaaà! Nooo!"
"I think their kennels need cleaning too…"
"Aaaahhh! STOP!"
The children tackle him, pummelling him with pillows. Between their shouts he hears his wife's tinkling laughter. Warmth floods his chest and he batters off their attacks, capturing them in his arms.
"Your revolt has failed. You must now serve at my will! Unless your mother bids otherwise."
They all look to Hero, who trembles with suppressed laughter. "I declare… we should all descend for a hearty breakfast."
The children cheer, scrambling from the bed. John rises as well but Hero catches his sleeve. He turns, reading the request in her gaze, and leans down for a chaste kiss.
The moment is broken as Tonio releases a howl, thrashing in his mother's lap, and an awful smell pollutes the air. Hero wrinkles her nose.
John takes the little one from her. "I will take care of him."
Hero lights like the dawn and John wants to spend the rest of his life receiving that smile.
:-x-:
Hero is beginning to suspect her daughter is up to something. For the last few hours, she has been led through the gardens and across the fields, picking flowers with Clarissa and Margaret. Hero would not mind the exercise, but Clarissa insisted they change into their nicest frocks to play faerie princesses and she is conscious of the fine fabric dragging in the mud or catching on thistles.
All her suggestions to return to the villa have been met with protest, her daughter insisting they need more flowers. They have gathered three baskets full and now Margaret is fashioning a crown for Clarissa.
Hero is surprised Leo has not tracked them down yet and insisted on his own crown. She has neither seen nor heard a peep from her son since breakfast, nor Rolando, nor Pedro, nor John. After yesterday's scuffle, she is half expecting to return and find the brothers have constructed forts from the furniture and are now laying siege to one another (it would not be the first time). The thought brings a smile to her lips. She can cope with the chaos; it is the silence that concerns her.
A sharp trill splits the tranquil morning, the whistle of a bird — or someone mimicking a bird. Clarissa jumps to her feet, dislodging several petals from her crown.
"Come, Mamma! We must attend my court!"
Her daughter seizes her hand, hauling her along the path. Hero allows herself to be pulled — lest her arm be dislodged from its socket — and tosses Margaret an amused look.
"Oh, is that what we are doing?"
The serving woman gives a mischievous smile. "Swift feet, lady. We do not want to keep the court waiting."
Hero narrows her eyes but is forced to look ahead so as not to stumble, keeping up with her daughter's eager pace. Only when they break the hedgerows does Clarissa slow. Hero's gaze travels from her daughter to the scene in front and she gasps.
It is like she has stepped back in time… or perhaps into the pages of a faerie tale. The garden is still decorated in the garlands and bunting from the night before. The whole household has congregated, the Prince and his retinue among them. Everyone is smiling and dressed in their best clothing — even Leo and Tonio have been wrangled into their formal attire, their hair combed. John stands at the centre of it all, dressed in his soldier's uniform, looking as handsome as the day they married…
Behind him stands the Friar
Hero freezes, her pulse quickening. "What — what is this?"
John strides forward, knocking the air from her lungs as he drops to his knee. "Hero, will you marry me?"
"John—" she splutters around a smile, "We are already married."
"Marry me, again." He gives her that boyish grin, turning her insides to butterflies. "My accident has been a trial for us both, but the happiest twist of my life was waking to discover you are my wife. I may never regain my full memories, but I love you, Hero, with all that I am, with everything I have. I am a better man because of you. I want to be the husband you deserve. Falling in love with you has been an honour I want to relive for the rest of my life. Marry me, Hero. Bless me again, because I want to cherish this moment, always."
There is a breathless pause as Hero fights back hot tears and in the silence Pedro's mutter is heard, "That is the most eloquent I have known him."
John twitches but his gaze remains fixed on Hero.
She smiles, bottom lip trembling. "John… you are my heart and home. I will marry you every day if you desire it."
Like a bonfire on an autumn night, his face erupts in an incandescent grin, and he hurries to his feet, clasping her hands. His mouth collides with hers, sweet heat fanning across her lips and through her blood. She throws her arms around him and he folds her into his embrace, their bodies entwining —
"You did not say they would be kissing!" Leo whinges in the background.
Laughter rolls through the crowd and the lovers separate with a smile.
"Shall we begin the ceremony?" Friar Francis asks.
John nods and Hero links her arm through his, sunlight pouring out her heart.
"You will need these, my lady." Margaret grins, handing her one of the bouquets they picked earlier.
Hero accepts, giving her friend a soft look. "Thank you, Margaret."
Clarissa goes before them, skipping down the aisle, tossing flowers. Arm-in-arm, the lovers follow, beaming at the crowd who smile and offer congratulations as they pass.
"You did this last time," Ursula murmurs to a blubbering Antonio.
"It is — an emotional occasion," he defends, accepting her handkerchief and dabbing at his eyes.
At the end of the aisle, her father bestows a warm smile, his eyes shining, while a bored Tonio fusses in his arms, seconds from yanking on his grandfather's beard. Leo is not faring much better, visibly vibrating, but he keeps quiet, Rolando's arm around his shoulder, flowers clutched to his chest. Pedro winks at the couple. Clarissa goes to stand with the rest of their family and then John and Hero are before the Friar.
"You come hither, my lord, to marry this lady?"
"I do."
"You come hither, my lady, to marry this prince?"
"I do."
"If either of you know any inward impediment why you should not be conjoined, charge you, on your souls, to utter it."
"Oh," Hero leans forward conspiratorially. "I confess… I am not a maid."
John winks, "Nor am I."
Hero clamps her lips together to hold back her giggling while Friar Francis gives them both an exasperated look. The ceremony continues, John's eyes locked with hers, burning with unrestrained happiness.
"...I pronounce you husband and wife. Again."
John and Hero surge together, kissing as the audience cheers and showers them in confetti.
"Does this mean we are to have another honeymoon?" Hero whispers into her husband's ear.
His eyes blaze and he scoops her into his arms, the crowd whooping and whistling. He nuzzles her cheek. "Whatever my wife desires."
"The children will insist on travelling with us."
"We can send them to Aragon with my brother."
"We will return to find Clarissa has seized Pedro's throne."
"That is a problem?"
Hero laughs, leaning her temple to his, their noses brushing. "Oh, my rogue heart, I do so love you."
He gazes at her, soft and adoring. "My sweet wife, how fortunate, I love you too."
His mouth finds its way back to hers, tender and belonging. Around them the congregation celebrates, while the bride and groom remain lost in each other. Though, lost is not the correct word. Rather, they are found.
"Are you happy, Hero?"
Her eyes shine, her smile flush. "More than I can say. And you… are you happy, John?"
"More than I believed I could be." He strokes his thumb across her cheek and leans in for another kiss. "I am home."