She knew that she would be alone moments before she woke, but she felt herself reaching for Giovanni anyway. She opened her eyes, disappointed to find him gone. Disappointed, but not surprised. He had left for Paris a few days ago. He'd assured her that he'd be back by the end of the week, but she felt impatient.
"I'll come back to you," he'd said, "I won't be content until I'm in your arms again."
Katarina sat up, smiling at the memory, and got out of bed. She could hear her mother in the next room tending to Dante and Musetta. She dressed as quickly as she could and went to help her. She truly didn't know what she'd do without her mother there to help her.
"How are you feeling today?" her mother asked.
"All right, I suppose." Katarina sat down, relieved to ease the tension in her legs. She stared down at her stomach.
"Rosalie said she'd stop by later to see how you're doing," her mother was saying, "she thinks the babies will come before the week is out."
Katarina could not get used to the idea of having twins. She prayed that there was only one baby within her, but the prayers seemed futile at this point. She could only hope that Giovanni would return soon and that he'd have money. She could not rely on the kindness of others forever. Oh, her mother certainly didn't mind, but Katarina did not want to continue to take from her.
"Oh. I'd hoped they wouldn't come until Giovanni was home…"
"I know, dear." Her mother handed her a mug of tea. "But I'll be here with Rosalie and Cassandra. Clopin and your father will watch Dante and Musetta. Just think, when Giovanni gets home, he'll have two little surprises waiting for him."
The thought of Giovanni bursting through the door made her smile. She sipped her tea, watching as her mother effortlessly scooped Musetta up into her arms. She balanced Musetta on her hip as she took hold of Dante's hand. "I think the three of us will go for a morning walk," she said. "You enjoy your tea. We'll be back shortly."
"Thank you, Mama."
Her mother nudged Dante. "Go give your mother a kiss."
He ran to her, his arms outstretched. She embraced him, ruffling his hair as he kissed her cheek. "Be good for your grandmother," she said.
"I will."
Her mother had set Musetta down, and Musetta ran to her now. Katarina bent, kissing her forehead and patting her cheek. She wondered if Giovanni missed her as much as she missed him.
~xXx~
Though he would later recall his wedding with perfect clarity, Jean-Claude's memory of it was blurry. All he knew was that he was now married to Cosette, and he was the happiest he had ever been. She was standing before him in their bedchamber, still wearing her white wedding dress, looking so beautiful and pure. He drew her to him and kissed her. He closed his eyes, savoring the softness of her lips, the warmth of her hands as they clutched his. There was no one to watch over them now. They had all the privacy in the world. Jean-Claude had to restrain himself, had to stop himself from tearing her dress open.
Cosette was not some back-alley harlot. She was his wife, and he would make love to her with respect and dignity. He gently undid the buttons on the back of her dress, secretly pleased that she was allowing him to do so. He felt her shiver with surprise as the dress slid off of her. He looked at her. She stood before him in her pristine white undergarments, staring up at him with love in her eyes.
He touched her face. "I love you so much."
"And I you."
They made their way toward the bed. Jean-Claude pulled off his formal black clothes. He lifted Cosette, kissing her before laying her down on the soft quilt. He sat beside her, holding her in his arms, kissing her face and neck. Her breath came in short, excited gasps, and she ran her hands along his back and shoulders, her smooth fingertips gliding over his skin. Cosette – his Cosette now, oh how he loved her – was a virgin in every sense of the word. No man had ever touched her, and now Jean-Claude would be the first, and only, man to do so. The thought thrilled him.
She lay down, letting him crawl on top of her. He entered her slowly, as gently as he could; someone, he could not remember who, had once told him that virgins found their first lovemaking session to be painful. He had hoped that this would not be the case for Cosette, but he could see the pain in her eyes as he broke the barrier inside of her. He kissed her, moving slowly, letting her get used to him.
"I love you," he whispered, kissing her face. "I love you more than anything."
She gasped his name, closing her eyes as she kissed his cheeks and neck. "Oh, Jean-Claude," she said, "I love you so much…"
The whole thing ended sooner than Jean-Claude would have preferred, but he was content knowing that he and Cosette were officially married now, and nothing could take that away from him. He held her, stroking her hair as she slept in his arms. He would report for duty tomorrow morning, and René would make a rude joke about his wedding night, but Jean-Claude didn't care. He let himself drift into sleep, dreaming about his sweet, beautiful, Cosette.
~xXx~
Theresa was endlessly amazed by Paris, and it reminded Giovanni of Katarina. He found himself laughing at Theresa's awe, but his heart yearned for his wife. He remembered rushing through the streets, struggling to keep up with Katarina. He remembered the way she used to laugh at him when she'd beaten him in a race, tossing her golden braid back over her shoulder.
His grandmother's health was far worse than Giovanni had first thought; her doctors had not permitted him to see her yet. They had assured him that they would come fetch him when she was well enough to see a visitor. He found himself pacing in the room that he and Theresa had rented, trying to become involved in Theresa's mindless chatter instead of worrying about an old woman he still hadn't met.
The doctor was at the door now, telling Giovanni that his grandmother could see him for a few hours. He and Theresa left, following the doctor through the streets. Giovanni found that they were leaving the crowded marketplace, moving towards the quieter streets, where the houses were bigger and surrounded by wrought-iron fences to keep thieves out.
His grandmother's house was large, and Giovanni found himself staring at in amazement. He had never seen a house so huge before. He and Theresa were escorted inside by a man dressed in a servant's uniform and told to wait in a small room filled with books and sofas. Giovanni suddenly felt inadequate. He'd seen people far wealthier than him, of course, and had never felt the need to compare himself to them. He'd always known that, as a Gypsy, he'd never earn the money needed for fancy furniture and clothing. He felt strange sitting on a sofa in his grandmother's house, though, staring down at his clothing and wishing that it was less shabby.
"Madam Castiza will see you now."
Giovanni rose, and he and Theresa followed the servant down a hallway. Giovanni glanced at Theresa. She seemed just as amazed and out-of-place as he, and he felt a bit better. At least he wasn't alone. The servant led them to a room at the end of the hall, but did not accompany them inside.
The room was small, but richly furnished. Tapestries and portraits hung on the walls. There was a small sofa in the center of the room, and, sitting on an overstuffed armchair across from it, was a frail-looking woman bundled in blankets. Giovanni approached her, and she turned her head, squinting at him.
"Is that my Giovanni?" she asked, lifting her head.
"Yes," he said.
She beckoned to him with a thin hand. "Come closer, my boy, I want to get a good look at you."
Giovanni obediently stepped forward, aware that Theresa was hanging back, her hands folded politely in front of her. He stood before the old woman, leaning in so that she could get a proper look at him. She reached for him, brushing her wrinkled hand against his face, making him turn his head this way and that. It felt awkward, as though she was examining him.
"You have your father's chin," she said, sounding somewhat disappointed, "but at least you've got your mother's hair and eyes." She pointed now to something on the wall. "That's your mother, my little Gratiana."
Giovanni turned. The portrait was large and showed a beautiful woman. Her skin was abnormally pale and her blonde hair was piled immaculately on top of her head. She seemed to stare benevolently out of the painting at him, her blue eyes unseeing. Giovanni couldn't imagine her throwing herself into the river Seine. He couldn't imagine her marrying a Gypsy. He couldn't imagine her holding him in her arms.
"I…I can't remember her," he said finally, turning back to the old woman in the chair.
"I'm told she died when you were very young," she said. "You see, she ran away to be with your father, and I didn't hear anything about her until about ten years after her death. Otherwise, I would have taken you in myself." She glanced over at Theresa now. "I see you've brought your wife with you…" there was something bitter and disapproving in her tone.
"No," he said, motioning for Theresa to come forward. He suddenly found himself wishing she hadn't worn the sash with the bells on it. The bells seemed louder than ever in the tiny, quiet room. "This is my cousin, Theresa."
"Hello." If Theresa had heard the hate in his grandmother's voice, she did an amazing job of hiding it.
"Well, at least you didn't marry a Gypsy." His grandmother turned to him, ignoring Theresa. "Tell me, dear boy, are you married?"
"Yes," he said. "Her name is Katarina."
"Why didn't you bring her?"
"She's pregnant," he said, "she couldn't make the trip in her condition."
"Ah! I'm to be blessed with great-grandchildren!" the old woman laughed and clapped her hands. "She isn't a Gypsy, is she?"
Giovanni could see Theresa squirm, and he felt offended as well. "No," he said, struggling to remain polite. "She's half-Gypsy, like me."
"Ah well, I suppose she was the best you could do in your circumstance," his grandmother continued, "a boy raised by Gypsies won't be able to marry into a respectable household. Still, though, I assume you're both happy?"
"Yes," he said, "and…I had a very happy childhood. My uncle raised me, and he did a fine job."
His grandmother stared at him. "My dear boy, what do you do for a living?"
"I'm a farmhand."
"I see. And do you make enough money to support your wife and unborn baby?"
"We actually have two children already," said Giovanni. He did not want to discuss money. His grandmother's insinuations about his poverty were painfully true, and her attitude towards his Gypsy heritage was downright offensive. He hoped that by shifting the conversation to the subject of babies, she'd become distracted.
"So you two already have mouths to feed?"
Giovanni sighed. "I don't make very much," he said. Mentioning his other children had only made matters worse.
"Were you and your wife married in a church?"
"No."
"Living in sin and poverty! I'll bet you aren't even baptized." She glared at Theresa as she spoke. Theresa shook her head. Giovanni could see her clenching her hands into fists and knew that she was struggling to remain calm and respectful. "Oh, Giovanni, had I known about you…" she sighed, letting her voice trail off. "Well, one can't change the past. I would like to get to know you, Giovanni. You're my only grandson, and I'd like to help you in any way I can."
"I…I'd like that…"
"There is one condition, though. I want you to stay here with me in Paris for a year. Who knows, I may not even live that long. I'll arrange for you to get an honest job so you can save some money for your wife and children, and when the year is up, I'll give you some more."
He missed Katarina so much already, and he'd promised that he'd return to her when the week was out. Could he really stay away from her for a whole year? And what about Theresa? Surely her father wouldn't want her to live so far away for an entire year. He'd have to find some way to send her back to Lyon; he could tell that it would be difficult. She looked so excited. She probably wanted to stay in Paris.
"My wife will need me," he said, "she's expecting the baby – "
"She'll be fine for a year," said his grandmother. "I'm sure your uncle will help her out."
It was true that Katarina had several people she could turn to for help. She had her own parents, and his aunt and uncle. He was sure Rosalie, Pierre, and Marie would come to her aid if she ever needed it. Katarina was surrounded by people she could depend on. "Well…let me send her a letter," he said, "to tell her about this arrangement."
"Of course. I don't allow Gypsies in my house, so your cousin cannot remain here. I'm sure she can find a room in town."
His grandmother's words stung him, and he turned to Theresa. Theresa looked too stunned to speak. She glanced helplessly at him, silently begging him to say or do something. "With all due respect, I promised my uncle that I would take care of her," said Giovanni, "I don't feel comfortable leaving her alone."
"Well, since your uncle raised you, I suppose you owe him that. Still, she cannot stay in this house. You may stay wherever you please."
"I'm going to stay with her," said Giovanni, reaching out and taking Theresa's hand. "We've been renting a room in an inn. I'm sure they'll let us stay there."
His grandmother nodded. She looked sleepy, as though she'd pass out at any moment. "Very well." She shifted in her chair, her watery blue eyes staring at him. She had the same dreamy gaze as his mother's portrait. "I'm growing tired, dear boy; I'm very old, you know. You can let yourselves out?"
"Yes, of course."
"Very well," she said sleepily. "Come back tomorrow at midday, Giovanni. Oh, and don't bring the Gypsy."
"Of course."
He left the room, pulling Theresa along behind him. They did not speak until they had reached the inn. Theresa sat down on her cot, staring at him. "I don't like her."
"She's a horrid old woman," he said. "I'm so sorry for what she said about you."
Theresa shook her head. "I just hope she keeps her word and gives you the money."
"Maybe I should just go back to Lyon," said Giovanni. "I mean, even if I do get a job here, I'll have to pay room and board at this inn. I'd make the same amount of money I already make in Lyon."
"I could help you."
"We both promised your father – "
"Oh, come on, Giovanni! I won't be too provocative. I won't entice anyone. We need as much money as we can get."
Giovanni buried his face in his hands. What if something happened to Theresa? The story his uncle had told her had been exactly what had happened to Katarina's mother. What if it happened to Theresa? What if some corrupted, powerful man saw her and wanted her? What if he took her against her will? He could not let that happen. He could not let Theresa, who was practically his little sister, get hurt. He would send her back to Lyon as soon as he could, then he would stay with his grandmother.
"I'm sending you back to Lyon."
"Oh Giovanni! Please don't! I swear, I'll be fine!" He looked at her. She was staring at him, her dark eyes pleading. "I'm not a little girl anymore. I can take care of myself."
As much as he hated thinking about it, she was right to a certain extent. She was no longer a child. Perhaps if she stayed away from the Palace of Justice she'd be safer. After all, that was where all of the licentious, corrupted men were. Perhaps if she stayed away from it, and remained careful, it would be all right. It would be dreadfully lonely in Paris. He shuddered at the thought of spending every waking moment listening to his grandmother rail against the Gypsies. He'd rather sit and talk with Theresa.
"All right," he said, "I'll write to Katarina and Clopin and tell them what's going on."
~xXx~
He was sorely tempted to question Jean-Claude about his wedding night, but he knew that it would be futile. Jean-Claude seemed much happier since marrying Cosette, and René knew that a lewd joke would only spoil it. When Jean-Claude was happy, he was less harsh with the rest of the guards, and everyone was relieved by this. The weeks leading up to Jean-Claude's wedding had been tedious; it had as though Jean-Claude was about to explode and kill everyone around him in the process.
No, he would not make any sort of comments (though he was so very tempted to). René was somewhat distracted. He'd seen Theresa in Paris. At least, he was fairly certain that it was Theresa; he'd never seen a Gypsy who wore bells on her sash or shoes for that matter. He could've sworn that he'd seen her in the marketplace, talking with a tall blonde man. René hadn't gotten a proper look at the girl; Gypsies all looked so much alike anyway. The dark skin, black hair, deep brown eyes, the brightly colorful clothing, it all looked the same to him.
Still, he liked to think that Theresa was somewhere in Paris, that he might see her again. He wasn't sure why exactly. He supposed that he liked her, or at least, he liked looking at her. She danced beautifully, after all. He certainly wouldn't mind watching her dance again.