"You would pretend to be my husband?" Hero asks, unable to believe it.
John nods.
"But… why?"
Hero of a few months ago might have trusted in the inherent goodness of others, but she has since had her heart broken by a man who said he loved her and she is reluctant to place her faith in another (however much she wants to).
"I said I would help you," he replies, as if it is that simple.
Overcome with a sudden restless energy, she stands, picking up her bags and walking. "Don't you have somewhere to be?"
He follows after her, easily catching her with his long legs. "What's one night's delay? At least I will get a meal out of it."
She smiles at that. "If my father doesn't shoot you first."
He chuckles, the sound like whiskey down her throat. "I've been shot before."
Her mouth parts, recalling his uniform from earlier (the one she soiled). "I'm sorry. It must have been terrible… the war."
His face tightens, a shadow passing over it. "Yeah… well… the men who start wars are never the ones fighting in them."
She turns to him, pausing in the road. "I don't want to cause you any more trouble. You are very kind to help me, but…"
I'm not your problem.
She doesn't say it, but something about his expression suggests he hears her anyway. "Hero… for the last few years all I have done is kill people. Let me do something good for once. Let me help you."
She bites her lip. His dark eyes implore her to agree. Her heart begs her not to refuse. He is dangerous, this stranger. She has known him less than a day and already she feels a connection to him, a draw stronger than what she felt with Bertram. Yes, he is dangerous.
But what choice does she have? Go home, without a husband, and face her father's wrath? Or bring with her this stranger, who starts fights on the bus in her defence, and attempt to pass him off as her husband? She prayed for a miracle; with John at her side, she at least has a chance.
She sets down her bags. "My name is Hero Messina. My birthday is in March. I am twenty-three years old and a student at the University of San Francisco, my degree is in literature. I am an only child but grew up with two cousins. My parents are Leonato and Innogen Messina, our family owns a vineyard. I speak reasonable Italian, I can sew clothes, but am an atrocious knitter. I love animals and want a dog one day. My favourite colour is red, I like walking, and I hate going to the dentist."
John's eyes widen with all the information she has hurled at him. He blinks once, then his face relaxes into a lopsided grin — her heart rebounds. "Who doesn't hate the dentist?"
She gasps, catching her breath. "Sorry, that was a lot of information."
"No, you're right. We should know something about each other if we're going to make this convincing. I'm John Sutton, I was born in December, twenty-eight years ago. I was a soldier, now I'm a chocolate salesman. I'm an orphan, but I have a sister — not by blood, but… we grew up together. I like dogs too, I hate the dentist, and broccoli, and… I don't have… my favourite colour is green."
Hero takes this in, feeling her confidence grow. "Right… good. What's your sister's name?"
"Margaret. I left her back in San Francisco." He breathes in, gesturing to the road ahead. "So… we just keep walking?"
"It's not far, about fifteen minutes up here. I… I wanted some time to… prepare myself."
He nods in understanding. "Just enough time to invent a whirlwind romance. Here, let me carry your case."
"Oh, you don't need to do that. You have your own luggage." She gestures to his bags, both half the size of her own.
"We can trade if you're worried about being fair." He picks up her case with a grin. "If I'm going to impress your family, I better start acting like a gentleman."
Hero grabs the briefcase he has left for her, falling into step with him. "A gentleman… who abandons his wife?"
His gaze cuts to her and she sees he is not as amused as his easy tone suggests. "They're all charming in the beginning."
Isn't that the truth.
"Your sister is lucky to have you looking out for her."
Something like a grimace twists across his face but he covers it so fast Hero is not sure she saw it. He levels her with a wry smile. "I'd never hear the end of it if I stepped in on Margaret's behalf. She can handle herself."
Hero smiles back, "She sounds like my cousin, Beatrice. She is a force to be reckoned with. She would eat a man alive."
"Am I likely to meet her? Sounds like I won't survive dinner."
"No, not tonight. The harvest is in a few days, she may be back then."
They walk along the road, compiling their cover story and discussing any details they are likely to be questioned on. They reach a gap in the trees. From there, they are able to look down on the magnificent expanse of her family's vineyard, bountiful rows stretching across green-gold slopes, winding paths weaving in-between, at the heart of everything sits the old villa, her home, like something from another time. The forest surrounds the picturesque valley. With the sun starting to set, casting its amber glow across the landscape, it looks like a painting, a secret elysium. Even after all these years, this place is still magical to her.
She wonders what John makes of her family's land and glances at him. His mouth is parted, a look of wonder transforms his face and she warms with pride.
"We call it Le Nuvole. It means the clouds."
"It's beautiful."
Hero draws in a breath at the note of awe in his voice. Her stomach writhes, twisting in knots. She feels like Eve, gaining one last glimpse of Paradise before she is cast out of the Garden, that fateful apple lodged in her throat.
She gasps, struck with a sudden thought. "Rings! We don't have rings! Surely we'd have rings! How will we explain it?"
John considers this new dilemma, then his face clears. "We may not have to."
He sets down the bags and gestures for his briefcase. She hands it over and he unlatches it, revealing a stack of chocolate boxes. He lifts the lid of the first one, an assortment of chocolates nicely presented in a silken case — browns, creams, pinks, and stripes. He picks one out with a golden band around it, presenting it to her.
"The wedding bonbon deluxe."
Hero tenses as he takes her hand, his touch an electric shock, sending pins and needles up her arm. She watches, entranced, as he pushes the golden band onto her ring finger.
"We're in this together now. For better or for worse."
Hero's eyes meet his own and for a moment she is lost in the dark pools of his gaze. "For better or for worse."
His hands retract and she startles back to her senses. Ducking her head, she examines the makeshift ring. It is made of foil, not a proper ring, but it should convince anyone who doesn't look too closely.
John places an identical gold band onto his own finger and shuts his briefcase. "Ready?"
"As I'll ever be." She takes a deep breath and steadies herself. "Thank you for doing this. It may be the kindest thing anyone has ever done for me."
He shrugs off her gratitude. "Yeah, well, I'd say name your firstborn after me, but John's a boring name."
Hero laughs, perhaps her first since Bertram's rejection. His manner is a little rough around the edges, a little direct but she likes that. He seems to say this is me, take it or leave it. After being blinded for so long by glib words and a charming veneer, such blunt honesty is refreshing.
(And dangerous, so very dangerous.)
:-x-:
John cannot explain how he ended up in this situation, escorting a random woman to her home, pretending to be her husband. That he suggested the idea is even crazier. He is no white knight. He looks out for himself and Margaret, when she lets him. Hero calls him kind, but he is too selfish for that. He just can't stand the thought of leaving her to suffer the same fate his mother did. No one was there for her then. At least he can do this for Hero.
They make their way down into the fairytale Hero calls her home. After all the devastation he saw during the war, John had not believed anywhere could be this green, this peaceful. He remembers Hero's fears of her father killing her; even this patch of paradise has its skeletons buried under the earth.
Gunshots rip through the air.
John grabs Hero, pulling her to the ground, amongst the shrubs. He would have tackled her, but through the rush of adrenaline and war-honed instincts he remembers her condition and takes care, shielding her body with his own.
Another gunshot blasts and he shudders — he is half sunk in the mud, smoke chokes the air as fireballs crash around them, blowing craters in the earth, scattering dirt, rubble, and limbs, ash stings his cheeks, his eyes, clogging his throat, the body beneath him growing cold—
"John," Hero's voice cuts through the assault and he is back in the present.
The gunmen have found them.
He lunges to his feet, drawing Hero behind him. He counts three men. "We're unarmed. Don't shoot."
"You're trespassing," one retorts, his shotgun trained on them. He is younger than the others, clean-shaven, looking like an overgrown choir boy. John doesn't like the gleam in his eyes, the excitement of aiming a gun at another person. He has seen that look in other soldiers before, it never ended well.
Before he can stop her, Hero steps out from behind him. "I can't trespass in my own home, Claudio."
The other men lower their guns. The youth, Claudio, seems to forget the firearm he has pointed at them, eyes sweeping over her. "Hero… no one told me you would be returning today," a smile breaks across his face, "It's been a long time."
His gaze lingers in places it shouldn't and John grits his jaw. "Good thing none of your bullets hit her."
Claudio's gaze snaps to John and he regards him, looking rueful that none of his bullets hit him. He looks back to Hero and cocks his head. "Who's he?"
"This is John," she replies, sounding a little haggard, as one might if they returned home under already stressful circumstances only to be shot at. "If you excuse us, we will take ourselves inside. Hello Iacopo, hello Vince. It is nice to see you both."
The other gunmen nod and tip their hats in greeting. "Welcome home, Miss Hero."
John and Hero collect their bags and resume their walk to the house. Claudio follows after them.
"Here, let me," he tries to take one of Hero's bags and fumbles with his gun.
"There's no need. I have John to help me."
"Right." Claudio throws him an accusing glance. "And who is he? Your hired help?"
John is prevented from a cutting retort as a woman calls from the house, "HERO!"
A silver-haired woman dashes out to greet them. Hero sets down her bags, hurrying to meet her. "Auntie!"
As the women hug, John and Claudio regard each other over the discarded luggage.
"ANTONIO! INNOGEN! LEONATO! QUICK! OUR HERO HAS RETURNED!"
Shouts come from within the house followed by the thunder of footsteps. First comes a woman, her resemblance to Hero unmistakable in her lovely features, her hair pinned back, streaks of moonbeam among midnight locks. She lets out a cry of joy and runs to embrace her daughter. Two men follow her, a stout fellow with a thick brown beard and another man, not thin, but not as large as the other, his own beard a salt-and-pepper blend. His face is familiar.
The former spreads his arms, charging at Hero and sweeping her off her feet. She laughs as he crushes her to him, squeezing her so tight John takes a step forward, a flash of fear for the baby. The movement attracts the second man's attention and he looks John up and down.
"Who is this?"
"That's what I'd like to know," Claudio mutters.
The stout man sets Hero on the ground and she staggers, regaining her footing. John sees her smile strain, her happiness replaced with panic. She moves back to him and he meets her; her fingers hook in his sleeve a faint tremor to them.
"Th-this… this is John… Sutton." She looks up at him and he tries to assure her with his eyes. She swallows and slips her hand into his; he gives it a squeeze. "My husband."
They stare back at the stunned on-lookers, presenting a united front.
A gun fires. Everyone jumps.
John pushes Hero behind him, whirling to face a gobsmacked Claudio, his gun fallen to the ground. In the wall across from them, a bullet is buried in the stone.
:-x-:
Claudio is sent off in a daze while the family moves inside the house, their cheerful reunion now fraught with agitation after Hero's announcement and the gun's misfire. She clings to John as her father rampages.
"I will not allow this. I'll go to the Pope himself to get this undone."
"We weren't married in a church," she interjects. Her father's aghast stare confirms she made the right decision in bringing John. If this is how he reacts to a marriage outside of church, how would he have taken a child outside of marriage?
"Not married in chur—is this how you were brought up? To betray your faith? Your family?"
"I did not betray anyone," she protests, but her father is not listening.
"I told you! I told you! I said something would happen. We never should have let her go. A girl's place is here, at home. Here. Not alone in some city doing God knows what."
She winces, remembering the old arguments, how much pleading, how much persuasion it had taken to get her father to agree to send her to San Francisco. He had been convinced she would get into trouble, that the city would corrupt her. He was right.
"I'm going to school there. I'm getting a degree."
Her father scoffs. "In literature. What does that entail? Reading books? You could read books here."
She has heard it before but still she flinches. John's hand presses on her shoulder, relieving some of the sting.
"Leo," her mother exclaims. "Stop it. You are being unfair."
Her father rounds on her. "Me? I'm unfair? I am not the one who came home to tell my family I had betrayed their trust, married a man they have never met, a—a—" he falters, gesturing at John, "What is it you do?"
She can feel the tension in John's frame, but he keeps his face composed as he replies with only the slightest bite, "I was a soldier. Now I'm a chocolate salesman."
Hero cringes, seeing her father's disdain. "Papà—"
He throws up his hands. "No. I will not allow this. NO. This will not stand! Not while I draw breath!"
"Sir—" John attempts, but her father does not allow him to speak.
"No! You didn't see fit to speak to me before marrying my daughter, I don't care what you have to say now!"
A muscle pulses in John's jaw, but he doesn't argue back.
"Papà, please." She blames the change in her hormones, the stress of the last month, the exhaustion from the journey home, and now her father's rebuke for the tears that spring to her eyes.
"Leo, leave them be," her mother intervenes, settling a hand on her husband's arm. "They are tired from travelling. I expect they just want to sit down and unpack. I admit this news has been… a shock. We could all use some time to process it… and pick it up in a calmer frame of mind."
Her father huffs, but sags under his wife's touch. He spears John with one last glare. "This is not over."
With those words, he stalks from the room. Her mother follows after him, no doubt to talk him down.
Hero watches them both go and sighs, feeling her ribs collapsing in. Once more, she feels John's presence beside her, the assurance of his touch. She looks up at him, reading the question in his gaze. She doesn't know how to answer him…
A throat clears and they jerk apart. Her uncle looms beside them, staring John down. John stiffens, allowing the assessment.
Her uncle breaks into a grin. "I am Antonio, that crotchety old man you just met is my older brother, Leonato. The angel that has flown after him is his wife, Innogen, my dear sister-in-law. And this beautiful creature is my own ever-patient wife, Ursula, who puts up with me for reasons unknown." Ursula rolls her eyes, smiling. "So…" his voice drops, turning menacing, "You have married our sweet Hero?"
John tenses, regarding Antonio with a look that is both respectful and defiant. "I have." He alters his stance, shrugging his shoulders with a depreciating smile. "I don't know why she accepted me either."
Antonio's laughter booms and the last of the tension breaks. He slaps John's hand in his own, yanking him forwards. "Welcome to the family!
John smiles, doing a good job of hiding his wince as Antonio almost dislocates his arm, shaking it so hard. "Thank you."
Ursula steps forward, beaming at John. "We know if Hero chose you, you must be a good man."
His expression flickers. Hero thinks about Bertram and her poor judgement there.
"You sell chocolates?" Antonio asks, eyes bright like a school-boy's. "Do you have samples?"
John opens his briefcase, revealing the rows of chocolates.
Antonio grins and rubs his hands. "May I?"
"Help yourself."
He plucks a chocolate from the box, popping it into his mouth. "Mmm, delicious! Ursie, try these."
As her aunt and uncle beam at John, hope flutters in Hero. She glances in the direction her parents disappeared and a sour taste rises in the back of her throat. She looks back and meets John's gaze.
She inhales, "I will show you my room."
:-x-:
John's first thought on entering Hero's bedroom is: dolls.
There is a row of them lined along a shelf, looking at home with the rest of the decor in their lace collars and silken frocks. The shelf below is crowded with photo frames, awards, and bric-à-brac. The cabinet below is stacked with books and porcelain horses. An ornate wardrobe stands against a wall, a vanity table beside it, scattered with various trinkets and cosmetics. On the other side of the room, a large bed is crowded with cushions, the frilled sheets match the window curtains. A single teddy bear sits against the headboard. John feels as if he should have wiped his shoes before stepping inside, the place is pristine. He can almost picture Hero as a girl growing up here, handing out china teacups to her dolls, making them drink. It is nothing like his own childhood.
Hero falters in the middle of the room, her gaze fixed on the bed. She whirls to him, eyes as big as saucers.
"I'll sleep on the floor," he assuages her concerns before she can voice them.
Her posture relaxes, though she still looks anxious. "Are you sure? You are already doing so much for me, it doesn't seem fair…"
"Trust me, your floor is far nicer than how I slept in the war."
She doesn't look comforted, but must realise there is no other option, unless they want to raise her family's suspicions by sleeping in separate rooms.
"John Sutton… you are a true gentleman."
He grimaces at how untrue this is, but responds in a nonchalant tone. "I will tell my sister you think so. She won't believe it." Hero's face wrinkles like she is going to protest and he points to the shelf of dolls. "Are you going to introduce me?"
She groans. "Don't tease. I've had them since I was a little girl."
"Tease? I'm being a gentleman. It's only polite to learn their names before they murder me in my sleep."
She giggles and he preens a little.
She opens her case and her expression sobers as she takes out the cracked photo of her and her parents. "How do you think that went… downstairs?"
"Could have been worse. No one's shot me. Yet."
"I'm sorry about my father."
"You're not responsible for him."
John had assessed Leonato as he ranted and raged. The man has some right to be upset, his only daughter has returned home married to a man none of them know. But his manner towards his daughter had been cold, callous and condescending; in short, he acted like an ass. John is long past caring what some asshole thinks of him, but he knows Hero must have been hurt, this is her father. He had to bite his tongue hard not to react to the man's taunts, the taste of blood sharp in his mouth, knowing Leonato would have only turned it back on Hero.
He watched him for violence but though Leonato's gestures were animated, he never swung his fists. John takes it as a good sign that Hero and her mother both felt safe enough to talk back. He is not about to drop his guard, but he hopes his initial assessment is correct and though Leonato is an ass, he is not a monster.
"He was so rude," Hero huffs. "He didn't even give you a chance."
She is cute like this, indignant on his behalf.
He moves across to her, his voice a low croon, "I did convince his sweet, innocent daughter to elope with me."
She turns her doe eyes upon him, considering him for a moment before replying, "Not so innocent."
Heat skitters beneath his skin. They stare at one another, tension simmering between them. His eyes fall to her red, red lips. Her lashes droop, her own gaze lowering…
There is a knock at the door and her mother calls out, "Hero? May I come in."
Hero starts back from him, moving to the door that is already opening. "Yes, Mamma…"
Although nothing had occurred, the breathless quality of her voice and the flush in her cheeks tell their own story and Innogen's gaze shifts to John. He looks back, unabashed.
Her eyes gleam, repressing a smile, and she glances back at her daughter. "Hero, would you mind helping us prepare the dinner?"
"O-of course… Now?"
Her mother's smile is sly, "If you aren't busy."
Hero looks at John. "Please excuse me. The bathroom is through that door there if you would like to wash up. I'll be back before dinner."
He nods. "Sure, I'll get acquainted with these charming ladies…" he gestures to her dolls, "...while you are gone."
She scrunches her nose, then points a warning finger at the dolls. "Don't steal him from me, girls."
She swishes from the room, followed by her mother wearing a bemused smile. John watches as the door is pulled closed. He glances at the dolls who stare back at him with their pretty, painted faces and souless eyes, then looks at the bear on the bed, whose constipated expression reflects his own tumultuous state.
What has he gotten himself into?