Hero knows her mother's request to join her in the kitchen is an excuse to interrogate her. While it is not unusual for them to lend a hand with meals, they have staff for that purpose, who all greet Hero as she enters, offering congratulations on her marriage.
"Does your husband have any dietary requirements we need to account for?" Her mother asks, setting out the chopping boards.
Hero falters. She has no idea if John has any dietary requirements — he could be vegetarian for all she knows. She hopes if he had any serious food allergies he would have mentioned it.
"Uh… he doesn't like broccoli," she remembers in a flash.
Her mother makes a thoughtful noise. They peel the vegetables and shell fava beans in silence. Hero peeks at her mother, waiting for the questions to begin. They do not. After a long stretch of nothing but the scrape of the blade, the rustle of the beans, and the cooks bustling in the background, Hero breaks.
"How is Papà?"
"He is shocked, as you can imagine."
She winces at her mother's tone. Unlike her father, it carries no anger, but there is still that chiding note that all parents have. Her mother is disappointed in her, she knows. If she knew the full extent of her daughter's shame, she would be horrified.
"Mamma…"
"You could have at least prepared us. A call, a letter would have sufficed."
Hero understands why her mother is upset, bringing home a husband with no warning. But until a few hours ago, she had not known she would be bringing one either. Not that she can admit that.
"I… I wanted to surprise you."
Her mother blows out a breath. "You certainly did that."
"I didn't want to give Papà the chance to disown me without even having met John."
Behind them, the clatter of the kitchen utensils stills. Then resumes, louder than before.
Her mother puts down the blade in her hand and looks at her daughter. "Your father is not going to disown you."
Hero's stomach squirms, she thinks about the baby growing inside her. He might.
Her mother must read some of her thoughts in her face because she reaches out and takes her hand. "Your father would never cast you out like that, Hero. He loves you."
She stares down at the bean skins, refusing to look at her mother, afraid she will see the tears glinting in her eyes that she is desperately trying to restrain.
"He loves the perfect version of me who does as he says and never argues back."
Her mother sighs. "That's not true. Hero — please tell me you didn't marry this man to spite your father."
"Of course not." She straightens up, staring at her mother in appal. "How can you suggest such a thing?"
Her mother raises her hands in surrender. "Alright. Alright. It was just so sudden. You have never mentioned John to us before."
"I… um… I know it was sudden… wh-when John returned from war… we were just so happy to be reunited." Now Hero reaches for her mother's hand. "Mamma, how many times have you told me the heart wants what the heart wants?"
Her mother fixes her with a penetrating stare. "And is this what your heart wants?"
"Yes."
"Really and truly?"
Hero wavers. She sees John on the road, kneeling before her, the sunlight raking through his raven hair, his expression gentle, without judgement.
"Really and truly."
Her mother nods, looking relieved. "Alright." She resumes peeling the carrots. "Your father will come around, I am sure. He just… needs time to adjust."
Hero exhales, then searches her mother's face. "And you? Are you happy for me?"
Her mother sighs and sets her blade down once more. She stretches out a hand and touches Hero on the chin. "Of course I am, dearest. I confess, I am a little disappointed that I was not there to see my daughter married, but… I understand what a force love is. If you are happy, I am happy for you."
Hero's bottom lip trembles, a single tear slipping free. Her mother brushes it aside.
"Thank you, Mamma."
Her mother smiles and returns to her work, shedding the carrot skins in long strips. "Really, I can't blame you. If I met a man as handsome as your John, I would snap him up as well."
"Mamma!"
:-x-:
John has taken the time to make himself presentable. As much as a part of him wants to provoke Leonato, he realises if he comes across too much like a deadbeat that will reflect poorly on Hero. At least if he can convince them all he is a good, honest man, they will have more sympathy for her when he abandons her, having been taken in themselves.
He straightens his tie. He hates it but Margaret packed a load, insisting he needed to look like a respectable salesman and "not a gigolo" were her words. He should call her, let her know where he is. He combs his hair, hardly recognising himself in the nice, put-together fellow in the mirror. He rubs his clean jaw; when this is over, he is going to grow a beard. He is not a soldier anymore.
The door opens and stalls as Hero knocks, "It's me."
"You don't have to knock to enter your own bedroom."
She shuffles inside, closing the door behind her. "You might have been… dressing."
He throws her an amused look. "And? We're married."
"Oh." She gazes down at the rug, cheeks darkening, before her head jerks up. "Do you have any food allergies?"
"Uh… No."
She exhales, sagging against the door. "Thank goodness. I feared we were going to poison you."
"Is your father cooking?"
"No." She giggles and deepens her voice, "The kitchen is a woman's place."
"He's never seen my sister in a kitchen."
"Not her strength?"
John shakes his head, remembering fires and overboiled meals. "She can take apart a broken stove and put it back together so it works, but she'll burn soup."
Hero eyes light. "She's a mechanic?"
He smiles at the word. "Yeah. She was during the war. She's searching for a job that will take her now the men have come home."
Understanding dims Hero's expression, but her eyes still twinkle. "I'm getting very curious to meet your sister."
John's mouth parts and shuts. If everything goes to plan, after tonight, they will never see each other again.
Hero seems to remember this too because she straightens. "I should get changed."
"Want me to step out?"
She flaps her hand, opening her wardrobe. "No, no. I'll dress in the bathroom."
John nods and sits on the vanity stall. He struggles to find a comfortable position for his legs before giving up.
She swishes past him. "Dinner will be the real cross-examination."
He fiddles with the trinkets on her vanity table. He opens a box and music starts chiming as a tiny ballerina dances. He hurriedly shuts it. "Then we better get our story straight. Let's go over it again…"
They go back-and-forth establishing their story and asking the other questions. Hero exits the en-suite bathroom, smoothing down the red, floral evening dress which clings to her curves. John does not miss how her hands tremble.
He stands, crossing to her. "You alright?"
She flashes a nervous smile. "Mmhm."
He considers her queasy complexion and remembers her bout of sickness on the train. "Are you sure? I can tell them you're not feeling well…"
"No, no, they can't have reason to think I'm pregnant. Not this early. Besides, I won't leave you to face them alone."
"Fine, but if you need to… signal me and I'll cause a distraction."
She smiles, some of her queasiness fading. Her eyes flicker down. "Your tie… it's crooked. Here… um… let me…"
She unknots his tie and re-does it. She is standing so close, the crown of her head dipped before his chin, her focus on his throat and he swallows. It is on his tongue to ask how she became practised in men's ties but the question sours before he can voice it. She is carrying another man's child, that entails a level of intimacy far beyond what he, a stranger, has shared with her in one afternoon.
"There." She smiles, her hands smooth down the lapels of his jacket before retracting. "My father cannot complain about me marrying a vagabond."
"Was that the impression I gave when you first saw me?"
"No," her cheeks pinken, "You were in uniform then."
A shout that dinner is being served interrupts any further conversation. Hero sucks in a breath, paling.
"It is going to be alright," John assures her. "We're in this together."
She breathes out. "What would I have done if I hadn't met you?"
He pauses, then shakes the thought away. "It doesn't matter. I'm here, I'm with you."
She nods and takes his hand. John looks at their entwined fingers in surprise. "Thank you, John. Whatever happens. Thank you."
:-x-:
The dining room is tense as John and Hero take their places opposite each other, Leonato eying them from the head of the table. The tension is broken as Antonio strolls in, clasping Hero's hand and lifting it to inspect her ring. John holds his breath.
"Ooh! What a delicate ring." He drops her hand and gives her a quick cuddle. "You are beautiful tonight." He grins at Leonato as he moves around to take the seat at the end of the table between Hero and John. "Marriage becomes her, no?"
Leonato rolls his eyes at his brother's cheer, but Innogen and Ursula both smile. The staff move around, laying out the dishes. Given the vastness of their estate, John concluded Hero's family to be wealthy, but it still surprises him that they have staff to wait on them. No wonder her father scoffed when he said he was a chocolate salesman; what has he to offer his daughter?
They bow their heads for grace, Ursula doing the honours. "Dear God, bless this food we are about to eat, and bless the harvest of the grapes you have given us in your wisdom and grace, amen."
John is not religious. His mother tried to instil some faith in him when he was a child. Back then he had resented God for their struggles, how the other churchgoers shunned his mother for being a single parent. The war had torched any faith he had. What god allowed such atrocities? Not one John wanted anything to do with. Still, he clasps his hands and says "Amen" with everyone else.
They begin to eat. John stirs the soup, attempting to discern what it is without appearing rude.
"This is macco di fave," Hero whispers across to him, "a traditional Sicilian soup. It's made from fava beans and other vegetables."
John nods, grateful, and tries a spoonful. "Mm, it's good."
Hero smiles and leans forwards, "Better than your sister's?"
He grins.
"You have a sister?" Innogen enquires, overhearing.
John does not want to reveal too much about his life to the people he will be betraying (at least in their eyes) but the best lies are woven with truth. "I do, back in San Francisco… Peggy."
He can feel Margaret flipping him off from afar at the nickname but if any trouble comes from this he doesn't want it landing at her door.
"Peggy is how John and I met," Hero says, sticking to the story they agreed upon. "She is on the same course as I at the university."
"So she's who we have to thank," Leonato grumbles.
"That's right, I was on leave visiting my sister and ended up falling in love with your incredible daughter." He looks at Hero as he says this, voice softening.
Innogen and Ursula both coo. Leonato scoffs.
"Is that where you're from, San Francisco?" Ursula asks.
"Uh, no. I'm from Moline originally. Moline, Illinois."
"Wherever that is," Leonato mutters. His wife casts him a chiding look.
"It's in the middle of the country," Hero shoots back, "Exactly in the middle. Right?"
She looks at John and his mouth curves, "Right."
"And your parents, they are still in Moline?"
John pauses at Ursula's innocent question. He expected them to want to know something about the man their daughter had married, but he hoped they would be more interested in his relationship with Hero, not his past. He has not even spoken about it with Hero; he never speaks about his parents if he can avoid it.
He draws in a breath, bracing for what comes next. "Both my parents are dead."
Across from him, Hero's eyes widen. He can feel the sympathetic stares from the others and keeps his gaze on the pristine tablecloth.
"You're an orphan?" Leonato asks and John might prefer his bluntness to pity.
He meets his stare, not wanting to be mistaken for cowed. "I am now. My mother raised me… she died before the war."
"How terrible," Innogen murmurs.
John tenses. He doesn't want to think about those days… months… years… after his mother's death when he was a walking husk of a human… how much he added to Margaret's grief, making her believe she would lose her brother too… getting into fights, accepting the wrong kind of jobs, stumbling home bruised and bloodied and reeking of alcohol… he knows he frightened her, reminded her of her past. He owes it to Borachio he is even alive; there were times when he hated him for that. The war had almost been a relief, a fight to throw himself into — sometimes he thinks he only survived because he was already a broken man. But he doesn't want to think about the war either.
"And your father?" Leonato probes. "What happened to him?"
"He died when I was a child," John lies.
"I see," Leonato returns, his tone derisive. "Then it makes sense that you have no respect for a father's rights."
"Papà," Hero hisses.
He points between them. "I did not consent to this union. He never asked me if he could marry my daughter."
"Leonato," Innogen groans.
"You are so old-fashioned," Hero whips back at him. "It is my choice who I marry. It is my life."
"Is that so? Well then, let's see if he can support you and your tuition fees on his earnings as a salesman. Since you don't want me interfering with your life."
Hero blanches, dumbstruck. John stiffens, his hand tightening around his spoon.
"Leo," Antonio pleads.
"Leo, that is unfair," Innogen scolds her husband.
"I understand you are angry," John addresses Leonato, his voice firm. "But don't punish her for getting swept up in love. Blame me."
"I do blame you." He picks up a fork, jabbing it in John's direction. "Don't think I don't see you for what you are. You show up in your soldier's uniform, flatter her with your charming manner, wrench on her heart with pitiful tales about your dead parents and the horrors of war, then confess that you love her, that no other woman has ever made you feel what she does and how the memory of her will sustain you through all your suffering. And the conclusion is, she is yours." His smile is scornful as he raises his glass. "A man with no prospects married to an heiress. How is that for a fairytale?"
The table is stunned. John is still.
Ursula covers her mouth, "Oh my…"
Innogen stares at her husband, strickened, "Leonato…"
"That is not true!" Hero's voice rings with outrage. "None of it — is true!"
Leonato arches his eyebrows. "So you are not an heiress married to a man with no prospects?"
"He has prospects—!"
"You have been taken in by a handsome face and a chiselled jawline!"
"Thank you," John's voice cuts across the room.
Leonato halts mid-speech, "What?"
"For the compliment," John's smile is a switchblade. "But you're rating my intelligence too high and your daughter's too low. I'm a chocolate salesman. She's a master's student. As if I could have taken her in."
Leonato's eyes narrow, "Salesmen are charming. Their job is to convince others to buy their trash."
John hears the hiss of breath through Hero's teeth. He pushes his shoulders into a shrug. "I never said I was a good salesman."
Leonato chuckles but it is void of humour. "But you have a keen eye for profit?"
John's nails dig into his thigh, hands shaking.
The chair screeches as Hero stands, her eyes tinged pink as she glares at her father. "You're horrible!"
She flees the room.
"Hero!" Innogen calls after her. She rounds on her husband, "Shame on you, Leonato Messina."
John stands as well, throwing down his napkin. He regards them all, sat around the table rendered silent under his stare. At last he looks at Leonato who scowls at him. There are so many things he wants to say, most of them unsuitable for the dinner table. In the end, he sticks to the truth.
"I don't want your money. I'm here for her."
He doesn't care to linger any longer, to gauge their reactions. He stalks from the room after Hero. He finds her sitting outside on the porch, lit in the golden lamplight. She glances up at his approach.
"Hey," he walks across to her, hands sliding into his pockets.
"I'm so sorry. I can't believe he said those things."
"It's fine. I don't care what he thinks of me." He crouches down, sitting on the wall beside her. "He wouldn't actually stop funding your schooling, would he?"
"I don't know…" Hero stares down at her hands, hair curtaining her face. "But… I was thinking of dropping out anyway."
"What? Why?"
She looks at him, then glances back to the house, the light pouring out, voices from within. She stands, "Fancy a moonlight stroll?"
He rises with her and they meander down the path into the vine rows. "Why are you dropping out of university, Hero?"
Against the moonlight, he sees her shoulders curve in on herself. "I'm pregnant. With my professor's child. I can't — I can't see him again. I can't go back there. It's mortifying."
"But all the work you've put in—"
"It's a literature degree, John. What was I going to do with it anyway?"
He can't stand the derision in her tone. "You've worked hard for it."
She shakes her head. "If only I'd spent more time studying, instead of fooling around with Bertram… My father's right, I was taken in." She sniffs. "I'm so stupid."
"No. NO." His blood simmers thinking about how her sleaze of a professor had misused her. "He took advantage of his position. He shouldn't be seducing students. He should be reported."
Even as he says it he knows that's not how the world works.
Hero knows it too. "No. I've no proof. They would never believe me. He's a respected professor. He has a — a good reputation. I'm the slut who got herself pregnant."
"You didn't—" John lurches, almost biting his tongue off, "You're not a slut.
She wraps her arms around herself. "Yes, I am."
"Hero… Hero…" He softens his voice, "You're not. Lots of people have sex outside of marriage. I have. You're not a bad person."
"I am," she sniffs. "I should have known better."
John sighs and removes his jacket, placing it around her shoulders. "My dad didn't die when I was a child. He left my mother when she became pregnant. She raised me by herself after her parents kicked her out."
Hero draws in a sharp breath, gazing up at him, the moonlight rippling in her eyes. "John…"
"You're not a slut, Hero. Neither was she."
She stares at him and he is glad for the darkness, turning his face away.
"That's why you're helping me… because of your mother?"
He huffs. "I might be a bastard… but I'm not an ass."
She is quiet, pulling his jacket around her.
He looks up at the night sky and goes still, the air winnows through him, for a second his breath hangs there. "The stars… I don't think I've ever seen them this clearly…"
He stares up at the hundreds of glittering lights. Around them the cicadas hum, deer roam the forest, bats flap their leather wings. Once more he is caught by the tranquillity of the place; so surreal it could be a dream.
"It's not the same in the city," Hero muses, looking up as well. "As awful as things are… I'm glad to be home."
They stand there, gazing at the stars, unconscious of their own bodies gravitating closer, closer together until their arms brush. He feels her shiver.
"It's turning cold," he notes. "We should head in."
Hero makes a sound of acquiescence and they walk back along the path. Warm light pours out from the villa, welcoming them in. It is strange what a home hides.
They are almost to the threshold when Hero falters, whirling on him. "After all that… you didn't even get a meal out of it."
"Didn't get shot either. It's fine. I've operated on less. But you… your condition…"
She changes direction, motioning to him. "There will be leftovers in the kitchen. Follow me."
John goes where she beckons. It is alarming to realise he has known Hero less than a day but already he would follow her anywhere. Maybe it is a good thing he is leaving in the morning. Somehow, he isn't sure.
