John wakes to the sound of someone being sick. His eyes protest their opening, a dull throbbing through his skull. His body screams at him to go back to sleep but once more he hears the gargled wrenching sound. Through the haze of bone-tiredness he notices Hero is missing from the bed and his muddled mind connects the dots. He rises from the bed, joints aching.
The door to the bathroom is open and Hero is slumped over the toilet. John crouches beside her, lifting her hair back from her face. She startles, turning to him then back to the toilet as the sharp movement triggers her nausea.
She groans into the bowl, voice hoarse and miserable. "I woke you…"
"No-o." The lie would be more convincing if he didn't yawn at the end.
She narrows her weary eyes. "John… go back to bed. It's barely seven."
"You're ill."
"It's just morning sickness. It will pass soon."
Now it is John who looks disbelieving. "I'll stay."
She looks as if she is going to protest more when she jerks forward, body spasming. He hears it as the vomit ejects from her throat and splashes in the toilet. He holds her hair back, shifting one hand to rub circles into her back.
Hero gives a pitiful groan, shuddering, and pants to catch her breath. "You were… up all night… you're… travelling today… you should… sleep while you can… otherwise… you could collapse on the road…"
"I've operated on less." He leans her against him, reckoning he makes a more comfortable rest than the toilet.
She sniffs, making a sound that is half sob, half gag. "I've caused you so much trouble."
"I've no regrets." His fingers comb through her hair absentmindedly.
She sinks into his shoulder, knees drawing to her stomach. "I'm such a mess…"
"Aren't we all?" He moves his hand up and down her back, along the silk of her nightgown. "It is going to be alright, Hero."
John's never been much of an optimist but she looks so fragile and shaken, he offers what comfort he can.
She turns her head in his collar, her breath warm and foul on his neck. "I don't know what I'm going to do… when you're not here…"
His chest constricts and he tightens his hold on her for just a second. "I don't have to go… yet."
He adds the yet as an afterthought.
Her big hazel-green eyes jump to his own. "But—your job?"
"I can spare another day."
"Nn-no." She scrunches her eyes shut, shaking her head. "I've already made a mess of my own life. I won't make a mess of yours."
"That's not — You haven't—" He pauses, considering how best to persuade her. "You promised to get my uniform washed."
She opens her eyes. "Um… oh… I-I suppose…"
He smiles, fingers carding through her curls. "Then it's settled. How are you feeling?"
Some of the colour has returned to her face. "Hm… I think the nausea has passed. Ugh, but my mouth tastes horrible."
"Stay there, I'll grab a glass of water."
He extracts himself from her, moving to the other room to grab one of the glasses there and filling it up with the water jug. He hands it to her, then goes to unlatch the window to get some ventilation.
Hero drinks from the glass, setting it aside. "I wonder how much longer I can keep it from them…"
"Don't worry about that now. Let's try and grab a couple more hours of sleep before the whole household is awake."
She shifts around to flush the toilet. Before she can stand, John's arms snake around her, lifting her against him.
She squeaks, grabbing his shoulders. "J-John…"
If he were more awake, he might think twice about his actions, but sleep has its hold on him again and he carries her back to the bed, gently lowering her onto the mattress and clambering in beside her. He is half asleep the second his head touches the pillow and fading fast.
"John…" he hears her whisper.
He hums an answering "Hero…"
And then he is asleep.
:-x-:
Hero gazes down at John's sleeping face, the sunlight creeping over it, caressing his perfect features as she dares not. Chance sure has a funny sense of humour; she stumbles into someone willing to pretend to be her husband and he is the most gorgeous man she has ever met. She feels like such a fool in front of him, the idiot slut who got knocked up by her sleazy professor. Yet he is so kind to her. It stirs a gentle ache in her abdomen.
She slumps down on the pillow, still watching him. One more day… she has one more day with him before he is gone from her life for good. Already she knows she is too attached — can feel some vital part of her reaching out and stitching together with him so when he leaves it will tear. But she is grateful nonetheless that he is here and helping her. She doesn't know how she would have faced her family alone…
She forces her eyes closed. Even then, the image of him lingers. She breathes in, assured by the sound of his own inhales and exhales that he is still there, right beside her, and allows sleep to take over.
:-x-:
It is almost ten when they rise and head downstairs. John pauses on the way, pointing to the framed photo of two young girls in frilly dresses, one tall and light, the other short and dark.
"Is this you?" He motions to the latter, amusement lacing his voice.
Her cheeks burn. "Yes."
He clicks his tongue and grins, "Cute."
Her blush deepens and she snatches his wrist, dragging him towards the dining room. The rest of the family must have slept in late as well for they are all still eating breakfast when they arrive. Ursula is scolding Antonio for helping himself to another sausage while her mother butters toast and her father reads the newspaper.
When Hero and John enter, Leonato stands. "Excuse me. I have responsibilities to attend to."
Hero watches her father go, swallowing back her hurt. She feels John's touch at her wrist. They move towards the table which has fallen quiet at Leonato's departure.
She meets her mother's gaze, dropping her voice as she takes the chair beside her, "Is he not speaking to me now?"
"He… is adjusting."
Her mother's tone is not convincing and Hero stares down at her plate. Across the table she feels John's gaze on her; his foot slides between her own.
"You are not leaving us are you, John?" Antonio's voice booms.
Innogen starts, frowning at John, "You are leaving?"
"No, I… uh… I need to return to the road at some point… my um job, you see… but… but I… uh… can delay a day more." His eyes flicker from Hero to Innogen. "I'm not running out on you."
"I hope not," her mother's tone is friendly but with a hint of warning in it. "You haven't had the chance to taste our famous caponata."
From his expression, John doesn't know what this is but he answers politely, "I… look forward to it."
He glances at Hero and she gives him an assuring look that they won't be poisoning him.
"Just one day?" Antonio utters. "But tomorrow is the harvest."
"Uncle," Hero admonishes, "John has other responsibilities."
"Ah, like my brother."
Hero stares at him, flaring her lashes. Antonio raises his bushy eyebrows back.
Ursula prods him and he spreads his hand in surrender. "So be it. It is a shame you won't be with us, John. Harvest is a special time. A time of magic."
John shifts, gaze darting to Hero then back to her uncle. "Um… I'm… sorry to miss it."
"Hmm."
"Coffee?" Hero asks John, hoping to divert the conversation.
He seizes the diversion, thrusting our his cup. "Yes, please."
She fills his cup then pours out her own. "Sugar? Milk?"
Antonio clears his throat, spearing a sausage with his fork and gesturing to John, "If this is your last day with us for a while, we better give you the grand tour."
:-x-:
It is different walking through the vineyard in the daylight, admiring the rows of thriving green, the dark grapes nestled amongst the leaves. As they pass, the other workers call out greetings to them.
Antonio greets them back, clasping John's shoulder and introducing him, "This is John, my nephew-in-law. He is Hero's husband."
John suffers an odd swooping in his stomach at this introduction and the congratulations it earns. He casts a glance back at Hero who had been following behind them, her arm linked with Ursula's, but is now detained as her aunt chats with a gaggle of women. She stares back at him, before a question directed at her draws her focus.
"Are the grapes recovered from the frost?" John inquires as Antonio finishes conversing with one of the vintners.
The large man grins and claps his back. "Thanks to your help."
John shifts, hiding a grimace at the blow. He did the same as everyone else.
"Come, I want to show you something… I warn you, it's a trek."
John looks from Antonio's smiling face, back to Hero who is watching them with an anxious expression, unable to extract herself from the crowd of women fawning over her and wanting to admire her ring. He gives her an assuring nod and turns back to Antonio.
"Lead on."
It is a trek, across the vineyard, climbing the winding slope through the wildgrass. As they walk, Antonio tells them their history. "The first Messina — also an Antonio — came to America from Sicily with little more than a dream in his head, the clothes on his back, and a root from his family's vineyard in his pocket."
They reach the top of the slope, now above the rest of the vineyard, closest to the clouds. Ahead of them is a wild shrub planted before a stone monument, a fence ringed around it. Antonio leads him towards it.
"This is that root which the first Antonio brought with him. All our vines come from this one."
John stares at the simple shrub, attempting to comprehend its age, the generations folded within its roots.
"It's not just the root of Le Nuvole. It's the root of our lives, of Hero's life." He turns, placing his hand on John's shoulder. "Now that you're a part of all this, a part of us, it is the root of your life. We are your family now."
John's breath lodges in his throat, a tightening in his chest like stitches pulled taut.
"So," Antonio grins, clapping his shoulder, "You will stay with us for the harvest."
"Uh…"
"We would be grateful for your help. My brother does not like to admit it, but we are old men. We need your young blood."
"I… I can't stay. I wish… but I can't."
Hero agreed to one more day, but he can't keep intruding on her life, pretending he has a part in it.
Antonio's face falls beneath his beard. "What can be more important than this? Than your family?"
John grimaces. These people aren't his family. He doesn't belong here. The only family he has is Margaret and she got him this job. She's counting on him. He can't screw this up.
"I'm… sorry."
Antonio heaves a sigh, turning from John and it should not smart. "He said you would not stay."
He stiffens. "Who did?"
But he knows, even before Antonio answers. "Leonato. He said the first chance he gets, he will leave her."
"I'm not—" he cuts himself off, clenching his jaw. Leonato's low opinion of him should not chafe. The purpose of his role is to appear the faithless husband, to abandon Hero exactly as Leonato believes he will. A sour taste pollutes his mouth. As if he would leave her if their marriage were more than a farce…
"No, no, I understand," Antonio persists though his tone is not very empathetic. "I just pity my poor niece… he will whip her with it."
John grits his teeth. And, will you not defend her?, he wonders at the other man but he bites the words back.
"He will hold it over her for the rest of her life. That the husband she chose would not stay to help with our harvest. A pity, she is such a sweet girl.
The man sure knows how to twist the knife in. "But… it would just be a day?"
"The most important day of our year! The day that makes or breaks out fortunes!"
John exhales. He should speak to Hero before imposing any more on her… but he loathes the thought of leaving her to Leonato's castigations. Let him blame him, let him hate him, but leave Hero out of it.
"I… I'll need to make a phone call… but… but I'll stay."
Once more a grin splits Antonio's face and he chuckles, thumping John so hard on the back he almost swallows his tongue. "Excellent! Ah, Hero will be so pleased."
John tries for a smile but it feels flat. He is getting too comfortable with this pretence… he needs to remind himself it is an act, nothing more.
They make their way down the slope. As John looks out across the great expanse of the vineyard and the hundreds of rows, it seems impossible that all those grapes could be picked in a single day. Just what has he agreed to?
By the time they have made it down the slope, Hero has extracted herself from the women and meets them in the rows.
"Fantastic news!" Antonio announces, throwing out his arms to greet her, pulling her into a hug. "I have twisted your husband's arm and he has agreed to stay for the harvest?"
Hero's eyes flash to John, stumbling out of her uncle's embrace. "You have?"
"If… If you are happy for me to." He tries to read her face but cannot discern anything beyond her surprise.
"That is… yes… if it will not cause problems for you." A crinkle forms in her brow.
"Nothing I can't manage… family comes first."
Her face clears, lips settling in a smile. He drinks her in like water.
"ALBERTO!" Antonio waves his hand to two men walking up the path. "Have you met my nephew-in-law?"
The men pause and make their way across to them. One is an older man, around Antonio's age, shades of grey in the dark sweep of his hair. Beside him, is a familiar scowling face. John tenses, trying — not too hard — to remember his name.
"Antonio," the older man, Alberto, presumably, nods in greeting as he reaches them. He smiles at Hero, "It is wonderful to have you home with us, bella."
She offers a shy smile, ducking her head. "Thank you, signior."
His gaze cuts to John, looking him over before turning back to the others. "Claudio told me of your return yesterday. I couldn't believe it when I heard our dear Hero had married a stranger from the city. A salesman, I hear. Leonato never mentioned it, but he must have given his blessing. No daughter of mine would marry without her father's blessing."
Hero tenses and John's focus sharpens on Alberto.
Antonio laughs. "Ah, Alberto, do you not remember the impulsivity of youth? Those days may be long past us, but we gave our father's plenty of grey hairs, as our children do us now."
Alberto returns his smile but it possesses none of Antonio's warmth. "Perhaps that is so with your son." He clasps Claudio's shoulder. "Mine always behaves in a manner that I can be proud of."
"That he tells you," John utters, forcing a smile when Alberto frowns at him. Claudio glares.
The older man gives him an assessing look. "We have not been properly introduced. I am Alberto Santo and this is my son, Claudio."
He sticks out his hand and John shakes it. "John Sutton."
Alberto cocks his head. "And… what is your father?"
"Dead." He watches the condescension wipe from the man's face. "But before that he worked in trade."
"My condolences."
John retracts his hand, sensing Hero's attention on him. He casts his eyes to her, mouth slanting in a small, secret smile.
Alberto digs his elbow into his son's side. Claudio does little to hide his disgruntlement as he thrusts out his hand to John. "We've met.
John's smile is thin, goading. "You're missing your gun."
"It's near if I need it."
His hand clenches around John's own in warning. John does not flinch, giving back as good as he gets, and is pleased to see a flicker of discomfort across Claudio's face.
"It is such a pleasure to see you again, sweet bella," Alberto enthuses to Hero, kissing both her cheeks. "What a beautiful woman you have blossomed into! I cannot believe how fast time has flown! I swear, it was only yesterday you were a little girl chasing after my son."
Hero gasps a nervous laugh. "Um…"
"I told him," Alberto throws his arm around Claudio, his son's grimace in contrast with his own bright grin, "I told him if he did not wise up and see the jewel before him, another man would snatch her from him. And so one has."
John can feel the embarrassment radiating off Hero. Claudio stares at her with a look of confliction.
"Children," Antonio chuckles. "They will follow their hearts. Ah, we better leave you to it. Enjoy today, tomorrow is the real work."
Alberto takes the hint. "All the best to your health and congratulations on the marriage."
They take their leave of the father and son, heading back towards the house. John glances at Hero, her face flushed, focus on the ground.
"And that is our tour ended," Antonio says with a flourish of his hands. "Now, I had better go find Ursie and do whatever she bids me. Lunch shall be served soon. I'm sure everyone will be pleased to hear you are staying, John."
John does not share this conviction but offers a slight smile. Antonio disappears around the corner, leaving John and Hero alone. At least, in a sense, there remains plenty of workers milling around — some better than others at hiding their curious glances.
He clears his throat. "Is it… an issue… if I stay?"
Hero's gaze jumps to him. She glances around, noting the listeners and paints on a smile. "As long as it will not cause problems for your job."
She grabs his arm, leading him through a side gate. They enter into a small walled garden, overgrown with shrubs and climbing vines, on one side is a vegetable patch, in the centre a babbling fountain. Hero leads him to a bench, honeysuckles woven through its bower, the sea green paint of the seat peeling with age.
She sighs as they sit. "I'm sorry about my uncle. You don't have to stay, John, truly."
"It's fine. It shouldn't be said that your husband deserted you before the most important day of your family's year."
She hunches forwards, hugging her stomach. "As opposed to… deserting me when I'm pregnant?"
He draws in a sharp intake.
"I'm sorry," she rushes. "That's not you. You're helping me, a stranger, because the man who told me he loved me… doesn't want anything to do with his child."
The listlessness of her voice throbs like a bruise and John aches for her. Hero is a person meant to shine, but this faithless Roussillon has stolen her glow. He wants to track down the letch and punch his lights out, but words of violence will be no comfort to Hero.
He does not know what he should say and utters awkwardly, "I… um… think we're on better terms than… uh… strangers."
She unfurls a smile but it still doesn't meet her eyes. "You've been so kind to me, John. I don't want to take advantage of that. We agreed one night and now you have been pressured into staying for the harvest."
"I agreed to it. I wouldn't be doing this if I wasn't willing." He searches her face. "But… if you would prefer I go…"
She gives him a helpless look that he is unsure how to interpret. She folds her arms around her middle, gazing at the daisies in the grass. "This is harder than I thought it would be… pretending… lying to them…"
"You're doing a decent job of it."
He means it as a compliment, reassurance, but her head sinks lower. "I'm a bad daughter."
"No. No, Hero." His hands grasp her shoulders, catching in her curls. "You are doing all of this for them — putting yourself through this charade, inflicting this guilt upon yourself, you are doing it for them, for their comfort. Because they can't accept that their daughter is an adult woman, who makes her own choices. The only person who should feel guilty is the man who betrayed your trust and broke your heart."
She purses her lips, gaze cast aside. "I don't believe he feels a drop of guilt."
"He's an ass. He never deserved you."
She closes her eyes, face scrunching in pain. "When I look back… it is all such an obvious lie… I don't know how I fell for it…" She sighs, dropping her gaze to her lap, her fingers curl into her skirt. "Now I'm the liar…"
"You're protecting yourself… and the baby."
She gives a bitter laugh, "From my family?"
He has no answer to this. He withdraws his hands from her shoulders.
She expels a sigh. "I wish I didn't have to lie to them…"
He presses his hand over hers. "I'm on your side."
She looks up at him from under her lashes, her fingers intertwining with his own. "Do you do this often? Rescuing damsels in distress?"
Her smile is wry, it curves under his ribs and aches when he breathes. "Only you."
Her eyes shimmer, pupils dilating. They stare at each other, the space shrinking between them. John's mind is loud, but he cannot distinguish a single thought as he leans into Hero — as Hero leans into him.
"Hero! John! Lunch is about to be served!"
They spring apart, heads swivelling to the garden gate where Innogen stands, giving them a speculative smile.
Hero leaps to her feet, "We will be there soon, Mamma!"
Innogen nods and vanishes back through the gate.
Hero looks at John, except her eyes won't meet his own, her cheeks flushed. "Ar-Are you — you — b-braced for another meal with my father?"
John is always braced for a fight. He stands, rising before her so she has to tilt her neck back to account for the extra inches he has on her. He doesn't mention what has passed between them, uncertain if indeed anything had. Still, his eyes are drawn to her lips.
"I survived the war, I can handle lunch."
Her smile lights her eyes. "You deserve a rest from fighting other people's battles."
"Some things are worth fighting for." His hand brushes her shoulder, then he is moving towards the gate before he does something stupid. "Better go in before they suspect us of retreat."
"No retreat. No surrender," she murmurs, following beside him
Her fingers graze his knuckles, the tips hooking with his own before flitting away. His hand flexes around empty air and John knows he is in trouble. He might survive lunch but can he survive the next few days?