Hero quickens her pace as she moves towards the crowd. She sees Baz first, being crushed by his father, and there — her heart dances as she sees Beatrice at the centre of the throng, recounting their journey with her usual flair and charisma, her audience chuckling alongside her.
Hero dashes towards her, calling her name, "Beatrice!"
Her sister-cousin's eyes flash to hers and she surges forward. "Hero!"
She flings herself upon her, Beatrice's arms fold around her, hugging her tight. Hero allows a moment to savour the embrace of her favourite person in the whole world, whose support she can trust in above all else. Then she clasps her cousin's shoulder with meaning, whispering in her ear. "I will explain everything later, please go along with it."
Beatrice's stare turns scrutinising as Hero draws back, but she smiles brightly for the crowd, clutching her hands. "I am so pleased to see you, peach. I have missed you inordinately."
"Hey, I want a hug!" Baz pops up beside them. "Bring it in, coz."
Hero hugs her younger cousin. "Good to see you too, Baz. Are you studying hard at Stanford?"
"Sure am."
He grins but there is something in his countenance that gives Hero pause. She doesn't press him in front of everyone but glances at Beatrice to see if she has noticed anything. However, her cousin's shrewd gaze is focused elsewhere, an odd look crossing her face. Hero follows her stare and finds John hovering at the fringes of their family reunion.
Hero gulps down a breath and pastes on a smile. "I have big news for you both!"
She cuts through the crowd, grabbing John's hand. She meets his gaze, a look of fear and assurance passing between them, though who is assuring who, she is not sure. She links her fingers with his own and draws him into the throng, presenting him to Baz and Beatrice.
"I—um—I'd like you both to meet my-my husband, John Sutton."
She cannot keep the tremor out of her voice. Somehow it feels more real introducing him for the second-time. She had anticipated the initial scepticism and disapproval from her parents, but she has no idea what to expect from Beatrice — her sister in all but blood, the person who knows her best in the world, who can always tell when she is hiding something, whose judgement matters most to Hero.
"Holy crap!" Baz exclaims. "You got hitched!"
"Language!" Ursula and Antonio scold their son as one, but it doesn't dull his excitement as he pulls Hero in for another hug.
"Congratulations! Hey, that's swell!" He draws back, grinning from ear-to-ear. "Hero Sutton. I like that."
Hero smiles, butterflies fluttering in her stomach — it is her first time hearing John's name with her own. They transform into man-eating moths as she notices Beatrice's uncharacteristic silence.
"Welcome to the family, John. I'm Baz."
John shakes the proffered hand. "Nice to meet you, Baz."
"John Sutton?" Beatrice utters, regarding him with a dubious expression.
Hero sweats.
Her eyes flicker to Hero, assessingly, then she thrusts her hand out to John with a cattish grin. "So, you're the man my cousin spoke of? Funny, you're not at all who I expected."
Because Hero had been describing Bertram and even then she kept the details minimal. If Beatrice had known it was Hero's professor slipping her love notes and whispering sweet-nothings in her ear as he fed her steak, she might have had a different reaction. And for good reason.
"You knew about him?" Her father barges in. "That's more than she told us."
Beatrice's gaze darts between them and Hero is so grateful her cousin is as quick as she is loyal. "Of course, though I don't believe I have been treated to the full story."
"I will tell you everything," Hero promises.
Beatrice smiles and hooks her arm through hers. "Will you help me unpack? We have so much to catch-up on. Your husband doesn't mind carrying in my bags, does he?"
Hero looks at John, who is a few seconds off his cue. He glances at the mountain of bags stuffed into the back of the car and, to his credit, shows no other reaction. "That's… fine. I'll bring them upstairs." He tilts his head at Hero, gaze sweeping across her face. "Enjoy catching up."
"Thank you, John," Beatrice croons, and Hero's pulse quickens at her saccharine smile. It is a dangerous sign when her cousin decides to be sweet. "I'm glad to see my cousin has married a gentleman."
She leads Hero into the house before she can add anything else and they hurry up the stairs, down the corridor to Beatrice's bedroom, neighbour to Hero's own.
As soon as they are inside and the door closed, Beatrice pounces on her. "You are married?"
"No, but I am pregnant."
Beatrice's jaw drops. It takes a lot to render her speechless.
She surges forward, clasping her hands, eyes scouring her face, "...Hero?"
Hero's bottom lip trembles and she throws herself upon her. "Beatrice, I've made such a mess."
Her cousin hugs her, cradling the back of her head. "Hush, I'm here now. Tell me what has happened."
They sit on the bed while Hero spills the whole shameful tale; her relationship with Bertram, discovering she is pregnant with his child, his subsequent rejection when she told him, her reluctant return home and chance encounter with John, how he offered to help her, how she agreed.
Beatrice strokes her hair, listening to it all without the flicker of judgement. "You could have come to me, peach. I would have helped you."
"I didn't want them to be mad at you too."
"I don't care. Let your father shout until he is blue in the face, I will always stand with you." She combs the hair back from her face. "You will always have a home with me."
Hero exhales, offering a quivering smile. She knew she could rely on Beatrice.
"Come here, peach." Beatrice draws her back into her arms, cradling her head against her shoulder. Hero breathes her in. "I wish you had called me, I hate the thought of you worrying alone."
Hero sniffs. "I was just… I was… too ashamed…"
Beatrice squeezes her tight, nuzzling her temple. "You have nothing to be ashamed of. You have done nothing wrong."
A pit yawns in Hero's stomach, because… that's not true. "Beatrice…"
There is a knock at the door. John's voice calls through the wood. "Uhh, I uh… brought your bags."
Hero sits up, wiping her eyes. "You can come in."
The door opens and John shuffles inside, lumbered with Beatrice's bags. He glances between Hero and her cousin, a question in his gaze.
"Thank you for bringing my cases up. You can set them down over there." Beatrice gestures to a spot in the corner, rising from the bed. As John sets the cases down, she closes the door. "Hero has been telling me about your marriage."
"I told her the truth," Hero confirms at his cautious glance. "About us and…" She places her hand over her stomach, "...my professor."
His expression smooths and he fixes his gaze on Beatrice. "You won't tell?"
"I'd never betray Hero," Beatrice's response is as firm and steadfast as her love.
"I trust her," Hero assures John and she sees his shoulders ease by a fraction.
"You're very generous to help her like this," Beatrice says, watching him, "Considering you only met yesterday."
"John is very good," Hero affirms, pulse pricking at the way her cousin's focus is fixed on him.
Beatrice regards him like a cat with a bird. "When do you leave?"
Just like that bird, John stands motionless, assessing what kind of threat she poses. "After the harvest."
They stare at each from their respective sides of the room while Hero glances between them, caught in the middle.
"I see. And after that you leave and are never heard from again?"
"That's… what we agreed," Hero answers for John as a muscle pulses in his jaw, his expression difficult to read.
Beatrice hums, saying lightly, "No wonder you're using a false name."
His brow twitches, deepening into a frown. "What are you talking about?"
"John Sutton."
"My name is John Sutton."
Her brow arches — Hero's head swivels between them — face lit with a barbed smile as her eyes flash like claws. "Wasn't that you at Stanford University? Or have you forgotten? You clearly don't remember me, John Aragon."
:-x-:
John goes rigid as an electric pulse scissors through his sinew. "How—" He peers closer at her face and, too late, recognition sparks. "You were one of Don Pedro's girls."
Against the maelstrom of dread, he feels a twinge of satisfaction at how Beatrice's face transforms in outrage and her body bristles. "His friend."
"Sure," he drawls, his mind supplying hazy recollections of Don Pedro staring moon-eyed after the auburn-haired woman before him now.
"Don Pedro Aragon?" Hero's soft voice shakes him from his smug perch. She is looking between them so confused. "What does he… what does he have to do with John?"
Beatrice looks at him expectantly.
He glares at the floor. "He is… my half-brother."
"You have a brother?"
"Half-brother," he corrects and Hero shrinks. Bile coats his tongue. He breathes in, unclenching his fists, one finger at a time. "I told you… my father left my mother. Well, that same year he married and had another son. When I was seventeen, he developed a conscience, found us and paid for me to go to Stanford University the same as Don Pedro. I was enrolled as John Aragon but Sutton is my mother's name."
"It's just as well you lied," Beatrice says, stepping from the door and leaning on the bed post. "Our family has business ties with the Aragons."
John's intestines twist and he tastes blood. Even here, in this paradise, he is still choking on his past, like a weed he cannot cut. It shouldn't come as a shock; the Aragon's have their fingers in most of the pies across California, if not America, North and South. They are like King Midas, corrupting everything with their golden touch. The Messina's are the sort of quaint, old money folk that the Aragons love to associate with. Of course, of fucking course, they have influence here too.
He doesn't look at Hero. It is somehow worse to be the discarded son of business magnate Philip Aragon than a nobody from nothing. As a nobody, he has infinite potential. As his father's bastard, he will always be measured against what he could have been — his half-brother, Don Pedro, heir to the Aragon fortune.
"I don't have anything to do with them. Not anymore." He moves to the door. "I'll leave you to talk."
"John…" Hero rises from the bed.
His mouth cuts in a smile that he is sure resembles a grimace. "See you at dinner."
:-x-:
Hero hovers half-off the bed as the door closes behind John.
"Of all the men you could have run into…" Beatrice muses, "I'm surprised he agreed to help you. He was never known for his altruism."
"He offered to help me and how well did you know him back then anyhow?"
Beatrice's eyes flicker to her, consideringly, and her voice gentles. "How well do you know him, love? You met him yesterday."
Hero is getting tired of people asking her that. "He is helping me, Beatrice. What else do I need to know except how grateful I am."
"That's my point… has he asked for anything in return?"
"No."
"No money? Nothing at all?"
"No. What are you driving at?"
"Where is he sleeping?"
Her throat goes dry. "In—In my room."
Her face heats even as she reminds herself it is the most practical place for John to sleep considering they are meant to be married. Still, she dislikes how Beatrice's eyebrows jump.
"Is he… sharing your bed?"
"It was just for one night."
"And, tonight?"
"I…" she tugs on her hair, "It's not fair to make him sleep on the floor. Antonio badgered him into staying for the harvest."
"How do you feel about him staying?" Beatrice asks casually, head cocked to one side.
This barrage of questions has Hero flustered and she picks at the threads of the bed-throw. "I — I-I don't know. I'm — I'm fine with it."
Beatrice makes another thoughtful hum.
Hero swipes a pillow and thumps her with it. "Stop it."
Beatrice raises her arms to shield herself. "What?"
Hero hits her again. "You're forming conclusions. Stop it!"
Beatrice grabs a pillow to defend herself, whacking Hero back. "I'm just trying to understand the situation. You would be curious too if I came home pretending to be married to one of your old acquaintances."
Their pillows clash. "Stop giving him a hard-time."
"I'm not. I didn't know Sutton was his mother's name. It is not as if we ever spoke. He kept to himself." She sighs, throwing down her pillow and holding her hands up in surrender. "I'm just being careful, peach. I've known him longer than you and he was never inclined towards helping others."
Hero crosses her arms around her pillow. "Sounds like you never knew him at all."
Beatrice gives her a long look. Hero holds her stare, refusing to blink. Just like when they were children, it is a contest Hero wins.
Beatrice sighs. "Very well. I shall back-off. But if he does anything or asks for anything you are uncomfortable with, come tell me."
"He won't."
Hero frowns at the knitted throw. Beatrice has always been protective of her; since she was a child falling over and scraping her knees, her big sister-cousin has taken care of her. But now she is a grown-woman and Hero would make the argument that she can judge a person's character for herself — except, she is pregnant with the child of a man who proved less than honourable. She hugs the pillow tighter.
Her despondence must show on her face because Beatrice sits beside her, stroking her hair again. "Oh, darling. It will be alright."
Hero leans into her touch. She is not so sure.
:-x-:
The call for dinner comes and Hero splashes water on her face until Beatrice assures her no one will be able to tell she has been crying. Hero catches John's gaze as they meet in the dining room; he inclines his head in acknowledgement but offers nothing more than that. His face is shuttered, eyes dark and distant. This is a different man to the one she saw in the forest, whom she met on the bus.
Hero glances at him throughout the meal but it is difficult to make eye-contact when she is sat beside him. She is unsure if he is deliberately avoiding her gaze or not. He is quiet, contributing little to the dinner except to pass along dishes or the salt. Baz and Beatrice monopolise the conversation so his reticence goes unnoticed. Except towards the end, when she catches her mother glancing between them as the plates are collected.
"Excuse me," John murmurs, as they rise from the table. His hand brushes her shoulder, then he is walking away.
She starts to follow but stalls as Beatrice grabs her arm. Hero frowns at her.
"Remember, tomorrow we must wake before dawn to start the harvest," her father tells them. "No late night shenanigans."
"Yes, sir," Baz jokes, performing a mock salute.
Leonato shoots his nephew a stern look before shuffling from the room. Hero drifts up the stairs behind Beatrice and Ursula. At the landing, the older woman turns down the corridor and Beatrice follows Hero to her bedroom door. It is apparent she wants to talk more but the latter bars her entrance with the shake of her head.
"I'm tired, Bea. Last night we were up dealing with the frost and tomorrow is another early start."
Beatrice hesitates, searching her face before she nods. "Okay, sweet. Rest well. Remember, I'm just next-door if you need me."
She pecks her on the forehead then leaves for her own room. Hero exhales, entering her bedroom. John is not there. She glances at his suitcase, open beside the chair, his sleep clothes thrown over it, and goes through the motions of getting herself ready for bed.
He has still not returned after she has changed into her nightgown and finished in the bathroom. She sits on the bed, knees drawn to her chest, staring at the vacant space beside her and rubs her arms, cold. This is what it will be like when he is gone.
She switches off the light, pulling the covers around her. She rests her hands on her belly, trying to feel for the life growing inside her. But all she feels is alone.
:-x-:
John gazes up at the millions of stars scattered across the sleek black night, feeling every inch of his insignificance against the vast expanse above him. He expels the smoke of his cigarette, watching it twirl towards the stars.
"Hey, John." He looks around at the nasal voice as Baz sidles up next to him, smiling. "Mind if I join you?"
He shrugs. He would prefer solitude and silence, but he can see the youth getting over-sensitive if he says so.
Baz takes out his own pack of cigarettes. "Hey, can I borrow a light?"
John holds out his lighter. He hopes with the other's cigarette lit, the conversation will stop but it only seems to break the ice.
"So, you married my sister?"
John arches an eyebrow. This one is a bit slow on the uptake. "It would appear so."
"Hero's a sweet girl, I'm not surprised she married first. Kept it quiet though. I didn't even know she was seeing anyone."
"We met while I was on leave from the war. Didn't know if I'd make it back to her."
"Oh shit." Baz's eyes bug-out. He seems to struggle for the right words before giving up. "Shit."
"Yeah," John takes a drag of his cigarette and breathes out.
They manage seven minutes of blissful quiet as Baz is distracted with musings of the war and the fate he skirted. Too soon he regains his footing. "Hey… hey, you love her right?"
John inhales when he should exhale and chokes, hacking out smoke. "What — cough — what kind of a question — cough, cough — is that?"
"Sorry. Just wanna make sure you'll be good to her. Treat her how she deserves."
John ignores the spines growing in his stomach and crooks an eyebrow. "Is this the part where you threaten me?"
"Me? Nah." Baz gestures to himself and then the height difference between them (he may be even shorter than Hero). "You think I can do threatening? I leave that to Bea. She'll peel off your fingernails."
John tenses at the reminder of Beatrice. Just his luck to run into someone from his past, a friend of Don Pedro no less. There is no telling what stories she has heard, what she will share with Hero.
"Hey, I'm joking." Baz mistakes his grimace. "Unless you do hurt, Hero. Then I hope Bea uses the pliers."
John stubs out his cigarette. "There an ashtray?"
"Use that plant pot. Hey, you won't tell my ma I was smoking, will you?"
He throws him a dry look. "I can keep a secret."
Baz has the same guileless smile as Hero. "Thanks. Um…"
He opens his mouth to say more but John cuts him off. "I'm going to turn in. Goodnight."
"Um… r-r-right… goodnight… and… hey congratulations again on the marriage. You couldn't have chosen a better gal than Hero."
John offers a tight smile and walks back into the house. The building is quiet as he climbs the stairs. In the dim light he notes the family portraits which hang on the walls, discerning Hero amongst them at various ages, watching her grow-up before his eyes. The few photos he has of him and his mom are in a box at Margaret's flat. If he held one of those up against the frames here, the difference between his and Hero's lives would be striking.
He slinks along to the bedroom, taking care as he opens the door, certain Hero will be asleep. Sure enough, he sees her form curled on the bed, the covers pulled over her. As quietly as possible, he grabs his clothes from the chair and moves to the bathroom.
When he is finished, he returns to the bedroom, looking around the dark room for the spare pillows and blankets. Did they put them in the wardrobe? He creeps towards it, gripping the handle and opening it slowly…
"John…?" Hero's voice stirs.
He stills, looking over as her shadow rises from the bed. "Sorry, didn't mean to disturb you."
"I wasn't sleeping. What are you looking for?"
"The spare bedding. I'll take the floor tonight."
He isn't expecting the zeal with which Hero replies, "No. That's not fair. There is enough room on the bed."
His heart skips like a pebble across a pond. "It's… fine. I'm fine on the floor."
"You were up most of last night and only caught a few hours sleep. We have to wake early tomorrow for the harvest and then you will be labouring the full day. You deserve to sleep in a proper bed."
"I'm used to it."
"Even more reason why you deserve a comfortable rest."
"Hero…"
Why doesn't she understand? He is trying to do the right thing here.
"I will sleep on the floor if you are worried about us sharing a bed."
She rises from the bed and John crosses the room, catching her arm. "No. It's your bed. And you're pregnant. Stay."
She sinks back down onto the mattress, holding his wrist captive. "If you do as well."
His blood pressure spikes, muscles tensing. He should refuse; sleep on the floor or in another room. He knows, just as he knew the dawn before, that climbing into bed with her is a mistake. He is crossing a line, too many lines, and it is going to hurt them both. But as she tugs on his hand, her eyes locked with his, he finds he is not strong enough to resist her.
"Fine," he breathes, lungs collapsing.
He eases his wrist from her grasp and moves around the bed, pausing for a moment before climbing in beside her. The mattress is much more comfortable than the floor, the covers warm around them both. He settles his head on the pillow, facing away from her, as if he can convince himself she is not there beside him, as if his body is not screaming over the scarce distance between them. He screws his eyes shut.
"John…" her voice is a caress, gentle upon his back. "It doesn't matter if your name is Sutton or Aragon… you are still John to me."
His throat closes, chest inflating, the air unable to escape. His ribcage buckles in as his heart beats a frantic pace. He stares into the darkness listening to her breathing behind him. Her eyes are flames upon his neck. The urge to turn over sears through him, nerves on-fire, but he holds himself still as he slowly burns, and croaks his reply.
"Sweet dreams, Hero."