They all gather in the sitting room. Don Pedro is irritatingly invested in John's marriage to Hero, asking questions and demanding to hear the full story. The couple scramble to recall the version of events they told everyone before.

"It was through Margaret that we met," Hero explains, "She was my classmate and we became friends. John was visiting her when we met and I was instantly smitten."

"Pardon me, but who is Margaret?"

"My sister," John grinds out.

"You're — ah… I remember." Don Pedro cocks his head. "She can afford university?"

"She is not an Aragon then?" Leonato interjects, sparing John from a awkward question.

Since learning he is an Aragon, Leonato's attitude towards him has become conflicted, uncertain whether to treat him with esteem for his family ties or affront for lying by omission. John would prefer the latter; he doesn't want any pandering on account of his father (it's not like he had a choice).

"No. We grew up together, our mothers were friends. She's family, not blood." He doesn't say she is more his family than the Aragon's but Don Pedro must read it in his face for he stiffens.

"How lovely," Innogen says, "I hope we will meet her soon."

Margaret will need to be briefed before she can meet the Messina's if they are to maintain the belief that Hero met John through her. Fortunately, she is a good sport and a better actress, she might remonstrate with John in private but she'll give a convincing performance.

"You two weren't raised together?" Ursula inquires, nodding between John and Don Pedro. Her tone is polite but awkward; they all seem to be grappling with the revelation that John is the illegitimate son of their business acquaintance, Philip Aragon, and the implications of that.

Hero's hand pressed upon his knee is all that is keeping him from throwing himself out the window. A visit to the military dentist would be less painful.

"No," Don Pedro's voice is measured, never a glimpse of his true feelings. "I didn't learn I had a brother until I was… seventeen."

"Oh," Ursula's shock mirrors everyone else around the room.

"We became… better acquainted during our time at university."

"He went to university?" Leonato questions, looking at John.

"Stanford University? Then, Beatrice, you must have known John," Innogen exclaims, turning to her niece.

Beatrice looks momentarily caught, before schooling her expression. "In fact, I did recognise John when I first met him. Though we never had much to do with each other at Stanford."

"You didn't tell us," Leonato grouses.

"It wasn't my place," she replies, sipping from her wine.

"Truly? The Beatrice I remember took much relish in pointing out when she knew better than others," Ben goads and it is impressive that he has remained quiet for so long.

"If you hadn't been wrong so often, I wouldn't have needed to point it out."

"Ha! You are as obstinate as ever."

"I am glad to be, lest I be moved by weak men.

Don Pedro clears his throat before Ben can retort. "It is… grand for us all to be reunited like this… after… the devastation of the… the war."

At the reminder, the room turns solemn. Beatrice looks at Ben, glancing away as Ben turns to gaze at her.

"I am truly pleased to see you again, John, and to find you married to this beautiful woman." He smiles at Hero, rising in his chair and reaching out to shake her hand. "Hero, I am delighted to welcome you to our family and look forward to knowing you better. "

"Thank you," Hero returns his smile, shaking his hand. But her gaze flashes to John who holds himself taut, recognising what Don Pedro does not. John has not considered himself an Aragon for years and has no intention of reconciling with his father.

Dinner is announced and the company rises from their chairs, shuffling towards the dining room, conversation breaking out between pairs. Beatrice latches onto Ursula, while Benedick and Baz begin an animated discussion, and Don Pedro charms his hosts.

John is the last to rise. Hero slips her arm through his, pressing into him. "Remember, we are in this together."

He looks at her, the knot in his chest unfurling, warmth blossoming in its place. He crooks a small but true smile. "Wanna know how I'm getting through tonight?"

"How?"

He leans into her ear. "By imagining all the things I'm going to do to you later."

:-x-:

Despite his best efforts to avoid him, Don Pedro corners John in the courtyard after dinner.

It is John's own mistake, he snuck-out for a cigarette, craving the fix after a whole dinner with the lightning bug that is his half-brother, while Ben cracked jokes, going back-and-forth with Beatrice, and Leonato inquired after his university degree and lack thereof. Only once he was outside did he discover he had left the pack in his case (he had barely touched them since being here). With a sigh of defeat, he thought he could at least appreciate the brief escape, the night clear and cool on his face. Then he heard footsteps followed by that rich, velvet voice, like nails down a blackboard to his nerves.

"I thought I would find you out here." Don Pedro joins him. "You never did enjoy a party."

John heaves a sigh, giving voice to all his pent-up aggravation. "I enjoy the present company even less."

Don Pedro chuckles and John's blood boils. "It is comforting to know you haven't changed that greatly since we last saw each other. Although," he inclines his head with an infuriating smile, "I never took you for a romantic. Congratulations. She seems a nice girl."

"She is." John gazes up at the night sky, the same midnight black as Hero's curls, the stars sparking like her eyes. He still cannot believe she loves him, that she wants to spend her life with him. "She is… incredible."

"You really are in love," Don Pedro muses and John crashes back to earth. "I am pleased for you, John, and I know father will be too when he hears the news."

John flinches. "I don't care what he thinks."

Don Pedro's smile falls, a reproachful glint in his gaze. "Perhaps you don't, but he cares about you. I know he would be pleased to hear from you, to see you again."

John shakes his head, backing up. "All he wants is another son doing as he bids and growing the family business."

"You would have a share in that business and a far higher earning than whatever it is you are doing now." Don Pedro's voice turns as soft as clay, but it is him who is doing the moulding. "Surely you want to do better, John. If not for yourself than for your wife. Doesn't she deserve all you can offer her?"

"Don't try to manipulate me, I'm not one of your investors. And don't bring Hero into this. She doesn't care about money."

Don Pedro's eyebrows arch and he sweeps his gaze around the shadowed estate. "She was born to money. She's never known a life without it."

"Nor have you," John snarls. "You were born sucking on a silver spoon. Your whole life has been bought and paid for. You can't understand how I can live my life free from daddy's purse strings because you never could. You know nothing about what it is to go without, to face hardship—"

"I went through the war too!"

John goes silent, staring at this wild creature that has torn through his half-brother's perfect composure.

Don Pedro inhales, his features clearing, but still his eyes gleam like the tiger's teeth. "Don't… Don't think I have not had my share of hardship… of horrors. You might not like me, John, but you can respect that."

John considers him a moment, sees the tiger prowling behind his brother's visage and recognises himself. "I can… respect that."

Don Pedro breathes in and nods. A beat of silence, then, "Father never told me what caused you to break from us. Will you?"

John feels as if he has been punched, the fist plunging into his gut and pulling out his stomach. He scrutinises Don Pedro's face for any hint of deceit but sees nothing but sincere confusion — and — and —

Something he doesn't care to examine.

To think, he started this day with the taste of Hero in his mouth.

He turns away. "Not tonight."

Don Pedro doesn't push the matter and John seizes his chance to escape, making a beeline for the door

"Ben and I are going for drinks." Don Pedro calls him to a halt. "One of our comrades from the war lives around here and we were going to join him. You've likely met him, Claudio Santo. You are welcome to join us."

John cannot imagine a worse way to spend the evening than in the company of those three. With remarkable grace, he doesn't say so, but only because he says something far more satisfying. "No, thanks. I'm going to be with my wife."

:-x-:

"So… he is staying?" Beatrice says as they reach the upstairs landing.

"He is," Hero smiles, stroking the ring on her finger.

"I hope he buys you a better ring than that."

"He said he would… but I don't care what ring is on my finger, so long as it is his."

Beatrice squeezes her arm. "It is lovely to see you happy, dearest. You deserve to be loved right."

"Am I to take it you approve of John now?"

Beatrice hums. "I trust your judgement… and his devotion to you is plain. How can I not approve of someone who makes you smile like that?"

Hero beams, flinging her arms around her and hugging her tight. Beatrice returns the embrace, her smile growing against her temple.

"Seeing your old friends again has brought out a glow in you," Hero remarks, almost slyly. "You have always been lambent but tonight you shone."

Beatrice's smile turns droll and she links their arms as they wander the corridor to their respective rooms. "It has been a number of years since we've seen each other… we've each changed so much… and hardly at all."

"And… do you like what you see?"

"Ha, that beard of Ben's is an eyesore. I wonder if he has glanced in a mirror once since his return."

Hero presses her lips together in a private smile. "Oh, I like it, I think it gives him a roguish sort of charm."

Beatrice looks at her as if she has stripped naked and proclaimed herself Queen Cleopatra. Hero can't help bursting into giggles.

Realising she is being teased, Beatrice pouts, then prods her cousin with her elbow. "And what would your husband think of you ogling other men?"

"I'd be more concerned at it being Ben," John's voice drawls and they whirl to see his approach. "That is surely the onset of madness."

"A sickness, surely." Beatrice gasps horrifically, pressing her hand to Hero's brow then recoiling. "Oh woe! She has caught the dreaded Ben-ingitis! Alas, our poor sweet Hero!"

Hero laughs. "Fear not, dear Bea. There is only one man I feel a fever for."

She beams at John, gliding to his side and wrapping her arms around his own. He offers her his own lopsided smile, leaning down to kiss her.

"And that is my cue to wish you a good night," Beatrice proclaims, "Ta ta, please keep the noise down."

She swishes through her bedroom door. John and Hero exchange smiles, her fingers hooking in his shirt, eyes warm with invitation. They don't say a word, but stumble, giggling, into their bedroom, the door closing behind them.

(In her own room, Beatrice sighs and puts in a pair of earplugs before reaching for her book. It is a long time before it is safe to take them out again.)

:-x-:

Hero trails her fingers over John's naked chest. "That wasn't so terrible, was it?"

He strokes along her bare spine. "That wasn't terrible at all."

She giggles, back arching under his touch. "No. Meeting your brother."

Some of the good feeling fades, his laxed muscles tensing. His head sinks into the pillow. "...please can we not talk about him…"

Hero considers him, her red bitten lips, pursing together, before her face softens, "Okay."

Her fingers dance across his temple, combing through his hair. Some of his tension eases under her touch. They are quiet, simply admiring one another, hands wandering over each other, reverent like these are the promised lands. Her fingers skim across the mangled scars of his skin, and her face tightens.

"You don't have to touch them if you don't want."

Her hands withdraw. "Do they hurt?"

John doesn't admit weakness – but it's her. "Sometimes. Not when you touch them."

Her hands return, gentle, adoring, a touch so sweet it stings. Still, there is something in her gaze as she looks at him, the glimmer of distress.

"I know they're grim to look at. You don't have to indulge me if they make you uncomfortable."

"It's not that," she is quick to reply. "It's… I…" her fingers spread over his heart, her voice cracked and small, "...I almost never met you."

Her words strike a chord within him, a long weeping note as his breath catches, cold in his lungs. The same thought has crossed through his mind… what if he took a different train, what if he never caught that bus, what if he'd rounded the corner and she hadn't been there…

If such fears haunt him, how discomforting must it be for her to see the evidence of his own mortality etched across his skin. What if he had been blown to pieces before he ever knew her touch?

He envelopes her in his embrace, folding her to him and peppering kisses along her brow. "I'm here. I'm here. I'm with you. I'm here."

She sinks into him, cradling him to her, as a tear slips down her cheek. "John, John, John…"

"I'm here," he kisses the shell of her ear, "I'm here," he kisses her jawbone, "I'm here," he kisses the bridge of her nose, "I'm here," he whispers into her lips. "I'm not going anywhere."

She giggles, her arms folding around his neck, fingers lacing in his hair. She smiles into his kiss. "Do you know what I've realised…?"

He withdraws from her just enough to hold her gaze, "...what?"

Her eyes twinkle. "I'm excited for tomorrow." She leans in, kissing him thoroughly. "And the next day, and the next day, and the next…"

:-x-:

Bombs screech through a smoke-choked sky, fire and rubble explode around John, enveloping him in a toxic cloud as thick and boiling as burning tar. His vision sears. Falling figures are illuminated by the flash of explosions, anguished cries pierce the dark, drowned out by the blasts and rat-ah-tat-tat of the machine guns. He stumbles blind through the carnage and a scream tears out of him—

"John…"

His eyes snap open, watering with the sting of smoke.

"Papa!"

The ash clouds part, the battlefield disappearing, and Hero stands before him, bathed in a gentle light. She offers her hand to him. At her side, a cherub-cheeked child hugs a teddy bear, looking up at John.

Beneath his feet the world shakes as bombs obliterate the earth and he hears the cries of dying men. But Hero and her child are untouched by the devastation, fields of golden-green and skies of blue stretch out behind them, haloed in the soft sunlight. He staggers towards them, lurching free of the tar-black coils, leaving the horrors behind him.

Hero's smile is luminous as he reaches them, warming him through, chasing out the dark. He takes the hand of the beaming child standing between them, little fingers wrapping around his own. Hero takes hold of their other hand and the three of them walk together into the horizon...

:-x-:

Hero moans over the toilet bowl. The sickness had eased the last couple of days and she had vainly hoped it would remain so. John holds her hair back from her face and rubs the heel of his palm in circles between her shoulders as she wretches again.

"This is awful," she groans, repulsed by the taste of her own mouth. "And on the day of the harvest festival."

"We can stay here, tell your family you're ill."

She shakes her head, then grips the toilet bowl as her vision spins. "No, they will worry. They'll want me to see a doctor."

"Perhaps you should see a doctor." He combs his fingers through her curls. "We could tell your family the truth, that you're pregnant. There's no reason to hide it anymore."

Hero turns to him. "You… would be happy for me to do so?"

He gives her arm an assuring squeeze. "I'm not going to run. It's the three of us now."

Her heart flutters, her face softening. "Alright… tonight, after the harvest festival… we'll tell them."

He smiles, pressing a kiss to her bare shoulder.

Hero forces herself from the toilet bowl and finishes getting dressed. When she considers herself in the mirror her face is almost as white as the long, flowing frock that her aunt made her for special occasions.

John looks at her with concern. "Are you sure you are well enough for this?"

She smiles, breath cool and minty from where she'd scrubbed away the taste of bile. "The fresh air will be good for me." She moves across to him, hands rising to touch the collar of his military uniform. "You look handsome."

The corner of his mouth ticks up and he tugs on the ruffle trim of her collar. "You look like a very beautiful Victorian ghost."

She pinches him.

He chuckles, touching her cheek. For a moment his gaze is soft, then it sobers, "But seriously, Hero—"

"I am well, John. Stop mollycoddling me."

"It is self-preservation really. I know what effect this uniform has on you."

She shoves his shoulder as he laughs.

They join the others downstairs for breakfast. She takes careful sips of juice and cuts into a grapefruit. She attempts the pastries and finds their jam centres too sharp, only managing half a plain roll.

"Are you feeling alright, darling," Innogen asks, worried eyes searching her face.

"I'm fine, Mamma," Hero reassures, conscious of John's own watchful gaze.

She feels as if everyone is staring at her — John, her mother, Beatrice. Even Don Pedro casts odd looks in her direction as Ben talks at him. She is relieved when her father urges them to hurry, eager to leave for the festival.

They bundle into one of the horse and carts, riding for the festival. John grips her hand, uneasy as he realises their mode of transportation. "Why not take a car?"

"There are too many of us and it isn't far." She gives a mischievous grin. "Would you rather drive over with Ben and your brother?"

He pulls a face and walks with her to the cart, helping her to climb in. It is a crush to fit them all in the cart, but they manage. Hero is wedged between John and her aunt; she leans into the former, his arm wrapping around her. As she nuzzles her head on his shoulder, she notices her father opposite, watching them. Before she can puzzle out his expression, he glances ahead, and she lets it go.

As they approach the town, they hear the light-hearted music coming from the festival and the buzz of merry voices. The horse and cart pulls up and they all clamber out, John helping Hero and the other women from the cart. Together, the family enters, a cheer greeting them as the other townsfolk applaud the Messina's.

Market stalls crowd the streets, celebrating local produce and craft, bulging with vegetables, cakes, fruit juices, knitted garments, wood carvings, and more. Children weave through the forest of legs, clutching balloons and ice creams, while their parents converse with neighbours and friends. Hero wavers as she is bombarded by smells; roasted peanuts, steaming pies, sizzling onions, boiling toffee apples, a sweltering hog roast, the stench of hay bales. Her stomach squirms.

John's hand on the small of her back steadies her and she gives him a reassuring smile.

"Hero, you remember Mrs Joyner, Mrs Bates, and Miss Sheridan," her mother calls to her, drawing them into conversation with a group of older women.

Hero recognises the mayor's wife, the doctor's wife, and her old school teacher. "Hello."

"Oh, Hero, what a beautiful young woman you have grown into," Miss Sheridan exclaims.

"And who is this fine, strapping young man," Mrs Bates demands, grinning at John.

All three women cast appreciative looks over John in his soldier's uniform. He bears their attention with a polite smile. Hero feels a twinge of protectiveness and threads her arm through his.

"My husband," she declares with emphasis and feels John's fingers flex approvingly around her.

The women gush their congratulations.

"What a handsome couple you make," Mrs Joyner coos, "Your children shall be beautiful."

Hero and John both stiffen. Her skin feels tight and clammy, her insides slipping and sliding like oysters in their shells.

"Have you any plans for children yet?" Miss Sheridan asks, eyes gleaming.

"Uhh…"

"You know the young, they don't plan," her mother laughs, turning the women's focus back onto her. "Rather they live by the moment." She smiles at the pair. "Go on, enjoy the dancing."

Hero doesn't need to be told twice, tugging on John's arm.

"Our Hero is a good girl," Mrs Bates says to him, "You better treat her well."

"I will."

Hero leads him from the women, towards the musicians and the gathered dancers.

"My mother is in for a surprise," Hero murmurs, hand rising to his shoulder as his own settles on her waist.

"She will be overjoyed," he reassures her and the butterflies in her stomach ease.

She smiles at him, relaxing into his arms and the spirit of the occasion. She skips and twirls with the music, leading John through the steps, the two of them laughing until she has forgotten her cares. He is here, he is here, and he is staying. Everything else, they can figure out.

A break comes in the dancing as the band rests their instruments and seek refreshments. The local pastor, Father Francis steps onto the stage. "I will now recite the blessing of the harvest: We thank you, Lord in heaven, for bestowing on us the bounty of thy harvest. We ask only that each life here be blessed with the full measure of love, health, and happiness that those who acknowledge God in heaven justly deserve. Amen."

"Amen" echoes the crowd.

"Amen," John echoes in her ear and she smiles.

Leonato comes forward, offering Father Francis a glass of their wine.

The pastor takes a sip and beams, "Excellent!"

The crowd applauds and more glasses are passed around.

"I'll grab us both a drink," John tells her, moving to join the growing throng.

Hero waits on the sidelines, tracking his progress. Her father waylays him, surprising them both with the proud smile on his face as he introduces him to Father Francis. Hero takes a step forward, curious to know what they are saying.

"Hero, will you toast with me?"

She starts, turning to find Don Pedro there, holding out one of the little cordial glasses.

"Oh. Um… thank you, but…" She glances at John, still caught. It would be churlish to refuse, she realises, and accepts the proffered glass with a smile. "What shall we toast to?"

Don Pedro considers her, his dark eyes revealing nothing of his thoughts. "To family."

She smiles and clinks her glass against his. "To family." She takes a sip of wine and gags. "Pardon me."

She hurries from him, depositing the wine glass on a random surface and hurtling through the busy streets. She crushes her hand to her mouth, nausea cartwheeling through her stomach. She is going to be sick.

:-x-:

"Father Francis, may I introduce John Sutton, my new son-in-law," Leonato declares, pushing John towards the pastor. "As you can see he is a bona fide war hero. He helped bring in the harvest."

John blinks at Leonato's praise.

"This is a blessed surprise," the pastor replies, offering John both a warm smile and his hand. "It is a pleasure to meet you, John. Congratulations on your marriage."

John accepts the handshake, off-footed. "Thank you, Father."

"Hero is a lovely girl. I gave her first communion. Always thought I'd give her away in marriage," Father Francis adds with a wistful air.

"And you shall," Leonato says.

John stares at him.

"City Hall is not a proper place to take your wedding vows," Leonato states in answer to his look. "Hero deserves a wedding surrounded by her friends and family."

John's pulse ricochets in his throat, rendered speechless. Unbalanced, his gaze seeks Hero's, like the sailor seeks the lighthouse, and sees her lurching from the scene.

"Excuse me." He doesn't wait for the others to respond, pushing into the crowd and dashing after her.

:-x-:

Hero makes it to a secluded corner, away from the stalls, and hurls her guts into a flower planter, her stomach clenching as it upheaves itself. Her body shudders, gagging from the foul taste and smell.

A hand rests on her shoulder. She exhales.

"You are pregnant," a voice that is not John's states.

Hero jerks around, staring up in aghast at Don Pedro. "Oh—No—I'm not—"

He arches a brow and the motion is so like his brother. "You're not?"

Hero can't find the words to deny it and she stares at him helplessly.

He nods, satisfied his conclusion is correct. "I wondered what other reason two people might have for rushing into marriage."

"It's not like that," she protests, conscious she is kneeling beside a flower planter, reeking of sick. "I love John."

His eyebrows lift. "Even though you are carrying another man's child?"

Hero recoils. How can he know that?

Don Pedro's expression hardens and she realises she has given herself away. "I'd hoped for my brother's sake my suspicions were unfounded. But his return was too recent for you to be sure of a pregnancy and his last leave too long ago for the child to have been conceived then. I didn't want to think it but your friend, Claudio, confirmed to me last night that you were pregnant with another's child. I assume whoever he was jilted you and when John arrived from war, you took advantage of his feelings and persuaded him to marry you."

"You're wrong!" Hero springs to her feet, vision swimming. "I'd never — I'd never deceive anyone like that!"

Before Don Pedro can retort, John's voice cuts in. "What's going on?"

He strides across to Hero, narrowed gaze darting to Don Pedro.

"He knows," she chokes out as his arms go around her.

Understanding flashes through his eyes and he regards his brother like a hostile soldier, positioning himself between them, braced for an attack.

Now Don Pedro looks rattled. "John—"

"Back off. This isn't any of your business."

"She is pregnant with another man's child—!"

"She is what?"

They all freeze at the new voice. Ice trickles through Hero's veins and the world slows. She turns — praying she is mistaken, praying this is a dream, a nightmare — and sees her father standing there, looking at her horror-stricken.