Caro, Chapter 18
Yarrgh. It's been a hell of a week. I spent it in the hospital, with a ruptured appendix and lots of lovely IV antibiotics to control a major infection. I might want to talk about it later, but not now. Now, I just want to go back to Verona and the adventures of two boys trying to figure out love.
18. To Season Love
Now that Mercutio had confided his great secret to Benvolio, a weight seemed to have lifted from his shoulders. His good cheer returned, and when he went to the taverns with his friends, he once again told the intricate, fantastic stories that kept them on the edges of their seats and made them roll with laughter at the end. But, now that Benvolio knew what to look for, he could see the isolation and wariness that he realized had dogged Mercutio for most of his life. After a certain amount of coaxing, Mercutio occasionally allowed Benvolio to hold him close when they were alone together, though he made it clear that he would not be touched at all in public. In his head, Benvolio understood why Mercutio wanted to keep such distance, but nevertheless, it made his heart ache a little.
Sometimes, when Benvolio held Mercutio in his arms, Mercutio would speak of his father, and of the mistreatment he had endured at his father’s hands. He was not inclined to give many details, claiming that he did not remember all of what his father had done to him, and Benvolio found that he had little stomach for details in any event. He suspected that what Mercutio really wanted from these conversations was reassurance that Benvolio would not cast him aside upon hearing a story of the acts that Mercutio had been forced to perform. So Benvolio listened quietly to Mercutio’s terrible words, and then kissed him or petted his hair.
“I love thee,” he said. “Thou hast given me no cause to cease loving thee, and so I continue. I am stronger than thou dost know, and I will not break my attachment over something that is part of the past.”
Mercutio began to shake in Benvolio’s arms. “Sometimes I wonder if it is part of the past,” he said. “There are days when I wonder if all my life is but a dream, and I will wake to find myself in my old bed, with my father standing over me.”
Benvolio tightened his embrace. “This is real, caro,” he replied. “I feel thee in my arms, I look into thy eyes and listen to thy voice. I smell wine from dinner upon thy breath. I vouch unto thee, this moment is real, and thy father is no longer in a position to cause thee harm.”
Christmas arrived, and the noble families of Verona competed with each other to host the most elaborate feasts. It seemed that there was a dance every night at a different house. Benvolio had some occasion to dance with Helena, but it was plain to him that her heart was given to Paris. Romeo tried to console him about that loss, but Benvolio shrugged it off.
“Paris is a fine suitor for her,” he said. “Look how he dotes upon her. His heart was sorely wounded when thou didst wed Juliet; now Helena has healed that wound. They are well matched.”
Romeo blinked, then clapped a hand on Benvolio’s shoulder. “Thou art most forgiving, cousin,” he said with a laugh. “The only woman in whom thou hast ever shown the slightest interest has eyes for another, and thou art generous enough to be glad for his sake! I would not have been so philosophical were I in thy position.”
“Thou hast most kindly hit it,” Benvolio replied, unable to stop himself from smirking a little. “I have learned my lesson by thy example. Much good it did thee to sigh and groan over the lost affections of a woman.”
Romeo laughed again. “And thou hast spent too much time in the company of Mercutio. Soon he will have convinced thee entirely of the uselessness of love.”
Juliet appeared out of the crowd and pressed a glass of wine into Romeo’s hand. “The uselessness of love? What talk is this, husband? Shall I show thee useless?” She ran a finger up Romeo’s spine, and he shivered. Juliet and Benvolio both laughed at the look on his face.
“And that is a pleasure that Mercutio will never have, as long as he continues to cut himself off from love,” Romeo said. “Learn from his example as well as mine, and do not deny thyself what pleasures this world can offer thee.”
Benvolio smiled, not sure how to respond to that. Fortunately, the band struck up a new tune, and Juliet pulled Romeo out onto the dance floor.
Later, after the party had ended, Benvolio walked through the chilled streets with Mercutio. When they reached the place where they had to part, Mercutio stopped and sent their pages on ahead to give them privacy. “There is something troubling thee, Benvolio,” he said. “Thou hast been quiet ever since we left.”
Benvolio smiled and shook his head. “I am not troubled. It is simply that I had a conversation with Romeo that has given me food for thought.”
“Wilt thou then be sociable and share thy meal with thy friend?”
“Ay. Would that thou didst beg a meal of food as easily as thou dost beg a meal of thought.” Briefly, Benvolio recounted his earlier conversation with Romeo. “It is not the first time we have spoken thus. I think that Romeo has always been amazed at thy protestations against love, and I think also that he fears for thee. I know that I did feel the same until thou didst tell me some of thy troubles.”
Mercutio glanced away, and a thoughtful expression came over his face. “I have been hiding for so many years,” he said quietly. “At first, I lived in fear of my father - and I confess that I still fear him, though I know that he can no longer touch me. But thou hast given me new courage. Never before have I shared aught with thee that I have kept from Romeo, and it sits ill with me. Thinkst thou that he would accept the truth if I gave it to him?”
Benvolio considered the question for a moment. “I think that Romeo would be angered,” he said slowly, “but not at thee. Romeo treasures thee as he has always done. It would grieve him to hear of the hurt inflicted upon thee, but it would touch his heart if thou didst trust him to hear the tale.”
Mercutio nodded. “For some time I have pondered whether to tell him. Thou didst not turn thy back on me, after all, and that did give me hope. What Romeo knows, he is bound to tell Juliet, and I have not made up my mind about her. I did not share my childhood with Juliet as I did with thee and Romeo.”
“I have spent more time around my cousin’s wife than thou hast,” Benvolio said. “She is young, and a stranger in the ways of the world, but her heart is true, and I think that she would respect thy confidence.”
A strange smile quirked across Mercutio’s face. “I suppose that she was destined to know in any event. Before she married thy cousin, she was promised to mine. Had she married Paris, he would not have kept it from her, if only to explain to his new bride why his cousin sometimes wakes screaming in the night.”
Benvolio sighed and slipped his arms around Mercutio. “I wish thou didst not have such dreams.”
“As do I. But Queen Mab is not always kind. I shall confide in Romeo after the New Year. That is as good a time as any, I suppose.”
“I have always admired thy courage.”
Mercutio shook his head. “Surely thou canst do better than admire one who still fears a father banished by a Prince’s edict.”
“Then I will give thee a charm against thy fear.” Careful not to make too sudden a move, Benvolio reached up and kissed Mercutio’s lips. “Remember, if thou dost wake in the night, that I love thee.”
“Thou hast said as much many times.”
“And I will continue to say it,” Benvolio said with a smile, “until the day that thou dost believe it.”
Although Mercutio did not mention the exact date upon which he planned to talk to Romeo, Benvolio knew almost as soon as the story was told. It was the afternoon before Twelfth Night, and Benvolio was in his chamber selecting clothing for the evening’s feast. Signior Capulet had announced a grand celebration and had invited the family of his son-in-law. It would be a volatile, gala occasion, and Aunt Susanna had given the word that everyone was to look their absolute best. Benvolio had spread two velvet doublets out on his bed, and was pondering their merits when he heard a commotion of voices in the corridor.
“Romeo, my son!” came Uncle Tiberio’s voice. “This is a welcome surprise indeed. We did not expect to see thee today.”
“My noble father, where is Benvolio?” Romeo asked. “I must speak to him at once.”
“He is in his chamber. Wilt thou not spare even a moment?”
There was a clattering of feet, and Benvolio barely had time to turn around before his door flew open, and Romeo charged into his chamber. Romeo’s face was a mask of shock, and he stared at Benvolio for a few seconds before he found his voice.
“Has Mercutio told thee what he has just told me?” he demanded.
Benvolio nodded. He did not need to be told what news Romeo had just heard. “He did, a month past.”
“For a month, thou hast carried this knowledge in thy heart?”
“It was not my place to tell thee. The choice was Mercutio’s to make.”
Romeo sat down heavily on Benvolio’s bed. “All these years,” he moaned. “All the years of our youth, and I did not know. Was I so blind?”
“Nay, cousin, no more than the rest of us.” Benvolio gave a wry smile. “We saw no more than Mercutio intended for us to see.”
“Why did he hide it?” Romeo asked. “Why not share his troubles with those he called friends? It tears my heart to think of what Mercutio suffered while we remained ignorant.”
“I do not know all the details,” Benvolio admitted. “But I think that his father pressed him to keep the secret. I recall that Signior Rinuccini was a man both tall and broad. He terrified me when I was a boy. I can only imagine how it must have been to be his son.”
Romeo sighed. “I suppose thou hast the right of it, as usual. But afore God, it makes me mad to think that such a thing could happen here, in Verona, in such a noble house as that one, and we might never have known.”
“I suppose it is not an easy theme to speak of,” Benvolio said. “I think that Mercutio might never have told me, save that, by chance, a friendly touch after a bout of swordplay called the evil memory forth in him.”
Romeo nodded thoughtfully. “How many times must we have seen him after his father . . . did things to him, and we never knew, but enticed him to play as if all were normal?”
“I think those were the times he liked best of all,” Benvolio replied. “Those were the times that he could pretend that all was normal.”
He and Romeo sat silently together for a while after that, mourning the strange, sad childhood of their dearest friend.
February came, and brought Mercutio’s nineteenth birthday. Benvolio knew that Mercutio did not care much about marking birthdays, but he felt that this one was special, as he had feared that Mercutio would not live to see it. There was no grand celebration, but Benvolio gave Mercutio a small medal of Saint Raphael the Archangel that had been his mother’s.
“Mama used to tell me that the Archangel Raphael watched over children’s beds to soothe their nightmares,” he said. “Thou art no longer a child, but perhaps the Archangel can be persuaded to watch over thee anyway.”
Mercutio stared at the little medal, then put his arms around Benvolio and held him tightly. That embrace was all the thanks that Benvolio needed.
February turned into March, and Benvolio was nineteen. Aunt Susanna and Uncle Tiberio made as much of a feast as they could during Lent. But it was Romeo who surprised Benvolio the most on that day. He sent Balthasar to invite Benvolio for dinner, and Benvolio accepted the invitation at once.
Plain as the dinner was, Benvolio always enjoyed spending time with Romeo and Juliet. But today, an extra spark of excitement hung in the air. Romeo grinned crazily throughout the entire meal, and Juliet’s eyes sparkled. It was plain that they were trying to hide a secret from Benvolio, though they concealed it poorly. But Benvolio played along until they had finished eating.
“I have such news for thee, cousin, on thy birthday,” Romeo said, fairly bursting with eagerness. “Thou art the first to hear our glad tidings.”
“I am honored.” Benvolio gave a formal nod of his head. “What is this great secret?”
Benvolio had never actually seen anyone swell with pride before, but Romeo almost managed it. “Juliet is with child,” he said. “It will come in September. I am to be a father!”
Benvolio gasped, then laughed and embraced Romeo and kissed Juliet’s hand. “My congratulations to you both!” he cried. “A child born of a Montague and a Capulet, that is news indeed.”
“My nurse is already looking forward to taking care of it,” Juliet said, “though we must find another to give it suck. “
Romeo’s smile softened. “I would ask a boon of thee, cousin. When our child is christened, I would ask thee to stand as godfather.”
“Of course I will do so,” Benvolio said, deeply touched by the request.
Romeo glanced at Juliet, then back at Benvolio. “Dost thou think that Mercutio would be willing to share the honor? We would have our child christened in purest love.”
Benvolio froze, wondering what Romeo knew. Romeo gazed steadily at him with clear eyes.
“I have hit the mark, I trust, concerning my cousin and my dearest friend?”
Slowly, Benvolio nodded. “Thou art wise,” he said after a moment. “Hast thou seen aught that has disturbed thee?”
Romeo shook his head. “Nay, do not fear. Thou art as discreet as I have ever known thee to be, and Mercutio . . . well, Mercutio is adept at guarding the privacy of his heart. It was Juliet who first suspected.”
“I am not yet fifteen years old, but I am no one’s fool,” Juliet said softly. “Thou didst tell me once that thou didst love, but thou wouldst not name thy beloved. Since then, I have had occasion to see thee and Mercutio together. Thou and my husband are much alike, Benvolio. When thy gaze falls upon Mercutio, it is filled with the same love that I see in Romeo when he looks at me.”
Benvolio swallowed. “And still thou wouldst have us be godfathers to thy child?”
“I will not lie to thee,” Romeo said. “Such a love will be difficult for thee, and I wish in part that thou hadst chosen an easier path for thyself. I confess that I am not fully accustomed to such an idea. But thou art as a brother to me, and I hold Mercutio almost as dear. If ever I did love you both, so I will now learn to love you together. Besides,” he added, putting his arm around Juliet’s shoulders, “who better to understand and offer sympathy for a disruptive love?”
Benvolio relaxed, and smiled gratefully at Romeo. He had not realized how important Romeo’s opinion would be to him. While he might not have Romeo’s blessing yet, he retained his cousin’s friendship and trust. In many ways, that was far more precious.
18. To Season Love
Now that Mercutio had confided his great secret to Benvolio, a weight seemed to have lifted from his shoulders. His good cheer returned, and when he went to the taverns with his friends, he once again told the intricate, fantastic stories that kept them on the edges of their seats and made them roll with laughter at the end. But, now that Benvolio knew what to look for, he could see the isolation and wariness that he realized had dogged Mercutio for most of his life. After a certain amount of coaxing, Mercutio occasionally allowed Benvolio to hold him close when they were alone together, though he made it clear that he would not be touched at all in public. In his head, Benvolio understood why Mercutio wanted to keep such distance, but nevertheless, it made his heart ache a little.
Sometimes, when Benvolio held Mercutio in his arms, Mercutio would speak of his father, and of the mistreatment he had endured at his father’s hands. He was not inclined to give many details, claiming that he did not remember all of what his father had done to him, and Benvolio found that he had little stomach for details in any event. He suspected that what Mercutio really wanted from these conversations was reassurance that Benvolio would not cast him aside upon hearing a story of the acts that Mercutio had been forced to perform. So Benvolio listened quietly to Mercutio’s terrible words, and then kissed him or petted his hair.
“I love thee,” he said. “Thou hast given me no cause to cease loving thee, and so I continue. I am stronger than thou dost know, and I will not break my attachment over something that is part of the past.”
Mercutio began to shake in Benvolio’s arms. “Sometimes I wonder if it is part of the past,” he said. “There are days when I wonder if all my life is but a dream, and I will wake to find myself in my old bed, with my father standing over me.”
Benvolio tightened his embrace. “This is real, caro,” he replied. “I feel thee in my arms, I look into thy eyes and listen to thy voice. I smell wine from dinner upon thy breath. I vouch unto thee, this moment is real, and thy father is no longer in a position to cause thee harm.”
Christmas arrived, and the noble families of Verona competed with each other to host the most elaborate feasts. It seemed that there was a dance every night at a different house. Benvolio had some occasion to dance with Helena, but it was plain to him that her heart was given to Paris. Romeo tried to console him about that loss, but Benvolio shrugged it off.
“Paris is a fine suitor for her,” he said. “Look how he dotes upon her. His heart was sorely wounded when thou didst wed Juliet; now Helena has healed that wound. They are well matched.”
Romeo blinked, then clapped a hand on Benvolio’s shoulder. “Thou art most forgiving, cousin,” he said with a laugh. “The only woman in whom thou hast ever shown the slightest interest has eyes for another, and thou art generous enough to be glad for his sake! I would not have been so philosophical were I in thy position.”
“Thou hast most kindly hit it,” Benvolio replied, unable to stop himself from smirking a little. “I have learned my lesson by thy example. Much good it did thee to sigh and groan over the lost affections of a woman.”
Romeo laughed again. “And thou hast spent too much time in the company of Mercutio. Soon he will have convinced thee entirely of the uselessness of love.”
Juliet appeared out of the crowd and pressed a glass of wine into Romeo’s hand. “The uselessness of love? What talk is this, husband? Shall I show thee useless?” She ran a finger up Romeo’s spine, and he shivered. Juliet and Benvolio both laughed at the look on his face.
“And that is a pleasure that Mercutio will never have, as long as he continues to cut himself off from love,” Romeo said. “Learn from his example as well as mine, and do not deny thyself what pleasures this world can offer thee.”
Benvolio smiled, not sure how to respond to that. Fortunately, the band struck up a new tune, and Juliet pulled Romeo out onto the dance floor.
Later, after the party had ended, Benvolio walked through the chilled streets with Mercutio. When they reached the place where they had to part, Mercutio stopped and sent their pages on ahead to give them privacy. “There is something troubling thee, Benvolio,” he said. “Thou hast been quiet ever since we left.”
Benvolio smiled and shook his head. “I am not troubled. It is simply that I had a conversation with Romeo that has given me food for thought.”
“Wilt thou then be sociable and share thy meal with thy friend?”
“Ay. Would that thou didst beg a meal of food as easily as thou dost beg a meal of thought.” Briefly, Benvolio recounted his earlier conversation with Romeo. “It is not the first time we have spoken thus. I think that Romeo has always been amazed at thy protestations against love, and I think also that he fears for thee. I know that I did feel the same until thou didst tell me some of thy troubles.”
Mercutio glanced away, and a thoughtful expression came over his face. “I have been hiding for so many years,” he said quietly. “At first, I lived in fear of my father - and I confess that I still fear him, though I know that he can no longer touch me. But thou hast given me new courage. Never before have I shared aught with thee that I have kept from Romeo, and it sits ill with me. Thinkst thou that he would accept the truth if I gave it to him?”
Benvolio considered the question for a moment. “I think that Romeo would be angered,” he said slowly, “but not at thee. Romeo treasures thee as he has always done. It would grieve him to hear of the hurt inflicted upon thee, but it would touch his heart if thou didst trust him to hear the tale.”
Mercutio nodded. “For some time I have pondered whether to tell him. Thou didst not turn thy back on me, after all, and that did give me hope. What Romeo knows, he is bound to tell Juliet, and I have not made up my mind about her. I did not share my childhood with Juliet as I did with thee and Romeo.”
“I have spent more time around my cousin’s wife than thou hast,” Benvolio said. “She is young, and a stranger in the ways of the world, but her heart is true, and I think that she would respect thy confidence.”
A strange smile quirked across Mercutio’s face. “I suppose that she was destined to know in any event. Before she married thy cousin, she was promised to mine. Had she married Paris, he would not have kept it from her, if only to explain to his new bride why his cousin sometimes wakes screaming in the night.”
Benvolio sighed and slipped his arms around Mercutio. “I wish thou didst not have such dreams.”
“As do I. But Queen Mab is not always kind. I shall confide in Romeo after the New Year. That is as good a time as any, I suppose.”
“I have always admired thy courage.”
Mercutio shook his head. “Surely thou canst do better than admire one who still fears a father banished by a Prince’s edict.”
“Then I will give thee a charm against thy fear.” Careful not to make too sudden a move, Benvolio reached up and kissed Mercutio’s lips. “Remember, if thou dost wake in the night, that I love thee.”
“Thou hast said as much many times.”
“And I will continue to say it,” Benvolio said with a smile, “until the day that thou dost believe it.”
Although Mercutio did not mention the exact date upon which he planned to talk to Romeo, Benvolio knew almost as soon as the story was told. It was the afternoon before Twelfth Night, and Benvolio was in his chamber selecting clothing for the evening’s feast. Signior Capulet had announced a grand celebration and had invited the family of his son-in-law. It would be a volatile, gala occasion, and Aunt Susanna had given the word that everyone was to look their absolute best. Benvolio had spread two velvet doublets out on his bed, and was pondering their merits when he heard a commotion of voices in the corridor.
“Romeo, my son!” came Uncle Tiberio’s voice. “This is a welcome surprise indeed. We did not expect to see thee today.”
“My noble father, where is Benvolio?” Romeo asked. “I must speak to him at once.”
“He is in his chamber. Wilt thou not spare even a moment?”
There was a clattering of feet, and Benvolio barely had time to turn around before his door flew open, and Romeo charged into his chamber. Romeo’s face was a mask of shock, and he stared at Benvolio for a few seconds before he found his voice.
“Has Mercutio told thee what he has just told me?” he demanded.
Benvolio nodded. He did not need to be told what news Romeo had just heard. “He did, a month past.”
“For a month, thou hast carried this knowledge in thy heart?”
“It was not my place to tell thee. The choice was Mercutio’s to make.”
Romeo sat down heavily on Benvolio’s bed. “All these years,” he moaned. “All the years of our youth, and I did not know. Was I so blind?”
“Nay, cousin, no more than the rest of us.” Benvolio gave a wry smile. “We saw no more than Mercutio intended for us to see.”
“Why did he hide it?” Romeo asked. “Why not share his troubles with those he called friends? It tears my heart to think of what Mercutio suffered while we remained ignorant.”
“I do not know all the details,” Benvolio admitted. “But I think that his father pressed him to keep the secret. I recall that Signior Rinuccini was a man both tall and broad. He terrified me when I was a boy. I can only imagine how it must have been to be his son.”
Romeo sighed. “I suppose thou hast the right of it, as usual. But afore God, it makes me mad to think that such a thing could happen here, in Verona, in such a noble house as that one, and we might never have known.”
“I suppose it is not an easy theme to speak of,” Benvolio said. “I think that Mercutio might never have told me, save that, by chance, a friendly touch after a bout of swordplay called the evil memory forth in him.”
Romeo nodded thoughtfully. “How many times must we have seen him after his father . . . did things to him, and we never knew, but enticed him to play as if all were normal?”
“I think those were the times he liked best of all,” Benvolio replied. “Those were the times that he could pretend that all was normal.”
He and Romeo sat silently together for a while after that, mourning the strange, sad childhood of their dearest friend.
February came, and brought Mercutio’s nineteenth birthday. Benvolio knew that Mercutio did not care much about marking birthdays, but he felt that this one was special, as he had feared that Mercutio would not live to see it. There was no grand celebration, but Benvolio gave Mercutio a small medal of Saint Raphael the Archangel that had been his mother’s.
“Mama used to tell me that the Archangel Raphael watched over children’s beds to soothe their nightmares,” he said. “Thou art no longer a child, but perhaps the Archangel can be persuaded to watch over thee anyway.”
Mercutio stared at the little medal, then put his arms around Benvolio and held him tightly. That embrace was all the thanks that Benvolio needed.
February turned into March, and Benvolio was nineteen. Aunt Susanna and Uncle Tiberio made as much of a feast as they could during Lent. But it was Romeo who surprised Benvolio the most on that day. He sent Balthasar to invite Benvolio for dinner, and Benvolio accepted the invitation at once.
Plain as the dinner was, Benvolio always enjoyed spending time with Romeo and Juliet. But today, an extra spark of excitement hung in the air. Romeo grinned crazily throughout the entire meal, and Juliet’s eyes sparkled. It was plain that they were trying to hide a secret from Benvolio, though they concealed it poorly. But Benvolio played along until they had finished eating.
“I have such news for thee, cousin, on thy birthday,” Romeo said, fairly bursting with eagerness. “Thou art the first to hear our glad tidings.”
“I am honored.” Benvolio gave a formal nod of his head. “What is this great secret?”
Benvolio had never actually seen anyone swell with pride before, but Romeo almost managed it. “Juliet is with child,” he said. “It will come in September. I am to be a father!”
Benvolio gasped, then laughed and embraced Romeo and kissed Juliet’s hand. “My congratulations to you both!” he cried. “A child born of a Montague and a Capulet, that is news indeed.”
“My nurse is already looking forward to taking care of it,” Juliet said, “though we must find another to give it suck. “
Romeo’s smile softened. “I would ask a boon of thee, cousin. When our child is christened, I would ask thee to stand as godfather.”
“Of course I will do so,” Benvolio said, deeply touched by the request.
Romeo glanced at Juliet, then back at Benvolio. “Dost thou think that Mercutio would be willing to share the honor? We would have our child christened in purest love.”
Benvolio froze, wondering what Romeo knew. Romeo gazed steadily at him with clear eyes.
“I have hit the mark, I trust, concerning my cousin and my dearest friend?”
Slowly, Benvolio nodded. “Thou art wise,” he said after a moment. “Hast thou seen aught that has disturbed thee?”
Romeo shook his head. “Nay, do not fear. Thou art as discreet as I have ever known thee to be, and Mercutio . . . well, Mercutio is adept at guarding the privacy of his heart. It was Juliet who first suspected.”
“I am not yet fifteen years old, but I am no one’s fool,” Juliet said softly. “Thou didst tell me once that thou didst love, but thou wouldst not name thy beloved. Since then, I have had occasion to see thee and Mercutio together. Thou and my husband are much alike, Benvolio. When thy gaze falls upon Mercutio, it is filled with the same love that I see in Romeo when he looks at me.”
Benvolio swallowed. “And still thou wouldst have us be godfathers to thy child?”
“I will not lie to thee,” Romeo said. “Such a love will be difficult for thee, and I wish in part that thou hadst chosen an easier path for thyself. I confess that I am not fully accustomed to such an idea. But thou art as a brother to me, and I hold Mercutio almost as dear. If ever I did love you both, so I will now learn to love you together. Besides,” he added, putting his arm around Juliet’s shoulders, “who better to understand and offer sympathy for a disruptive love?”
Benvolio relaxed, and smiled gratefully at Romeo. He had not realized how important Romeo’s opinion would be to him. While he might not have Romeo’s blessing yet, he retained his cousin’s friendship and trust. In many ways, that was far more precious.