Giulietta’s parents tapped lightly on her door, with a knock that a mouse would have considered timid. “I think she is still asleep,” her father said. “Let’s wait until she’s awake.”
“It’s after eleven,” said her mother. “It’s time she was up.”
Her father wrung his hands. He was considered a bold man of action as a merchant, with a cool head when it came to disasters and trouble, but the one thing that unnerved him was the threat of his youngest daughter’s tantrums.
“You go in,” he said. “She might not be dressed.”
His wife rolled her eyes and tapped a little louder on the door and then opened it.
“I’m not up yet, what are you doing coming into my bedroom?” Signor Montecchi heard Giulietta shout at her mother. Then he heard the soft voice of his wife saying something to soothe their daughter and after a moment she called him into the room.
“Good morning,” he said, peeping his head around the corner of the door. “I trust you slept well?”
“Hmmph,” she said. “How would you feel if you were woken up from a sleep?”
He didn’t answer but came and sat on the end of her large bed with his wife and held her hand, thinking it might present the right image in some way. “We’d like to talk to you,” he said.
“Well I don’t want to talk to you,” she said and threw her head onto her pillow, pulling the covers up over her face.
“It’s important,” said her mother.
“It never is,” said Giulietta.
“I think there’s going to be a spectacular new dress involved,” said Signor Montecchi. His wife dug him in the ribs with her rather sharp elbow and he tried not to react as Giulietta’s head slowly emerged from its cocoon like a hibernating small creature looking for the spring light.
“How spectacular?” she asked.
“Very spectacular,” Signor Montecchi said, and held his wife’s hand tighter to avoid another dig in the ribs from her elbow.
Giulietta sat up and almost gave them a smile. “Will it have gems and velvet?” she asked.
Signor Montecchi looked at his wife, who sighed a little and said, “I imagine that it may. I was thinking pearls.”
“Diamonds?” asked Giulietta hopefully.
“Pearls!” said her father.
She pouted for a moment and then asked, “It should be light blue then, to go with the pearls.”
“Uh,” said her father and met his wife’s eyes again. Neither wanted to be the one to say it. “The dress will be white,” he said softly.
“Oh no,” Giulietta said. “That is not this season’s fashion at all. White is so dreary, reserved for confirmations and weddings and things.”
Her father and mother held each other’s hands tight, waiting for the ducat to drop. But Giulietta went on, “I really don’t know what you were thinking in supposing a white dress would be anything that I might want. How should I ever stand out wearing a white dress, even if it was covered in pearls?”
“Well,” said her father. “It really needs to be white, you see, because this type of dress is only ever white.”
She stared at him blankly and said, “That’s ridiculous.” She looked to her mother who was busily looking at her feet. The ducat dropped.
“You don’t mean…?”
Her mother and father looked up at her meekly.
“You can’t possibly mean…?”
“We do,” said her mother.
“Well we do, if you’re thinking what we’re thinking,” said her father.
“A wedding?” she asked.
And suddenly her mother and father couldn’t stop talking. “You’d make such a beautiful bride,” said her father.
“I think it’s about time you took the possibility of us finding a good suitor for you seriously,” said her mother.
“He’s quite wealthy,” said her father.
“His parents are very much looking forward to welcoming you into their family,” said her mother.
“We are certain you’ll be very happy,” her father said.
“He’s really the most delightful young man,” said her mother.
And then Giulietta screamed. The noise of it shook some small spiders out from behind the tapestry on her bedchamber wall, the windows rattled in their frames and her father thought for a moment that a trumpet blast was being sounded just outside the door. “Why would I ever choose a husband that you picked?” she shouted. “I’m not getting married to anyone you find for me. I hate him already. I hate you too. I hate you, I hate you!” And she started kicking her feet on the bed frantically.
Signor and Signora Montecchi jumped to their feet and beat a hasty retreat out of the bedchamber, closing the door behind them. One of the serving maids had come up and was standing there with a look of concern on her face. The poor girl was new though, and didn’t know any better. Signora Montecchi shooed her away.
Her husband straightened his clothes and said, “Well, I think that didn’t go too badly at all.”
“Much better than I’d expected,” said Signora Montecchi.
“I think we can start making preparations then,” said her husband.
“Yes. Although I think it wise to invite a few of her friends over first and let them gush about how handsome and rich young Signor Paris is, and she’ll be in agreement with them in no time.”
“A splendid idea,” said her husband and strode off down the hallway, rather pleased with the way the day was turning out.