“Juliet, your father requests that you come down,” a woman’s voice called through her door.
“Yes, Nurse!” Juliet called back. She laid a hand over her heart and leaned on a table, before straightening her shoulders and stepping forward.
Juliet’s heart hammered against her chest. Vivid colors swirled around her as masked guests spun to the unceasing music. Flickering torchlight added their shadows to the dance. Juliet watched, breathless, as her eyes darted around the open courtyard. Her hand reached up to check the web of tiny black braids coiled around her head. A brush at the hair hanging to her shoulders confirmed that her curls still held. Untying her mask, she pressed her icy hands against her flushed cheeks to cool them. Smoothing down her pale, silver silk dress and lifting the skirt off the floor, Juliet moved to rejoin the dancing.
One of the dancers detached himself from the crowd and stumbled over to her. A black mask, shaped like a fox, covered the top half of his face, but his mouth was full and soft, with the beginnings of laugh lines at the edges. Juliet looked up at the stranger, one eyebrow slightly lifted.
His mouth parted, but emitted no sound. He swallowed, licked his lips, and tried again. Juliet’s eyes wandered back to the crowded center of the party. They snapped back to the stranger when he seized her hand and raised it momentarily to his lips.
“If I profane,” he began, his voice wavering a bit. Clearing his throat, he continued. “If I profane with my unworthiest hand this holy shrine, the gentle fine is this: my lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.” He stared at her, breathless.
The beginnings of a smile started on Juliet’s face. Warmth welled inside her, as she looked him. The smile spread wide.

“For never was a story of more woe
Than this of Juliet and her Romeo”
—William Shakespeare