MORNING SUN DAPPLED THE atrium of the Magistrate’s domus and with a foolish smile, I watched the sunlight shift as if coaxed by a gentle breeze, turning one polished tile and then another to bright flame. The faintest whisper of air caressed my cheek, and I remembered again Marcus’s fingers following the same path, gentle and hesitant. Then I remembered how three weeks of kisses had made him bold. Now, his hands caressed more than my cheek.
Hugging my knowledge to myself, I paid scant attention to those around me. My mother brought me here to curry favour with those she thought could bring her power. Her constant quest for more, for better, brought her to the Magistrate's domus, to converse with his wife and her friends, to prove her ties to her own family by parading her discarded daughter. See my benevolence, she implied, see how I take my flawed daughter and her offspring into my home, how I succour them and provide for them and give them the society others craved. My mother still sought my remarriage, though she yet squabbled with my brother. Neither had found a candidate the other agreed upon, and I could only thank the gods it was so.
Now I had found Marcus again, I had no desire to wed, and the longer my mother fought with my brother, the more time I had with him. I knew it was finite. I knew soon I would be required to give him up. Somehow, I had been granted reprieve from remarriage for a year and more but it would not be forever. My mother and brother would eventually resolve their difference, and I would be forced into matrimony again.
But that was not now, and I had no care for their games. Happiness, an emotion with which I had little experience, brought light inside me and not even unpleasant thoughts of my probable future could dim it. How could I have care of this? Now, when Marcus visited, there were no pretences. Now, he came for me.
He still sought Aurelia’s company, still brought her gifts, but there was no mistake—I was his reason. He caught me in corners, kissed me and whispered of all the things he wanted to do to me, wicked things that thickened his voice and harshened his breath. His words affected me endlessly and, when caught against him, I battled to hide my hard nipples and my dry mouth, to maintain the illusion I was unaffected. At night, there was no need for pretence and I made myself spend, my hands between my thighs and his name on my lips.
He told me he did this too, that nightly he took himself in hand and imagined it was mine, that he stroked until he was desperate for me, moaning my name as he spilt his desire on his sheets. He told me of his fantasies, of me on my knees and gifting him with my mouth, of him performing the same for me. He wove tales of a hundred scenarios, and each left me wanting him more than the last. He attempted to seduce me to his side, to make me cave under the weight of desire, and it was working.
Peals of laughter intruded and, frowning, I looked to those around me. They spoke of a banquet or an entertainment or some other such thing.
I returned to thoughts of Marcus.
Beyond this seduction, he told me of his days, of what he did when he was not with me. I knew of his desire to grow his business, and already he had two employees and sought a third. I knew of his wish to be anonymous, to one day be unnoticed in a crowd instead of lauded as a gladiator. Sometimes, in obedience to this wish, he took to wearing a cloak, disguising his features by sinking into the cowl.
And just as he told me of himself, I told him of me, of my hopes for Aurelia, my desire to see my son. I shared with him when my mother slighted me and always he took my hand, his thumb rubbing my skin, and this small touch afforded me great comfort. He was the first person to whom I wished to share my thoughts, the last I wished to see every day. Our partings lingered, each of us eager to find one more comment, one more question, something to tempt the other to stay.
My mother spoke, more about the organising of the banquet or entertainment or whatever it was. I looked at her. My mother would be aghast at me if she knew. Slaves, even former slaves, are for pleasure, she would say, but you do not waste emotion on them. Those low-born, beneath us, toy with them as you will, but do not long for their almost-smile, do not thrill as they wring laughter from your child, do not want them as more than a fuck, and a perverse one at that.
I knew, in some ways, she may be right. I knew I should end our association. Maybe we could not be more. Maybe we were always doomed to want and never have. But then why should I not have some pleasure, one thing in all the world that was mine and mine alone? I loved him. I had never stopped. For eleven years I had been his, and it appeared I always would be. Why could I not have him, if only a small part?
I stood. Around me conversation died and all looked at me in surprise. I had no care for their reaction.
I would. I would have him. For a moment, a day, for as long as it lasted, I would have him.
“Lucia?” My mother wore a frown. Always a surprise, when she chose to show emotion and risk lining her face.
I did not even have care for her. Like a light burning inside me, my decision brought joy and it bubbled from me, in my smile, my voice. “Apologies. I bid you good day. I find I am needed elsewhere.”
“Lucia, do not be addled. Sit, and enjoy the conversation.” My mother smiled at those around her, as if saying, Isn't my daughter strange? Isn't she addled?
“No.”
My mother's gaze swivelled to me, shocked into speechlessness. I knew why. I had never said no to her before.
I looked amongst these faces, the ones my former husband had me cater to, the ones who had laughed at me, whispered about me, called me haughty, silent, awkward and a hundred other epitaphs I would never know. I looked at them and they meant…nothing.
I cared not for their opinion. I cared not for their company. I did not need to be among them, had no need to pretend to be other than what I was. I wanted only to be with Aurelia, and with Marcus.
My Marcus.
“Much gratitude for your table,” I said to our host. And then I left.
***
IMPATIENT, I WAITED. HE always came, almost every day, and I knew soon he would arrive, as he always did. And yet, impatient, I waited.
Finally, I heard his voice as he greeted Aurelia, her squeal as she was given her present. For a moment, I frowned. I should insist he cease giving her these gifts. She would become spoiled.
My brow cleared as they entered the atrium. Emotion burst inside me, so much I felt bright, almost to blinding. He was here, he was here, and I loved him so.
At the sight of me he halted, his expression inquiring. Aurelia chattered on, unnoticing of the differences in her mother, the sudden silence of her companion.
I could not take my eyes from him, could not stop the swell of emotion rising in me.
The lust.
His eyes darkened. Somehow he had seen what I meant to tell him and a fire inside him began to burn. A predatory kind of purpose took his step as he came toward me, Aurelia at his side. I shuddered and, breathless, I awaited his presence.
“Domina.”
“Libertus.” One word only and yet I heard tell of all, every decision leading to this day, every emotion I had ever felt. In his low voice I heard the same, such that our two words held a lifetime of meaning.
“Mama! Libertus! You are not listening.”
Gaze broken, we gave Aurelia our attention, though I glanced at him often to reassure myself he was real and not fancy. It tortured me, to wait as Aurelia talked to him of her day, as she detailed her childish concerns. As always, she held his attention but just as I glanced at him, his gaze lit upon me and set me to flame.
“Aurelia.”
She looked to me, inquiring.
“Did you—” I swallowed, my desire making me stumble. “Was there not something you wished to show libertus?”
Her face screwed as she thought. “Mama? I do not—” Her features cleared. “Oh. Oh! Yes! I will be back.” She turned to Marcus. “Do not leave,” she demanded.
“I will not,” he promised and his voice caught, as if desire strangled him also.
Assured of his continued presence, she ran from the room.
In less than a second, I was in his arms and then I tugged his mouth to mine. Desperate, I kissed him, my tongue duelling with his. Just as urgent, he pressed me to him, his erection hard against the softness of my belly.
I pulled back and his lips traced my cheek, my ear, my neck. “I can stand it no longer, Marcus.”
He groaned an agreement, his tongue busy on my skin.
“I want you. I want you inside me.”
He shuddered at my words. “When?”
By the gods, this was real. Excitement, arousal, made me faint. He made me faint. “I will organise the hire of a room. Meet me there?”
“Yes, yes.” His mouth took mine.
By the time Aurelia returned, we were seated at least two lengths from each other and we were mostly unmussed. She, of course, noticed naught, and began a monologue on what she intended to do with her dolls.
We looked at one another over my daughter’s head and we burned.