When he finishes, he looks up with such unguarded pride that something in my chest cracks open. “I did it,” he says, wonder in his voice. “I read words. They made sense.”
“You did,” I confirm, and I’m smiling so wide my face hurts. “Flavius, you’re learning so fast. At this rate, you’ll be reading novels by summer.”
“You are good teacher.” He closes the book carefully, reverently. “You make me feel… not stupid. Even when I struggle.”
“You’re not stupid,” I say firmly. “You’re brilliant. Your brain just didn’t have access to written language before. But now that it does?” I gesture at the book. “You’re absorbing it like a sponge.”
He studies me for a long moment, and I see the question forming before he asks it. His gaze drops to my mouth, then back to my eyes. “You finished? The… restructuring?”
My heart kicks against my ribs. “Almost. There’s one last piece of paperwork—I need to submit the final documentation update to the fellowship committee this afternoon. Just a formality, but I want everything completely finished before…” I trail off, heat flooding my face.
“Before?” he prompts, and there’s something in his voice that makes my stomach flutter.
“Before I collect my raincheck,” I finish quietly.
Something blazes in his eyes—hope, heat, and certainty all tangled together. “How long? For paperwork?”
“A few hours. I’ll submit it after lunch, and then…” I swallow. “Then it’s done. Completely done.”
“And then?” His voice has gone low and rough.
“And then I was hoping I could come find you. At the stables. This afternoon.”
His hand comes up, gentle but firm, to cup my jaw. The touch sends fire racing through my veins. “Do not ask if I still want. Answer is yes. Was yes three days ago. Is yes now. Will be yes when you find me.”
Heat floods my cheeks. His thumb strokes across my cheekbone, and I have to fight not to lean into his palm, not to turn my head and press my lips to his wrist.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” I whisper.
“I will wait.”
When we part ways, he catches my hand at the door.
“Sophia?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you.” His thumb traces my knuckles—slow, deliberate, making me acutely aware of every nerve ending in my hand. No. My whole body. “For doing this right. For seeing me as… worth the wait.”
“Always,” I whisper.
Subject: Methodological Refinement Update: Vitale Research Project
The collaborative approach has enriched rather than limited the scope of my research. Multiple gladiatorial perspectives provide crucial triangulation of data.
I read it through twice, making sure every word is precise, professional, unassailable. Then I hit send and close my laptop with shaking hands.
Done.
I change clothes—settling on a gold linen blouse that Laura once said made my eyes look brighter, and my good jeans. My hands tremble as I button them. My stomach is doing acrobatics.
At exactly two o’clock, I grab my jacket and head for the stables.
I find Flavius in Apollo’s stall, brushing down the big gelding with the steady, meditative focus he brings to everything physical. The afternoon sun slants through the open stable doors, turning his red hair copper-bright, catching in the dust motes that dance in the warm air.
For a moment, I just watch him. The easy competence in his movements. The gentle way he handles the massive horse. The subconscious grace that speaks of a lifetime training his body to move with purpose. The way his shoulders shift under his shirt. The strength in his forearms. The careful precision of his scarred hands.
I want those hands on me.
