Sophia takes a cup of water and gulps half of it in one go. A bead runs down the side of the cup and onto her thumb. Without thinking, I reach out and brush it away with my fingers, lettingmy thumb linger against her skin for just a moment longer than necessary.
Her breath catches. Her gaze flicks up to mine, and I see the memory flash across her face—my hands on her waist, her body pressed against mine, the heat between us in the stable.
“Careful,” she murmurs, but she’s not pulling away. “People are watching.”
“Let them,” I say quietly, though I step back. Just a fraction.
“Trying to scandalize the sanctuary?” Her voice comes out huskier than usual.
“Only you, little scholar.”
Her lips part, and for a moment I think she might kiss me right here in front of everyone. The wanting is written all over her face. But then Maya’s laugh cuts through the moment, and Sophia blinks, stepping back.
We stand here for a moment, suspended between what we are and what we might be, until Laura appears at our side like a benevolent goddess in jeans and a linen blouse.
“Fortuna likes to see the living enjoy themselves,” she says cheerfully, pressing a small coin into each of our hands. “Go make a wish. Or an offering. Or both.”
Sophia looks down at the coin. “Is this… from the original ship?”
“Replica,” Laura assures her. “I’m not that sentimental. Well, I am, but I’m not stupid.” She winks. “Toss it near the shrine. Ask Fortuna for whatever your heart wants most.”
She disappears before either of us can protest.
We saunter toward the little shrine together. The night air is cooler away from the crowd, cicadas humming beyond the fence line. The lanterns here are fewer, more scattered, leaving pockets of shadow between their pools of light.
“What do you wish for?” I ask quietly as we approach.
Sophia huffs out a breath that might be a laugh. “To get my research completed and the paper written without losing my mind?”
I make a face. “Fortuna cannot work miracles, little scholar.”
She nudges my arm with her shoulder. “What would you wish for?”
I look at the statue of the goddess. At the carved ship. At the little brass plaque beneath that lists the names of the crew and gladiators we lost.
“Second chances,” it says in both English and Latin. As if fate were a person you could negotiate with.
“Have already had more than my share of wishes granted,” I say truthfully. “Am alive. Am free. Doing work that means something.” I trail off, then finish more softly. “And you.”
Silence.
The words hang between us, heavier than I meant them to be. True, but dangerous.
She looks down at her coin, and I see the smallest curve of her lips. “You do,” she says quietly, “have me, I mean.”
My chest goes tight. “And you have me.”
“I know.” She glances up, and the look in her eyes is so open it steals my breath. “I’m still… figuring out what that means. What we are. But I know.”
I’m clenching my fists to keep from reaching out and tilting her chin up so I can see her better. Instead, I close my hand around the coin, press my knuckles briefly against the carved wood of the ship, and toss the offering into the bowl Laura set out.
What I wish for isn’t a thing.
It’s a life.
A life where I’m seen for who I am. Where loving her does not limit her. Where she never has to choose between me and her dreams. And Goddess help me…
I don’t know if I could survive losing her.
