She makes a strangled sound and smacks my chest. “You’re terrible.”
“You like when I am terrible.”
“I—” She stops. Glares. Then ruins it by smiling. “Okay, yes. I do. But we’re supposed to be having a serious conversation about leather repair.”
“We can have serious conversation.” I pick up a shield and hand it to her. “This strap is bad. Needs fixing. Very serious.”
She takes the shield, fighting a smile. “You’re laughing at me.”
“Little bit.”
“I thought you were this stoic, serious gladiator.”
“I am very serious.” I crouch down to grab a new leather strap and glance up at her. “Especially about what you promised for after the fight.”
Her breath hitches. “We’re not talking about that right now.”
“You brought up hands.”
“I meant shield repair!”
“Mm.” I stand, moving close enough that she has to tilt her head back to meet my eyes. “But now we are both thinking about other things, yes?”
Her pupils dilate. “That’s… not fair.”
“You said you wanted fun. To relax.” I trace one finger down her arm, watching her shiver. “Are you relaxed?”
“The opposite of relaxed.”
“Good.” I step back, grinning. “Now you know how I feel all day. Watching you work. Remembering.”
She stares at me, cheeks flushed, eyes dark. Then she laughs—helpless and startled and warm. “You’re mean.”
“I am patient.” I gesture at the shield she’s holding. “Come. I show you how to fix. Keep your hands busy with safe things.”
“You’re enjoying this.”
“Very much.”
She shakes her head, but she’s smiling. And for the next twenty minutes, I teach her how to replace leather straps. How to measure tension by feel. How to test the connection before trusting it.
She’s good with her hands—careful, precise, focused. Asks smart questions. Remembers everything I say.
And every time our fingers brush, heat flickers between us. Acknowledged but not acted upon. Present but not overwhelming.
This, I think. This is what we are building. Not just the heat—though gods, the heat is there, simmering under everything. But also this. The ease. The laughter. The way she can tell me about goddesses and I believe her. And the way I can tease her and she laughs instead of withdrawing.
Partnership. Real and chosen and growing stronger every day.
She shivers. “Flavius…”
“Tomorrow after training,” I say quietly, “we will have breakfast again. In your cabin. And you tell me more about what Fortuna said. And I will tell you what I see when I fight.” I lean down until our foreheads almost touch. “We will talk like this. Open. Honest. No more hiding.”
“I like that plan.”
“Good.” I press a kiss to her forehead, then force myself to step back. “Now go. Do your paperwork. Be brilliant.”
She grins. “What will you do?”
