“I did.” She let her gaze drop to her lap a moment before meeting mine again.
“How?” I wondered aloud.
“I actually had a similar hidden compartment in my vanity like yours.”
“What similar devious minds we have.”
She smiled then sobered quickly. “I apologize for invading your privacy. I shouldn’t have done it. But I don’t regret it.”
“No?” I arched a brow.
“It showed me who you truly are. What kind of man you are.”
“What kind is that?”
“A good one,” she said softly.
My heart squeezed, her small praise suffusing me with pleasure. And yet, I ached at the fact she didn’t have a brother to hide and protect her. Not that any human could hide from Romans intending to do harm. Their beasts were too strong, too powerful.
“Tell me something about your life before Rome. Where are you from?”
“Dacia. Near the Carpathian Mountains.” She smiled. “The forest around our village was so beautiful. The trees were like giants. I loved to take walks and simply listen to the wind in the trees, the birds singing high above. So comforting.”
Her voice had softened, full of nostalgia and joy. I wanted to hear more—about her, about a time she was happy.
“What was your family like?” I asked.
She laughed. “Wild and loud. And wonderful. My sisters and I bickered a lot, but it was always playful. Well, most of the time.”
I laughed with her. “They sound delightful.”
“They were.” Her laughter died, but she went on. “My papa was a gregarious man. He loved to tell jests and tease Mama to make her laugh. Mama was the serious one of the family.”
“What was your favorite thing to do back then? Besides walk in the trees.”
She met my gaze curiously, a coy smile lingering on her lips. “To cook and bake. Mostly to bake.”
“Truly?” I asked, surprised.
“I was very good,” she snapped defensively.
“I’m sure you were, but that seems like such a chore.”
She shrugged a shoulder. “Not to me. I loved finding new herbs to add to my breads. And to see my family enjoy them. Papa wouldwhisper to me that I was a better cook than Mama but to not tell on him.”
I grinned at the picture of her lovely family in my mind. “And did you ever tell on your papa?” I teased.
“Never.I loved my papa. I would never betray him.”
A somber silence fell between us. While I cherished hearing more of her life, her happiness, before she was captured and dragged here to Rome, it was obvious that even thinking about it hurt her deeply.
“I’m sorry, Lela,” I said sincerely. “For the loss of your family, your sisters.” I gulped hard at the lump in my throat. “But mostly, I am so fucking sorry for all of the personal loss you’ve endured.”
I couldn’t even voice it aloud, her losses too great to speak of—her freedom, her will, her dignity, her own life. It was all too unbearable.
She held my gaze and blinked back the watery tears pooling in her eyes again.
“Jardani was a good man,” she said in a soft voice, full of heartbreak.
