“Of course.”
Her father scoffed. “Already making demands of your bridegroom, I see.” He glanced at Aelius. “I recommend a firm hand. Of course, I said the same thing to Memmius, and look how that turned out.”
Crispina’s eyes flashed, but she didn’t lose her composure. Aelius admired her for it; his fists itched to clench tighter with every word her father spoke.
“Excuse me, Father, I must begin the preparations.” Crispina nodded to them and slipped from the room.
Aelius made a hasty goodbye and left also. He hoped to catch Crispina in the atrium and steal a word or two, but she had already vanished.
The evening before the wedding, Aelius attended a small dinner party Catullus had put together to celebrate the success of their scheme. And Aelius’s last night of freedom, according to Catullus as he led a toast to kick off the party. Aelius found the remark to be rather ironic, given his history, but he merely rolled his eyes at his friend. Three weeks had passed since Crispina’s father gave his consent, and now only a matter of hours remained until Aelius would be wed.
The party was comprised of a handful of Catullus’s friends, with whom Aelius had a passing acquaintance, as well as several fashionably dressed women whom he bet were courtesans. Aelius participated in a drinking game, in which he somehow escaped getting overly soused, but demurred joining the next round when it finished. He glanced around the room to find Catullus, who hadn’t joined the game. It was getting late, and Aelius didn’t want to spend his wedding day exhausted and hungover.
Catullus was seated on a couch flanked by one of the courtesans, a pretty woman with hair the color of wheat, and an even prettier young man. The poet kept glancing between them, as if he couldn’t decide which he preferred.
Aelius bent down to speak to him. “I think I’d better be going.”
“Going?” Catullus shot to his feet, dislodging the slender arm of his female companion. He grabbed onto Aelius’s shoulder for support. “But you haven’t enjoyed all the festivities yet.”
“I’ve eaten, drank, conversed, and gamed,” Aelius said. “It’s been a wonderful evening, and I thank you for it. But I need to be rested and alert for tomorrow.”
“I meantfestivities.” Catullus cast a significant glance down at the man and woman on his couch, then gestured to a woman across the room. “See that lady over there? I invited her especially for you. Thought she looked like your bride.”
The woman had fair skin and dark hair, but that was where the resemblance ceased. She had none of Crispina’s straight-backed poise, but was relaxing on a couch, laughing with abandon at something one of the other guests had said.
Aelius shook his head. “Thank you, but I’m not interested.” It felt wrong to consort with another woman the night before his wedding.
Catullus’s eyebrows lifted. “Have you forgotten you’re about to enter a marriage with a wife who won’t let you touch her?”
“I haven’t.”
“And let me ask you for the thousandth timewhyyou agreed to that.”
“I don’t know,” Aelius admitted. “It seemed…fair.” He recalled the conversation in which he and Crispina had negotiated the conditions of their marriage. His mind had become a rushing whirlpool as soon as they’d started talking about sex, even in veiled terms. The fact that they were in his bedroom, steps from his bed, hadn’t helped matters. And then he’d made that ridiculous, thoughtless remark about seducing her…He couldn’t believe he’d escaped without a slap.
Worse, the remark made him realize how much hewantedto seduce her. Not to claim her or possess her, but to show her enough pleasure to melt her icy façade. What would she look like, flushed and mindless with lust?
“Well,” Catullus said. “At least she’s no great beauty.”
Aelius blinked. “No great beauty?” He had found Crispina stunning from the first moment he saw her.
Catullus shrugged. “I mean, I wouldn’t turn her down—that would be rude—but she seems so cold and stiff. I imagine it would be like bedding a corpse.”
“A corpse? Are you insane? Crispina is…is…” He struggled for words. “Quite beautiful.”
“I prefer women who smile.”
The revelation that not every man found Crispina beautiful was shocking. Though Catullus had a point: Aelius had never yet seen Crispina smile or laugh. “I appreciate her dignity. She carries herself like a goddess.”
“One of the meaner ones, perhaps.”
Aelius rolled his eyes. He glanced back at the couch Catullus had left. The woman and young man were in each other’s arms, kissing. “I think your friends are getting started without you.”
Catullus followed his gaze and swore. “All right, off with you. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He clasped Aelius’s hand, then returned to his couch, pushing his way between the two. They made room easily.
Aelius left the party with no regrets about the pleasures he was leaving behind. Yes, he was turning his back on such pursuits by marrying Crispina. But he stood to gain much, much more from their temporary marriage: victory in the next election, the tribuneship, a shot at the consulship one day. Respect, influence, and the power to enact change. A chaste marriage, even to someone as alluring as Crispina, would be an easy sacrifice.
Chapter 8
