“And Rufus would never have had fodder to blackmail you. I would be on the verge of winning a tribune seat.”
“So that’s more important to you than our family,” she spat. “By the gods, you are selfish.”
“This election is more important to me than anything!” he shouted. “It’s the only reason I married you.”
The vitriol in his voice burned her. She opened her mouth, but no words would come out.
A sound by the doorway made them both turn their heads. Gaia stood there, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders. “I heard shouting.”
Crispina and Aelius exchanged a fraught glance. Then Aelius squared his shoulders. “There will be no more. We’re done.” He headed for the door and disappeared into the darkened house.
Gaia fixed her cool gaze on Crispina. “What happened?”
Crispina swallowed hard. Drawing breath pained her, as if she’d been punched in the stomach. “I must let Aelius tell you. If you hear it from me, you’ll find some way to see my side of it. And I don’t deserve your kindness or sympathy.” Her nails dug into her palms, the pain a tiny echo of what was going on in her chest.
Gaia stepped forward and reached out a hand as if to rest it on Crispina’s shoulder. Crispina flinched away from the warmth of her touch. She deserved no comfort. “Please, don’t.” Any sliver of kindness would make her crumble, and if she crumbled, there would be no putting herself back together again. She slipped past Gaia and stumbled from the room.
It was dangerous to be on the streets alone in the middle of the night, but Aelius couldn’t return to the bedroom he shared with Crispina, couldn’t spend one more moment in the house with her. He glanced around the empty streets, daring a brigand to jump him. He could use a good fight right about now.
He indulged himself with a fantasy of going to Rufus’s house, breaking down the door, dragging Rufus from his bed and beating him to a bloody pulp. But Crispina was right, damn her to Dis. That avenue would only lead to his arrest, and where would that leave his mother?
Instead, he went to the only other place he could think of: Catullus’s house. Catullus was habitually late to bed and even later to rise, so Aelius had a feeling he’d be up even at this time of night.
A yawning slave let him in, and moments later Catullus met him in the atrium, a blanket wrapped around his bare shoulders. A young man with tousled hair trailed him, fixing Aelius with an annoyed stare.
Catullus showed no trace of irritation, even though Aelius had evidently interrupted something. “What’s amiss? Or is this a social call? I suppose we could make room for one more.” He gave a jaunty grin, though his companion scowled.
“I’m sorry,” Aelius said, unable to entertain his friend’s jokes. “It’s Crispina. She has…” He struggled to find the words to articulate what she had done. “She’s ruined everything.”
Catullus’s brows drew together. He turned to the young man. “Go back to bed, love. I need to speak with Aelius.”
The man huffed but left them alone. Catullus beckoned Aelius to follow him into his study, and directed the slave who’d let him in to bring them wine.
“Talk,” Catullus ordered as soon as the door of the study closed behind them.
Aelius sat and dropped his head into his hands. His mind was still swirling. Images from the past hour kept coming back to him. Waking to find Crispina gone. Discovering her in his study. The anguish on her face as she confessed. This all felt like a bad dream, but one he would never wake from.
He relayed the broad strokes to Catullus. His friend listened in silence, fingers tapping gently on the corner of his desk. When Aelius finished, his fingers stilled. “Fuck,” Catullus said. “That’s bad.”
Sometimes Catullus didn’t need masterful poetry to perfectly capture a situation. “Yes. The worst part is, I want to admire her,” Aelius said. “A woman like her, taking an interest in the education of children in a slum? But she kept it from me. She lied to me, and then she betrayed me. It’s all over.” Not just his chances in the election, but his marriage, the love that had been budding between them. His heart twisted with another anguished throb.
“What are you going to do?” Catullus asked.
Aelius heaved a sigh. “I don’t think there is anything I can do. Rufus has beaten me. Only a fool doesn’t know when to admit defeat. Perhaps I should do as my mother suggested before all this. Get a nice place in the country, try to be satisfied with a quiet life.” Give up his dream of a consulship once and for all.
“And Crispina?”
Aelius’s lips tightened. He hadn’t wanted to think about this part. “I can’t be with her after what she has done. We must divorce.” The formalities would have to wait until after the election. He didn’t want to alienate what little support he did have by divorcing his wife days before votes were cast. He would ask her to return to her parents’ house tomorrow, though.
Catullus nodded slowly. “I’m sorry.” He leaned forward to clasp Aelius’s hand. “If it’s any consolation, I do believe she acted out of desperation.”
“She told me she loved me tonight. In the same breath as she confessed feeding information to Rufus.” Her words echoed in his mind.I love you. Once, he would have rejoiced at that, would have felt like dancing through the streets. But tonight, he could only feel the cruelty of those words.
“Do you love her?”
Aelius lifted his wine cup and drank deeply. “I fear I do,” he admitted as he set the cup down. The pain he felt upon learning she had lied to him told him he loved her. If he hadn’t loved her, he would have felt angry, yes, but this deep, twisting ache inside him spoke of love. Only love could make the betrayal cut with this degree of agony. “I want to hate her. I want to curse her. But instead I love her, even though she’s taken everything from me.”
“Mm.” Catullus sipped his wine. “I believe hate and love are closer than we realize. Right now you are filled with passion toward her, whether good or bad, but in time, the fire will fade, and you will feel nothing.”
