“…you might be interested in marrying me,” he finished lamely. He waited for the shock, disgust to fill her face at such a horrible, unexpected proposal.
Her eyes flashed, like firelight on obsidian, and her features hardened. She wasn’t shocked or horrified by him, Aelius realized: she was angry.
“What a funny joke.” Her voice was soft, but an edge of menace thrummed behind it, like a cat poised to strike. “Such an easy target I’ve become. The disgraced divorcée, the butt of dinner party pranks. Did Catullus put you up to this? Is this fodder for one of his overwrought poems?” She took a step toward him. He moved back, his calves hitting the stone edge of the pool at the center of the atrium.
He realized with a surge of horror that she’d thought he was mocking her. “No, you have the wrong idea—”
In a fluid motion, she bent down to the pool and raked her hand through the water. A wave sprang up and drenched the left side of Aelius’s body. He stumbled away in shock, spluttering.
Crispina turned on her heel and left the atrium. Aelius cleared water out of his eyes. Well. He could hardly blame her: he deserved that.
He dried himself as best he could with the folds of his toga, then returned to the dining room. Crispina had resumed her seat next to her father. She did not look up as Aelius walked past her and rejoined Catullus on their couch.
Catullus gave him a long look. “Did she try to drown you?”
“Nearly,” Aelius said ruefully. Luckily the room was dark enough that he hoped no one else would notice his soaked toga. He took a long swig of wine. “I’ve made a mess of it all.”
“I warned you she can be peevish. What did you do?”
Aelius cringed at the memory, painfully fresh. “She made me nervous. I tried to explain why I wanted to talk to her.” He closed his eyes. “I may have attempted to propose to her. She thought I was mocking her.”
Catullus let out a whistle. “Gods below, you’re an idiot.”
“Yes, you were right, and I should have listened,” Aelius admitted. “How do I apologize? Should I approach her again tonight?”
“Not unless you want to actually end up floating face-down in the impluvium, I fear,” Catullus said. “A groveling letter is the way to go. I’ve written plenty. I can help you with the wording. And don’t worry, there’s another dinner party next week I can take you to. There is sure to be a different crop of girls in attendance.”
The prospect of a different pool of candidates didn’t fill him with the optimism it should have. An hour ago, he hadn’t even known Crispina existed, but now, something in him was convinced she could be the solution to his problem.
Aelius could benefit Crispina as well. He eyed her, sitting silently next to her parents at the other wing of the table. They both ignored her, apart from the occasional disdainful glance from her mother. Crispina’s mother regarded her with a look that Aelius was more used to seeing directed at himself when someone realized he was a freedman: scorn mixed with contempt.
A hint of sympathy welled in Aelius’s chest; though he’d never known his father, he’d never had to suffer the coldness of a disinterested mother. One loving parent was better than two indifferent ones.
Yes, he and Crispina could help each other. He could offer her a marriage that would free her from the shame of her divorce and the evident unpleasantness of living with her parents, and she could get him access to the elite that he needed.
Unfortunately, he seemed to have made himself detestable to her, but hopefully Catullus’s help with a groveling letter could fix that.
A sudden buoyancy filled him, as it always did when he came up with a plan. True, he still had no desire to get married, but now, he wondered if Crispina’s blue-veiled figure held the key to the only future that would make him happy.
Chapter 3
Sunlight filtered into Crispina’s bedroom from the open door, which let in light from the atrium. Crispina leaned against the doorframe, taking advantage of the light to glance over the letter that had just come for her. Life had been markedly boring since returning to her parents’ house, and while the letter wasn’t exactly welcome, at least it was interesting.
Aelius Herminius to Crispina:
Please accept this humble apology for my behavior at your family’s dinner party last week. I hope you will take it as a compliment if I say, with all sincerity, that you made me nervous. I regret that you mistook my ineloquent words for a joke or prank. Nothing could be further from the truth. I was heartfelt in my proposal, even if it was ill-timed and poorly delivered. You likely think I’m mad, but if you would allow me to see you once more to explain more fully, I’m certain you will understand.
Crispina read the letter twice. Her eyes lingered onyou made me nervous. She’d never imagined a man might admit a mere woman had unsettled him. It was at odds with her impression of Aelius as brash and arrogant.
And it seemed he really did want to marry her. That was the most intriguing part. She almost wanted to hear him out just to find out why. He was handsome enough—more than handsome enough, if she was honest with herself—and he likely would have no shortage of willing brides. She allowed herself to remember how he’d looked standing in the atrium last night, lamplight flickering on his coppery skin.
So why her?
Whatever motive he had, it could be nothing good, but she still wanted to find out. Curiosity had always been her weakness. She would consider a reply later, but for now, she had more important matters to attend to.
She slid the letter into the back of a drawer in her cosmetics table, then pinned her palla to her hair and fetched her basket from its hiding place under her bed. She covered it with a cloth to hide the contents from view. Moving on light feet, she left her bedroom and crossed the atrium. If she could just make it to the front door without being noticed…
Her mother emerged from one of the rooms off the atrium. “Where are you going?”
