“And the boy you took in…will he stay with Aelius?”
Crispina nodded. “You no longer have to worry about Max corrupting your sons.”
Horatia blanched. “I didn’t mean…I was going to say I would be happy to invite him to play with Paullus, if the situation permitted. I regret the things I said about him. I’m ashamed that I could have been so cruel to a child who only wanted a friend.” She hesitated. “You must miss Max greatly.”
“Yes.” Crispina couldn’t let herself dwell on Max and Aelius and Gaia, the life she had lost. Horatia was offering kindness and friendship, the memory of a time before Crispina had met Aelius, when she’d thought losing a disinterested husband was the worst tragedy that could befall her. Horatia was her oldest friend, the only person until recently who knew about her secret lessons and supported her mission. Crispina might never be able to forgive herself for what she had done, but maybe she could forgive Horatia instead.
Crispina reached out to clasp Horatia’s hand. “Your friendship saw me through my first divorce. I hope it can do so again.”
Horatia flung her arms around Crispina in a quick, tight hug. “Yes, if there is anything I can do for you, consider it done.”
Crispina returned the embrace. No one had touched her since she left Aelius’s house. She’d missed the playful shoves and nudges from Max, Gaia’s gentle touch, the casual kisses on the cheek or furtive squeezes from Aelius.
“Would you tell me what happened?” Horatia asked. “Only if you wish to speak of it, of course.”
Crispina hadn’t spoken about any of this since leaving Aelius, but maybe talking about her troubles would help. She led Horatia into the peristyle, the private garden at the back of the house, where they could speak in relative seclusion. They sat on a bench amid two flowering trees. In quiet tones, Crispina told Horatia everything that had happened.
Horatia gasped when she relayed the incident with Rufus, and let out an anguished sigh when she described Aelius’s discovery of her betrayal. When the awful story was finished, Horatia grasped her hand. “I’m so very sorry. I’m sure if someone had been threatening Paullus or Nonus, I would have done exactly as you did.”
“Even if it meant you would have lost Decius?”
Horatia bit her lip, her love for her husband shining in her eyes. “Yes, even then.”
Crispina exhaled. She hadn’t realized how good it would feel to talk to someone who understood. “So now you see why it’s all over.”
Horatia leaned her head against Crispina’s shoulder. “You poor thing. You must be in need of a distraction. It’s not healthy to sit inside all day by yourself. Would you like to accompany me and Decius to a dinner party tomorrow evening? I’m sure your parents will allow it.”
Crispina hesitated. Socializing and feigning happiness sounded as unappetizing to her as cold porridge, and it would be rather odd for her to appear in public without her husband, especially since no one was supposed to know of their separation yet. But it was just one small dinner party, and she’d be with Horatia and Decius. The alternative was spending another night alone, cursing the choices that had brought her here. A distraction might do her good. “All right. That would be nice.”
“Wonderful! We’ll pick you up in the litter. Now, let me tell you about the funniest thing Nonus did the other day…” Horatia launched into an anecdote about her little son. Crispina smiled and tried to forget the fact that she would never again have a family whose anecdotes she could share.
Crispina secured permission from her parents to attend the dinner party with Horatia, though she had to promise to be home by midnight. That was no great sacrifice, as Crispina had no desire to stay out until dawn anyway, but having to answer for her whereabouts rankled. Yet another thing she’d left behind with Aelius.
At the party, Crispina stuck close to Horatia and Decius, trying to avoid having to make conversation with anyone else. The music and laughter cheered her, and the food was good, the wine plentiful. She noticed Catullus seated on a couch across the room, making lively conversation with their hostess. He acknowledged Crispina with a nod, which she returned before quickly looking away. She wondered what he must think of her. Catullus was a great supporter of Aelius’s political ambitions, and she was the author of their ruin.
Halfway through the first course, a couple arrived late. Crispina looked up from her wine to see Memmius, her ex-husband, with a young woman on his arm. Memmius made eloquent apologies to the host and hostess for their tardiness, but Crispina’s attention remained fixed on the woman, who had to be his new wife. The young woman’s hand brushed her abdomen as she spoke to their hostess, causing the green dress to cling to the slight roundness. When their hostess offered congratulations to the couple, Crispina knew.
Beside her, Horatia sucked in a breath. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t know he would be here.”
Crispina tore her gaze from the young woman. “Did you know…his wife…?”
“I heard he’d married several months ago. I didn’t know…” Horatia shook her head. “I’m sorry.”
Crispina took a long swallow of wine. She had once wondered if her lack of conception was due to Memmius, not her, but the months she’d spent lying with Aelius without pregnancy had disproven that. The fault, whatever it was, laid with her alone. So the sight of his newly pregnant bride shouldn’t disquiet her.
But it brought to mind everything she’d failed at. She had never truly wanted a child, but if she had only been able to conceive, none of this would have happened. Memmius never would have left her. She never would have met Aelius, or if she did, it would have been as a passing acquaintance at a party like this one, someone she’d admire across a room.
She would have spent her life in a conventional, passionless marriage. She never would have known what it was like to belong so deeply to someone, and to feel so broken when the bond was severed.
She might have had a child of her own, but it wouldn’t have been Max. And the thought of never having witnessed his antics or his horrid language or atrocious table manners was nearly unbearable. The realization hit her in a startling jolt as she stared at Memmius and his wife:I wouldn’t give a single sestertius to still be married to that man, child or no.
Crispina took a long, shuddering breath. The weight of missing Aelius, Max, and Gaia overwhelmed her in a sudden rush.
“Are you all right?” Horatia asked.
“Excuse me a moment.” She rose from the couch and left the dining room, fanning her face as if she needed air. She had left another dinner party like this long ago. Aelius had followed her, and they’d had their first ill-fated conversation. She remembered his cocky smile, and the impulse that had led her to douse him with water from the atrium pool.
She passed through the empty atrium and went into the peristyle. It was inappropriate, verging on rude, for a dinner guest to venture into the family’s private garden, but if she was discovered she could claim she’d gotten lost on the way back to the dining room.
