Page 13 of The Tribune Temptation (Roman Heirs #1)

A elius’s nose and lip throbbed the next day, and a black eye had blossomed. The heat of his fury yesterday still surprised him. He hadn’t gotten into a fight since his days in the army. He’d made a firm practice of letting insults and snide comments roll off his back like rain on polished marble. But once Crispina’s name had come out of Rufus’s mouth, all his carefully honed self-control had snapped.

And somehow, the aftermath of his brawl had induced his wife to kiss him.

He shook his head in disbelief as he sat in his study glancing over some correspondence. He and Crispina were supposed to attend a dinner party tomorrow, but the host wrote to suggest it may be better if they remain home, as Aelius surely needed to recover after the unfortunate incident in the Forum.

Aelius grimaced. No doubt the first of many invitations that would be rescinded or simply never arrive. How badly had yesterday’s impulsive violence damaged his prospects?

Very , a disagreeable voice in his head answered. Attacking your political opponent is not going to endear you to anyone .

His mind turned to something more pleasant: the feel of Crispina’s fingers on his skin, the warm press of her mouth, the silk of her hair against his palm.

Why did she have to go and do that? He was better off not knowing what it was like to kiss her. The brief taste left him hungry for more, but she’d made it clear nothing of the sort would happen. First, she’d fled from the bedroom as if he’d sprouted horns. Then last night, she had retired early and barricaded her half of the bed with strategically placed pillows. The message was clear: the kiss was a one-time anomaly, a mistake that would not be repeated.

Maybe he should get into another brawl. Something about it must have aroused her, and his political prospects were likely already damaged beyond repair. Maybe a career of street fights was the best he could hope for.

A shadow fell across his desk, and he glanced up to see Catullus, entering without invitation.

The poet’s eyes widened, flitting from Aelius’s face to his bandaged knuckles. “Infernal Dis, it’s true.” He dropped into a chair. “The whole city is talking about it. I thought the gossip had to be an exaggeration.”

Aelius groaned. “How bad is it?”

Catullus hesitated, and Aelius’s stomach dropped.

“Bad,” Catullus finally said. “But there is a bright side.”

Aelius leaned forward. He had hoped Catullus might see some way to get him out of the mess he’d created. “Yes?”

“As much as you’ve damaged your own reputation, Rufus has suffered equally. Because while no one wants to vote for a man who punches his rivals, Rufus crossed a line by insulting a respectable wife.”

“So we’re both doomed,” Aelius muttered.

“It seems that way, yes.”

Aelius sat back in his chair and let out a sigh of defeat. Marrying Crispina was supposed to help him win the election, not destroy his chances. But barely a month into their marriage, everything was ruined.

“You did succeed in making quite the impression,” Catullus said, his tone much too jaunty. “Everyone knows your name now. I even heard some gladiators are going to dress up in white togas and reenact your fight in the arena.”

“Lovely.” Aelius couldn’t hide the bitterness from his voice.

Catullus rose. “I’ll leave you to your wallowing. You know where to find me if I can do anything to help.” He left.

Aelius slumped in his chair. Hopelessness crashed over him like a wave hitting sand. Was he really doomed to another defeat?

A vision tugged at his chest, of being confirmed as consul before the senate ten years from now. Abandoning his goal would leave him with nothing. He thirsted to succeed, to win, to prove himself. He couldn’t let this one disaster break him.

He rose and paced the small study. There had to be a way to fix this. His mind ran back over the conversation with Catullus. The whole city is talking about it…Everyone knows your name now…

Maybe he could turn his ill-gotten notoriety to his advantage. An idea sparked. He turned it over in his mind. It was distasteful, yes, and it would require Crispina’s support, which she might withhold.

But it was all he had. Before he could reason himself out of it, he grabbed a blank piece of papyrus and started writing.

The reply to Aelius’s letter came in the evening. He read it over, then took it into his bedroom. Crispina was already in bed reading, her hair in a thick braid over her shoulder.

“What are you reading?” he asked. Best to get her in a good mood before asking for her help.

“Catullus left some poems for me when he was here earlier.”

Aelius frowned. “I know the sort of filth he writes. He should not be giving that sort of thing to another man’s wife.” Catullus’s penchant for flirtation knew no bounds.

Crispina flipped one piece of papyrus to the back of the sheaf. “It’s not like that. He asked for my help. He knows I have an ear for poetic meter.” Her eyes skimmed over the poem in front of her. “He keeps using dactyls where there should be spondees, and there are extra feet all over the place.” She pursed her lips. “Really, he should be ashamed to call himself a poet.”

None of this made any sense to Aelius, but that didn’t lessen his admiration. Crispina could discuss history, debate politics, and critique poetry. He would have to get Catullus to teach him some basic concepts of poetry so he could hold his own with her in discussion.

He placed the letter on a table. “I have a favor to ask.”

She glanced up from her reading. “Yes?”

He hesitated. This was the first time he would explicitly ask anything of her, and he had a feeling she wasn’t going to like it. And when Crispina didn’t like something, she made her displeasure clear.

“You must know this incident”—he gestured to his bruised face— “has severely damaged my hopes of winning the election.”

She looked away and nodded, her expression inscrutable.

“There is a way to fix things. I have written to Rufus.”

She straightened up. “Why?”

“He knows as well as I do that we have both doomed ourselves. I—”

“This is his fault, not yours,” Crispina snapped. “He was the one spewing insults.”

“I shouldn’t have laid hands on him,” Aelius said. “No matter how much he deserved it.”

Crispina’s lips tightened, but she offered no retort.

“As I was saying, I have written to Rufus. Suggesting we do something to restore both our reputations. Specifically, a mutual public apology. If the whole city is talking about our fight, they’ll be paying attention if we are seen to be civil to each other.”

Crispina returned her gaze to the poetry, her brow furrowing as she considered. He wondered if she would poke apart this proposal as she had his political ideas. But soon, she nodded. “It could work. But what does this have to do with me?”

“Rufus’s insult was against you,” Aelius said. “The people do not take kindly to slandering a respected wife. Thus, I would like you to come with me and allow Rufus to apologize to you.”

She frowned. “Why should I forgive a man who insulted me before the whole city?”

“You don’t have to forgive him,” Aelius said. “Just be seen to accept his apology.”

She glared at him, jaw tense. “I don’t like being made into a spectacle.”

“Neither do I.” He crossed around the bed to stand before her. She gazed up at him, and suddenly he was back in the bathtub, her perfumed scent surrounding him, his hands twined with the silk of her hair.

He cleared his throat. Now was not the time to lose himself in fantasies. “Will you do this for me?”

She glowered down at the poetry for a moment. “Will it help you beat him?”

“I think so.” As things stood now, neither he nor Rufus had any shot at winning one of the ten tribune seats.

“Then yes, I suppose.” She set her jaw, distaste written all over her face. “When is it to happen?”

Relief and surprise mingled at her acquiescence. He had worried she wouldn’t cooperate. After all, accepting an apology from someone who insulted her had not been stipulated in their agreement. “Next week. Once our faces heal and we become more presentable.”

“Good. I’ll need time to practice looking forgiving.” She turned back to her reading, and Aelius undressed for bed.

On the day of the apology, Crispina wore her brightest clothing, a stola of scarlet topped with an orange palla. She loaded her fingers, wrists, and ears with gold jewelry. If she was going to make a spectacle of herself, she might as well give the people something to look at.

Catullus had helped spread rumors around the city that a reconciliation might be forthcoming. People eyed her and Aelius as they walked to the Forum. It was high noon, when the maximum number of people were out and about.

Rufus appeared in the Forum exactly as they’d agreed. He must have had a similar idea as Crispina, looking to draw as much visual attention to himself as possible. Four attendants flanked him, dressed in matching red tunics. Rufus wore a blue tunic edged with gold embroidery. A cluster of gold rings and bracelets adorned his hands and arms. Aelius’s only ornament was the silver wristband that covered his brand.

They approached as if meeting by chance and stood an arm’s length apart. Bruises still shadowed Rufus’s face, more visible on his fair skin than Aelius’s swarthier complexion. Crispina felt a thrill of satisfaction at the sight of his injuries.

“Rufus.” Aelius inclined his head.

People stopped and stared.

“Aelius. Crispina.” Rufus glanced around, as if ascertaining whether enough people had taken notice. He spoke louder than necessary for a private conversation. “How nice it is to see you both. Allow me to be the first to apologize for our disagreement last week. I should not have behaved in such a manner.”

“I believe it is my wife who requires an apology, not me,” Aelius said.

Rufus turned to Crispina. “Lady, my sincerest apologies for any offense I caused you.”

Crispina did not grace him with a smile. “I am sure it will not happen again.”

Aelius nudged her. Crispina’s teeth clenched, but she forced herself to relax. You’re doing this for Aelius. So he can beat this insufferable man. She extended her hand. Rufus took it and bent over it with a light, formal kiss.

“And I must apologize as well,” Aelius said. “I should have settled our disagreement with words rather than fists.” He raised his voice slightly. “After all, we are both working toward the same cause, the good of Rome, and I hope our interactions will be more collegial from this day forward.”

“Indeed.” They nodded to each other once more, and then it was over. Rufus continued on his way, and Aelius took Crispina’s arm and walked through the crowd of people that had assembled. Everyone was staring at them, eyes alight with interest, some whispering behind their hands.

“Did I perform to your satisfaction?” Crispina murmured.

“It might have been more convincing if you had smiled.”

“I don’t smile at men who insult me. No matter if they apologize.” Even the gesture of offering her hand to Rufus rankled. She would sooner have slapped him.

“You’ve never smiled at me, and I’ve never insulted you.”

She glanced at him. “I didn’t know you were keeping track.”

He shrugged. “It’s the sort of thing one notices after a month of marriage.”

“I—” Crispina cut herself off. She’d been about to apologize, but she owed him no apology. She hadn’t done anything wrong. Their marriage wasn’t about affection or companionship, so her lack of smiles shouldn’t matter.

Nevertheless, his observation stung. Was she really so cold that she’d never smiled at him? She didn’t dislike him. She’d been proud of him when he’d debated Rufus in the Forum, before the fight broke out. She’d even kissed him.

She could have allowed herself to soften, assure him she hadn’t meant to be so cold.

But softening would mean opening her heart, and that would make their inevitable divorce more difficult than it had to be. So she tugged her palla around her shoulders, raised her chin, and said nothing.