Page 19 of The Tribune Temptation (Roman Heirs #1)

A elius stared at the dinner laid out before him on Catullus’s dining table. He hadn’t known where else to go but Catullus’s house, and his friend had welcomed him immediately.

Catullus listened with the appropriate shock at the story of what Crispina had done. Aelius rubbed his temples when he finished the tale. What was she thinking, bringing that boy home? It was inconceivable. The child could rob them all blind. He’d already destroyed one expensive vase.

“What do I do?” Aelius asked, a question for himself as much as for Catullus.

Catullus delicately picked a fish bone from the filet before him. “Either the child stays, or he leaves. If he leaves, Crispina made it clear she would leave as well. And I don’t think you want to risk that sort of scandal.”

“Having the child stay attracts gossip on its own,” Aelius countered.

“You keep claiming that is the reason why you are so averse to the child, but I wonder…” Catullus gave him an intense, searching stare. “I have never known you to become this perturbed by something.”

Aelius glanced away. Catullus’s gaze was like a too-scratchy tunic. He wanted to shrug it off and escape from it.

“I think you are jealous of the boy,” Catullus murmured into his wine cup.

Aelius barked a laugh. “Jealous! How do you figure?”

“Firstly, I imagine there is some jealousy at the attentions of your wife. Crispina has put someone else over you, after all. She threatens to leave you if you do not let the boy stay.”

Her ultimatum had rankled, it was true, especially as they had just started to grow close to each other. But Aelius kept silent, unwilling to admit there might be a seed of truth in what Catullus said.

“Secondly, I presume, based on your history, you would envy a young boy who has been plucked from hardship and disadvantage, carried into a life of privilege and luxury. A life that could erase his humble origins. Why him and not you?”

Aelius took a sharp breath. His hand went to his silver wristband. Suddenly, the unreasonable frustration that filled him when he looked at Max made sense.

“So was I right?” Catullus asked.

“Maybe,” Aelius muttered. This was one of those uncanny insights that must make Catullus such a good poet. Regret filled him at the harsh words he’d spewed at his wife. “I suppose I should go apologize to Crispina.”

“Grovel a bit,” Catullus advised. “You know she appreciates a good grovel.”

Aelius groaned and rose to his feet. “Thank you for dinner.”

“Good luck. If she’s barred the door, you can sleep here.”

Aelius grimaced and left.

He returned home before full darkness had fallen and went to the dining room first. It was empty but for Cassandra clearing away the dinner plates. Her belly was now clearly round with child. She nodded to him when he poked his head into the room. “Good evening, sir.”

“Have they gone to bed?”

“I believe they are putting the boy to bed in one of the spare bedrooms, sir.” Her nose wrinkled. The whole household must be wondering what their mistress was thinking, bringing home a child off the streets.

“Thank you.” He left. At the other end of the hall, light spilled from a door left ajar, and his mother’s voice sounded from within. Aelius approached. He lurked outside, not sure if his intrusion would be welcomed. The sliver of open door revealed the boy sitting in bed, pillows mounded behind his head. Gaia fussed over him, straightening the blankets and plumping the pillows. A shadow moved beyond his view, which must be Crispina, standing off to the side.

“Now, are you comfortable?” Gaia asked.

Max nodded, then yawned. Gaia smiled, patting his hair. “You’ve had a long day, haven’t you? Good night, my dear.” She leaned down and kissed his forehead.

Jealousy twisted inside Aelius, and he had to look away. He retreated to his own bedroom. He was being ridiculous. There was no sense in being jealous of a child, even if Aelius had never had such a nice bedroom as a child and had been relegated to sleeping on a pallet beneath a kitchen table.

He was not that child anymore. He had a home all his own, a name, a family. A future that was his to mold. He had achieved a great deal, and he could afford to give a little to a child in need.

Crispina entered the bedroom a moment later. She drew to a halt when her gaze found him. “You’re back.” Her voice was wary, uncertain.

“I dined with Catullus. How is the boy?”

“Nearly ate us out of house and home. He will sleep well tonight.” She hesitated. “He is sorry for breaking the vase.”

“I don’t care about the vase.” He crossed the room to take her hands. “Crispina, I’m sorry for how I acted. I was rude, and selfish, and wrong. The boy will stay, for as long as you wish him to.” He wanted to ask what that meant—a week, a month, longer?—but held off.

Her features softened, her fingers twining with his. “What led to this change of heart?”

“Catullus,” he admitted. “He pointed out that I may have been acting so horribly out of jealousy.”

“Jealousy? Of a homeless child abandoned by his family?”

His armband felt heavy on his wrist. “Of a child lifted from hardship and offered all these comforts.”

Chagrin flickered across her face. “I’m sorry. I know I came on too strong, I should have thought…"

“You did exactly as you should have.” He pulled her against him. The warmth of her body soothed the last traces of his bad temper. “I didn’t like fighting with you.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder. “Nor I you.”

“I suppose I owe the boy—Max—an apology as well.”

She nodded. “But that can wait until tomorrow.” She tilted her face up. His arms tightened around her, and he closed his eyes as his mouth met hers.

Crispina woke with Aelius’s naked body curled around hers, as had become their routine of late. She smiled and relaxed into his warmth.

But something was not routine. It itched at her for a moment until she remembered. She jolted upright, the movement jerking Aelius awake. The boy. Max. Here.

Would he have woken already? What did children do in the mornings? He would need to be fed, she was fairly certain of that. She swung her legs out of bed and fetched a dress from her wardrobe.

Aelius stirred with a groan. “It’s early.”

“I want to check on Max.” She threw the dress on and brushed her hair, yanking the comb through the tangles that had arisen overnight.

His eyes opened fully. “I’ll come with you. I should introduce myself properly to our guest.”

Her chest warmed with gratitude that he now accepted Max’s presence. She knew they needed to have another conversation about what the future held: would Max stay permanently? Would they try to find his family? What happened when they divorced? But for now, this was enough.

They went to the door of the spare bedroom. Crispina knocked gently. “Max? Are you awake?”

No response. She pushed the door open gently. “Max?”

The room was empty, the covers on the bed rumpled. She drew in a sharp breath. “Where is he?” Had he run away, disappeared somewhere? Her heart sped up. He had seemed fine last night, but she would never forgive herself if her fight with Aelius had scared the boy into thinking he was not welcome.

“Perhaps he woke early and went to the kitchen to find some food.” Aelius started down the corridor, then paused in front of the door to his mother’s room. He tipped his ear to the door, then beckoned Crispina closer.

She joined him. From inside Gaia’s room, she heard Gaia’s laugh mixed with the sound of Max chattering about something to do with horses. Relief flowed through her.

She tapped on the door. “Gaia? It’s Crispina and Aelius. We were looking for Max.”

“Come in,” Gaia called. “He’s here.”

Crispina eased open the door. Gaia was sitting up in bed with Max beside her. “I hope he’s not bothering you.”

“Not at all. Apparently our guest is afraid of the dark and found it more comfortable to spend the night with me than alone.”

“Oh.” It hadn’t even occurred to her that he might be afraid of the dark. She should have asked, or offered to leave a lamp lit. She really was ill-suited to taking care of a child. But perhaps this was just one more thing for her to learn. “Well, thank you. Max, are you hungry?”

“Starved.” He gave her an accusatory look, as if she hadn’t fed him triple helpings of dinner last night.

“Come along, then. We can see to breakfast.”

Max hopped off the bed and sprinted to the room’s threshold, but stopped short when he caught sight of Aelius in the corridor. He stared up at Aelius warily, hugging his arms around his thin body.

Aelius crouched down to put his face level with Max’s, speaking in that smooth voice that never failed to win people over. “I wanted to introduce myself properly, Max. I’m Aelius, Crispina’s husband. I’m very sorry for our argument yesterday. I should have welcomed you into our home straightaway.”

Max narrowed his eyes. “I ain’t afraid of you.”

“Am not,” Crispina said through a smile.

“Good,” Aelius said. “I’m not afraid of you either, but perhaps I would be if I were an antique vase.” He leaned toward Max, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I am afraid of her, though.” His chin jerked toward Crispina. “Just a bit. So you must do exactly as she says when she is looking after you. Or else you may find yourself turned into a frog.”

Crispina put her hands on her hips. “Please don’t put ideas in his head.”

Max surveyed her. “She ain’t scary. When she—”

“Isn’t,” Crispina corrected firmly, cutting off the rest of Max’s words. She was afraid he was going to forget his promise from yesterday and mention something about her lessons. “Come along. Breakfast awaits.” She held out a hand.

Max eyed her hand for a long moment, then took it. “I wouldn’t mind being a frog. Just so you know.”

Crispina cast a dry glance back at a grinning Aelius. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

By the end of her first day with Max, Crispina wanted only to sink into a large tub of hot water in a dark, silent room.

“Are all children like this?” she asked Gaia as Max cavorted around the atrium, chasing a leather ball.

Gaia smiled indulgently. “He is rather energetic, isn’t he?”

They had removed everything breakable from the near vicinity, but Max had still managed to topple a stone planter, spilling dirt onto the tile floor. Even with Gaia’s help, it seemed a Herculean task to come up with enough activities to occupy the child for the day. Children, it seemed, couldn’t be left to their own devices. They had to be entertained, and it was exhausting.

They had set him to shelling peas in the kitchen for a while, turning it into a challenge to see who could shell the most in the shortest time. After that, Crispina had managed to get him to sit still for half an hour for another reading lesson, but he seemed more interested in scraping all the wax off the tablet than reading the letters she scratched out for him.

There had been a brief moment of quiet after lunch when he had been content to sit and watch Gaia weave, but soon he’d regained his energy and challenged himself to see if he could throw the ball far enough to land on the other side of the atrium pool. That activity was what had topped the planter.

He needed other children to play with. Unfortunately, none of the slaves had children. Crispina planned to visit Horatia tomorrow and ask her if she would allow Max to visit Paullus, as the boys were close enough to the same age.

A noise sounded from the front door, and Aelius emerged into the atrium toting an oddly-shaped bag over his shoulder. “Hello, ladies.” He greeted Crispina with a kiss and smiled at Gaia. “I’ve brought gifts for our young guest.” He waved Max over and set down his bag.

Max approached, clutching the ball in both hands. His eyes widened as Aelius removed four wooden ships from the bag, each a different size and shape. They even had sails of fine white linen.

Aelius laid them out in a row. “I thought we could try to sail them on the pool. Which do you like best?”

Max immediately jumped toward the biggest, a red-painted naval trireme with two sails. Aelius selected a smaller vessel modeled after a pleasure yacht one might sail at Baiae. “Shall we try them?”

Crispina retreated to the other side of the pool, leaning against a column to watch them. Gaia disappeared to check on dinner, and likely to steal some quiet time. Crispina could have done the same, but she couldn’t stop smiling at the sight of Aelius and Max.

They launched all four boats into the pool. One sprang a leak and sank immediately. Another became overbalanced by its mast and toppled over. Aelius’s pleasure yacht and Max’s trireme remained afloat. Max jumped up and down in excitement. He leaned forward, blowing air into the sails to send the boat halfway across the pool.

Aelius’s yacht soon overtook the trireme, by virtue of Aelius’s larger lungs. Max stuck his arms into the water and stirred up waves. Crispina wasn’t sure if he was trying to sink Aelius’s boat or induce his own to travel faster.

But the boats were stuck in the middle of the pool, too far away for the sails to work. Max’s shoulders slumped. “They’re stuck!” he complained.

Aelius nudged him. “All is not lost.” He gave Crispina a significant look. “I sense the presence of a sea goddess who may take mercy on our vessels.”

Crispina rolled her eyes but approached the pool from the opposite side. The boats had drifted a bit, so if she knelt and stretched as far as she could, her fingertips could brush each. She arched an eyebrow at Aelius, then flicked the sail of his yacht, causing the boat to capsize.

Aelius let out an outraged shout. “That’s not fair!”

Crispina shrugged. She hooked a finger onto the edge of Max’s boat and drew it gently toward her. “The goddess is fickle.”

Max let out a gleeful shout as his boat bumped against the other side of the pool. “I won!” He raced around the pool to retrieve his dripping boat from the water, holding it reverently.

“Through treachery,” Aelius grumbled.

“I’m sure the goddess will be on your side another time,” Crispina said. “Max, go put that in your room before dinner.”

As soon as Max vanished, Aelius wrapped a firm arm around Crispina’s waist, drawing her close. “I rather like my fickle goddess.”

Heat rushed through her at his embrace. “Perhaps she will not be so capricious if worshipped properly.”

“Mm.” He lowered his head to brush her cheek with his lips. “I am prepared to worship. And make a very large offering.” His hand squeezed her bottom, sparking another jolt of desire that tightened in her core.

She wanted nothing more than to abandon dinner and retreat to their bedroom, but Max reappeared. Aelius jumped away from her, affecting a casual posture.

Max frowned at her. “You’re all red.”

“That’s very rude,” Crispina said, hoping the sharpness in her voice would hide her embarrassment. “Run along to dinner.”

He trotted toward the dining room. Crispina turned to shoot Aelius an apologetic smile, then followed.