Page 31 of The Tribune Temptation (Roman Heirs #1)
A elius gazed at Max, who was stuffing his face with a plate of poached pears across the dining table. Fondness swelled in his chest. As of an hour ago, Max was legally Aelius’s son and heir. They had visited a praetor to make the adoption official, then met Gaia at a temple to sacrifice a brace of doves in honor of the occasion. On the way to the temple, Aelius had bought Max his favorite treat, savillum. Max had devoured an entire one by himself but somehow still had room to inhale the contents of the celebratory lunch at home.
Catullus was the only one in attendance besides family. He was as jovial as always, joking with Max and unashamedly flirting with Aelius’s mother. His presence was welcome, but it didn’t fill the emptiness Aelius felt on the dining couch beside him.
Crispina should be here . He had thought of her often this past week. He missed her with a keen ache. Anger still filled him when he remembered what she had done, how she had lied to him, and he couldn’t yet forgive her. But by the gods, he longed to see her. To spark one of her rare smiles, to see how she cared for Max, stern and tender at the same time. And especially to hold her, squeeze her, feel her shudder against him as he…
He tried to snap himself out of it. Dwelling on the past would do no good. As of today, he had a new future to build in Max.
Max lifted a dish of fried octopus and offered it politely to Gaia—too politely. “More octopus, grandmother?” His mouth curved in a sly grin. He had been good-naturedly tormenting Gaia with her new title since they returned, once he realized how much it annoyed her.
Gaia smacked him with her folded napkin. “Maximus Herminius, you call me that one more time and I will send you to bed right this instant!”
Catullus burst out in full-throated laughter. “I never thought the day would come when I would gladly fall at the feet of someone’s grandmother, if she would have me.”
“Don’t test me, Catullus,” Gaia said. “I will not hesitate to send you to bed too.”
Catullus grinned wolfishly. “Believe me, I would relish it.”
Aelius threw an olive at him. “Please let us change the subject.” He turned to his mother. “You’ll be happy to know I’ve confirmed the availability of a country villa. All that remains is to decide when we leave. I feel I should stay in town at least through the election. How about the day after? Will that give you enough time to pack up the house?”
“That’s only a week away,” Gaia said with a frown.
“With respect,” Catullus said, “don’t you think you should see how the election turns out before you make plans to leave?”
“The outcome is all but certain,” Aelius said. “Will you pay us a visit in the country, Catullus?”
Catullus snorted. “Fat chance. You forget I was born a rustic. I’ve had enough of trees and horse dung. Escaped to Rome the first chance I got.”
Aelius hardly thought Catullus’s sprawling family estate on Lake Benacus qualified as “rustic,” but he kept that observation to himself.
“Do I still get a horse?” Max piped up.
“That sounds rather dangerous,” Gaia said. “You could fall and break your neck, or get trampled.”
Max glowered. “I would never fall.”
An argument ensued over the relative safety of horseback riding. As Gaia and Max bickered, Catullus leaned over to speak quietly in Aelius’s ear. “Do as you like, but you might find that it behooves you not to count your chickens before they hatch, as Aesop says.” He gave Aelius a glance laden with some unknown significance, then turned away to take a swig of wine, leaving Aelius to contemplate what he meant.
Aelius sifted through the piles of papers, scrolls, and wax tablets in his study, trying to achieve a semblance of organization so he could pack everything into the chest sitting open on his desk.
He glanced over the tablets, using the flat end of a stylus to rub away the writing on anything he didn’t need to preserve.
One tablet, covered in a few lines of neat handwriting, caught his attention. It was the letter Crispina had written in response to his apology for his awkward behavior at their first meeting. He ran a gentle thumb over the delicate writing, feeling the ridges and indentations of the wax. He’d forgotten he saved this. He thought back to those early days, when he’d been scheming to win her hand because he thought her family’s clout would give him an advantage in the election. How wrong he’d been.
He picked up a stylus and rubbed away the words, returning the wax to a smooth, blank surface. He left her name for last, but eventually it, too, disappeared from the thin layer of wax. Soon, all reminders of her would be similarly erased from his life. He needed a fresh start, a new home that wasn’t filled to the brim with ghosts of their life together.
He stacked the tablets in the bottom of the empty chest, then loaded in some carefully sealed inkwells and a handful of styluses and reed pens. He reached for a pile of papers, but a noise from elsewhere in the house caught his attention.
“Aelius?” his mother called, sounding alarmed.
Aelius lurched to his feet and hurried from the study. He found his mother standing in the atrium with Malchio. Malchio hefted a basket filled with eggs and vegetables, clearly just returned from the market.
“What is it?” Aelius asked.
Gaia nodded to Malchio. “Tell him what you overheard at the market.”
“I don’t know if it means anything, sir, but I thought…if you didn’t already know…”
“Yes?” Aelius was impatient to hear whatever had caused his mother’s consternation, but he tried to keep his tone mild.
Malchio took a deep breath. “People were talking about how a man named Epidius Verus has dropped out of the tribune election, sir.”
Aelius blinked. “That can’t be right.”
“I’m only telling you what I heard, sir,” Malchio said.
“Of course. Thank you for the information.”
Malchio bowed his head and hurried off to the kitchen with his basket.
Aelius paced in a tight circle, running over this new piece of information in his mind. Epidius Verus dropped out. But why?
Gaia watched him, chewing her lip. “What does this mean?” she asked quietly.
“It doesn’t make sense,” he muttered. “Why would Verus drop out? He was almost certain to win a spot.”
“No matter his reasons, it has happened,” she said. “What does it mean for you?”
Aelius swallowed hard. “It means…I could win.” Voicing the possibility aloud made his stomach lurch. A flood of excitement rushed through him. He paced even faster, traversing the width of the atrium in short, frantic strides. “With Verus out, all of those voters will have to find another candidate to give their vote to. And if enough people give it to me…”
“You would win,” she whispered.
“I might.” His voice was unsteady. Was it possible? Surely not. But numbers were numbers, and if everyone who planned to vote for Verus had to cast their tenth vote for someone else… “I’m sorry, Mama, I know this isn’t what you wanted.”
She crossed to him and grasped his hands. “No, my love. I want everything for you. You deserve every bit of happiness this world can give you. I only tried to steer you away from politics because I feared it would hurt you, and it has, but I know you are strong enough to overcome it.” She brought his face down to hers and kissed him on the forehead. “You will win, and you will make me so proud.”
Aelius retreated to his study, his mind whirling. He stared at the half-filled chest atop his desk. Already, the idea of an estate in the country seemed so far away. The news of Verus’s withdrawal reignited every ounce of hope that had been crushed by Crispina’s betrayal.
Crispina . Had she heard the news? Did she realize what it could mean?
An uncomfortable realization struck him. If he won, he’d be expected to host a celebratory banquet the day after the election. It would look extremely odd if Crispina was not by his side.
He dug a blank tablet out of the box he’d been packing and stared at it for several moments. Finally, he touched the tip of a stylus to the surface and wrote.
Aelius Herminius to Crispina:
As you may have heard, it seems my fortunes have shifted. Another candidate, Epidius Verus, has withdrawn from the race. Nothing is certain, but should I prove victorious, I will host a celebratory meal the day after the election. It will look strange if you do not attend. I hope you will oblige me.
He closed the tablet. The thought of seeing Crispina again added to the jangle of nerves in his stomach. If he won the election, would they still divorce? A divorce would reflect poorly on him, but he wasn’t sure he could trust or forgive her. Maybe the best they could hope for was a cordial, passionless marriage for the sake of appearances. The thought gave him no joy, but it might be the best he could hope for.