Page 8 of The Tribune Temptation (Roman Heirs #1)

T he gold ring laid heavy on Crispina’s finger as she sat at her wedding feast. The party was small. Her parents must have been too embarrassed at her marrying a freedman to invite many people, and Aelius’s social circle was not large. Beside her, Aelius conversed with Catullus on his other side. Gaia sat next to Crispina’s mother, and her father was chatting with Decius. Horatia was too pregnant to attend, as she expected to give birth any day now.

The ceremony had happened at her parents’ house earlier that day. Then, they had journeyed in a procession to Aelius’s home, where the feast had been prepared. She and Aelius spoke only a handful of words to each other throughout the day. It had been like that at her first wedding, too. She’d hardly spoken to Memmius until they were alone in their bedroom for the first time. She had spent her whole wedding day consumed with excitement and nerves, certain she was entering a union that would last until death.

This marriage would not even outlast the three years she’d spent with Memmius, but at least she’d have a measure of freedom at the end of it. Aelius had promised her a property, and she’d never return to her parents’ house in disgrace again.

Gaia, smiling, leaned over to say something to Crispina’s mother. The other woman ignored her, pivoting her body away and feigning absorption in her husband’s conversation on her other side. Gaia’s smile faded.

A sudden swell of rage tightened Crispina’s throat. How dare her mother snub Gaia, especially as a guest under Gaia’s roof? Crispina rose and came around the table. She lowered herself onto the couch where Gaia sat and shot a withering look at her mother, who ignored her.

“Thank you so much for organizing this feast,” Crispina said. “It’s lovely. The food is delicious. You have a very talented cook.”

Gaia’s smile returned. “I was very pleased to do it. And yes, Hector outdid himself in the kitchen. You look so beautiful today, by the way.”

Crispina’s cheeks flushed. “Thank you.” Her own mother had only criticized the wrinkles in her white gown and orange veil. She wore the same clothing from her first wedding, and the woolen garments had spent several years in the bottom of a chest.

“Have you given any more thought to the improvements you suggested to the house?” Gaia asked. “Perhaps you know some artisans to engage?”

“I fear I was rather pushy about that the other day. Really, the house is fine just as it is. It’s your house, and I don’t need to make a disturbance.”

Gaia laid her hand on top of Crispina’s. “It’s our house. You must do as you like. Aelius will only have to approve the expenditures.”

At the mention of her new husband’s name, Crispina glanced at him to find he was no longer conversing with Catullus but gazing at her. He quickly looked away.

Crispina turned back to Gaia, who offered her a fresh serving of duck from the platter in front of them. They continued chatting, and Crispina made a point to lavish attention on her new mother-in-law in front of her own snobbish mother. It wasn’t hard to talk to someone as warm and forthcoming as Gaia, and a flicker of optimism flared. As a wife, Crispina would likely spend more time with Gaia than with Aelius, so it was promising that they could enjoy each other’s company.

As the feast wound down, slaves passed out small bowls of nuts. Crispina shifted uncomfortably. That meant it was near time to retire with her husband. She knew nothing would happen tonight per their agreement, but it was still awkward to go to bed with a man she barely knew. A man she had only married for self-serving reasons. A man she had no intention of forging any attachment with, no matter his charms.

A shadow fell over her, and she looked up to see Aelius, standing behind her couch.

“Are you ready to retire?” he asked.

She nodded. Best to get this over with. He extended a hand, and she allowed him to help her to her feet. Amidst a hail of nuts thrown by the guests and an array of shouted good wishes, they left the dining room.

Shouting and laughter echoed after them from the dining room. Aelius dropped his wife’s hand as soon as they were out of view. They made their way in silence to his bedroom. Our bedroom now .

Aelius closed the door behind them. He cleared his throat. “Thank you for being so attentive to my mother.” Crispina’s parents’ behavior had enraged him, though he’d pretended not to notice. No matter how hard he and his mother worked to raise themselves from their pasts, they would never be good enough for some people. But if he became consul one day, this behavior would cease. No one would dare snub a consul’s mother.

At least Crispina had shown favor to Aelius’s mother in front of everyone. A small gesture, but powerful. It had warmed his heart.

“I should have known my parents would be horrible to her.” Crispina unpinned her red-orange veil and pulled the crown of flowers from her head. She kicked off her leather slippers and stretched her toes with a sigh, which made him smile. The wedding finery didn’t suit her. The colors were too garish; her beauty required only subtle adornment to shine.

Aelius disentangled himself from his toga and laid it over the back of a chair, still wearing the tunic beneath. “How does it feel, being married a second time?” he asked. “Any different? I’m only a first-timer, after all.”

Crispina fiddled to untie the complicated knot in the embroidered sash around her waist. A rueful look passed over her face. “I was na?ve before. This time, I know exactly what we are to each other.” She tugged at the sash, digging her fingers into the knot with a grimace.

“Do you need help?”

She sighed and released the belt. “Perhaps. You can cut it off me if all else fails.”

Aelius approached. A bride’s belt was traditionally tied in a complicated knot that only the husband was supposed to undo, meant as a precursor to consummation. But none of that would be happening tonight.

He had to stand very near to her to take hold of the knot. With his head bent, his face was so close to hers his nose would brush her cheek if she turned. The problem of the knot flew from his mind, replaced by the smooth ivory skin of her neck, the curve of her shoulder, the delicate valley of her collarbone. At this angle, he could see the shadow between her breasts, extending temptingly beneath the neckline of her dress. His mouth went dry.

Focus . He forced himself back to the task at hand and fumbled with the belt. You’re making that blasted knot worse, idiot.

He took a deep breath to steady himself and dropped to his knees, hoping the change in position would help him focus. But that only put his head level with the swell of her breast.

For a moment, he wished he’d taken advantage of Catullus’s offer at the party. Perhaps he wouldn’t be so overcome if he’d lain with a woman last night. But somehow, he knew: he didn’t just want a woman. He wanted Crispina . And she had been painfully clear that what she wanted from this marriage did not extend to his body.

“Just cut it off,” Crispina grumbled. “I’m tired.”

“That’s bad luck.” With effort, Aelius shut out his awareness of her body and focused only on the knot. He managed to loosen it in the right places, and with a few strategic pulls, it came undone.

“Thank you.” Freed, Crispina walked over to a trunk of her belongings which had been delivered earlier. She rifled through it, pulling out a light linen tunic.

Aelius went to the basin and splashed water on his face, hoping to extinguish his lustful imaginings, then got into bed. He usually slept naked, but he didn’t think Crispina would appreciate that tonight, so he left his tunic on.

He eyed her as she unfolded the tunic from her trunk. He wanted to remain respectful, but he also definitely wanted a glimpse of her bare body as she changed.

Crispina must have sensed the dishonorable direction of his thoughts, for she issued a sharp “Close your eyes,” as she shook out the tunic.

He shot her a brief glower, but obeyed. The rustling of fabric followed. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter. His wife was naked, in the same room, and he wasn’t even allowed to look at her.

“You can open them.” Crispina, now clothed in the plain tunic, sat at the dressing table and began to unbraid her hair. Aelius couldn’t look away, and luckily she didn’t command him to this time. It had seemed a crime for her lush, glossy hair to be confined in the six tight braids that all brides wore. Her fingers moved quickly, slipping between the segments to unweave the braids. Her hair had caught his attention from his first brief glimpse of it at the dinner party beneath her modest palla. Now, he watched as the braids unraveled into an abundance of dark curls falling halfway down her back, a mesmerizing sight. He could have watched her all day.

Finally, she left the dressing table and climbed into bed next to him. She pulled the covers up to her chin and rolled over, facing away from him. “Blow out the lamp.”

He reached for the lamp on the bedside table and extinguished it. Darkness engulfed the room. He stretched out in bed, and waited for sleep to come. The sound of her breathing, light and rhythmic, filled his ears.

Somehow, he was married. To a senator’s daughter, no less. That was the part he was supposed to care about, the part that should win him the election. But at this moment, lying in bed with her after their wedding, it wasn’t the senator’s daughter who occupied his thoughts. Instead, it was the erudite, prickly, beautiful woman with glossy hair and an elusive, possibly mythical, smile. Somehow, that woman had just become his wife.