Roman Flames

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Return of Sanctius

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Return of Sanctius

Vespera

Marcus—Sanctius—was staring at me. He may have had everyone else fooled, but I knew it was him. Sanctius was back. And yet…I swear I must’ve been drunk, even though I’d had less than one cup. The wine I had been served must’ve not been properly diluted. There was no possibility that he was back. He had left a plebeian; had he come back a patrician? His robes were Damask, his accent had changed so slightly, and he had grown a small beard, but…those were the same eyes I looked at two years ago, the same scars I kissed, the same voice that told me he loved me. And he was staring at me now.

I switched my gaze to Philotheus, who was standing next to me with his arm around my waist, and I wished he would let go. I was sick of pretending that I was happy to be betrothed. I was sick of pretending that I believed in false gods. And one look at Sanctius and all of my feelings came back. My heart was aching, but I had to pretend it wasn’t.

“So, Marcus,” I said. “Do you have a wife?” I asked. Philotheus chuckled.

“My beloved wants to chat with other womenfolk,” he said. I wanted to punch him, a sentiment I felt all too often. Sanctius ignored him.

“I don’t,” he said. “I’ve been busy with…other things.” He glanced at the wine, but then looked back at me.

“No one back in Damascus?” I asked, perhaps being nosier than I should have been.

He looked down and chuckled wryly. His eyebrows rose momentarily as if his feet were incredibly amusing, but then he looked back up at me and shook his head. “No,” he answered. “I figured it would be better for everyone if I didn’t have a wife.”

I laughed softly, trying to keep an air of levity. “You make marriage sound like a life-or-death penalty.”

He shook his head, putting on a smile. “I did not mean it like that, my lady. Simply that relocating a family is harder than relocating one man.”

“Fair enough,” I acquiesced. “Well, know that the family of Vincentius Titus welcomes you to Rome.”

“Vincentius Titus is her father,” Philotheus said quickly.

“I figured,” Sanctius stated.

And so the night went. I wanted so badly to talk to Sanctius. My heart was pounding solely at the prospect that he was back. I hadn’t seen him for such a long time and he had returned. I was convinced that I was drunk, but I didn’t feel like I was.

“Philotheus,” I said. We were no longer with Sanctius but with some of his extortion court friends, including Faust. Faust could sense my uneasiness as I kept looking back at Sanctius, who in turn kept looking back at me. “I think we should start heading back. The party’s almost over anyway, and my head is feeling a little upset.”

“Of course, my flower,” he said, pinching my chin patronizingly. People had begun to leave by the masses—it was most likely now very early morning. “Come along.” He grabbed my wrist and we said goodbye to his friends. He purposely dragged me away from Faust and brought us back to Sanctius, who was with Octavius.

“Are you leaving?” Sanctius asked with concern. I was about to answer, but Philotheus spoke before I could.

“We are. My beloved Vespera is feeling ill.”

“Are you?” Sanctius asked, looking at me with his hazel eyes full of so much concern. I bit my lip.

“Yes,” I lied, and I hoped he could tell I was lying.