Page 54

She snorted. “You’ve never lifted a finger for carpentry in your life.”

They shared a brief, companionable silence. It was the first time Safinia had gotten Mettius alone since she came back from Crustumerium. She had to seize this moment, for all that it might distract him from thrashing Hostius. She couldn’t go another day without telling someone her plans.

“I would, though.”

Safinia blinked from her thoughts. “Would what?”

He stopped and tugged her to the mouth of an alleyway. The sound from the forum lessened; muffled, distant merriment bounced and diminished through the dark street. “I would fix your roof,” Mettius said. He turned her to face him, his jaw pulsing as he clenched it.

“You are nervous.”

“Not about wrestling.” He folded his arms. “A bit about wrestling. Saf—I want you to know I’m not the same person I was.”

Safinia paused. Apprehension settled in her shoulders. “Okay.”

“It’s all felt new again. You know—watching Atti and Ane while you were away, and being named champion for the Games—I feel like people look at me differently. They look at me how they used to.” He blew a curl that fell into his eyes. Without thinking, Safinia reached up and brushed it off his face. “You look at me how you used to.”

“What are you even talking about?”

“I know that I let you down, after . . .” He waved a hand indistinctly. “I felt like it ended so fast, us being young—I just wanted you to be normal. For us to drink and get into trouble.”

“For me to forget my responsibility.”

“You know that was never what I wanted.”

“What are you getting at, Mettius?” Safinia asked. Forgotten resentment threatened to crawl back up her spine. “The past is the past.”

What else could she feel, when he lived fifty paces up the ridge? Even when he disappointed her, he was family. Safinia felt oddly like they’d grown up as brothers—certainly it would have been no different if she were a boy.

His fingers traveled down her arm and he gripped her hand. “I want to help you. And the girls. I’d like to protect you, like I used to.”

“I protect myself fine,” Safinia said. She tried to pull away, but he put her hand on his chest and covered it with both of his own. His heart was beating wildly. “Metty—what’s going on?”

“I don’t know what’s going to happen in the next year. But I can give you stability. I can give it to your sisters. My father does well—I’ll do well, if I win tomorrow.”

Safinia attempted a strained laugh. “Next you’ll say you really do want to marry me.”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

Thoughts of Numa, of Rome, of idiotic plans flew from her mind, displaced by shock. “Don’t be absurd.”

“I promise you, I’m not.” He pulled her in at the waist. “It makes sense. Your sisters like me, my father adores you—and they’ll love it in Cures, two rough-and-tumble warriors linking up. Like Marcus and Calliste.”

He had to be insane for invoking them. She began to tremble, and hated herself for it—as if she were nothing more than a quivering, heartsick girl. “My parents married for love. It’d be nothing like us.”

“Marriage isn’t for lovers, it’s for partners. And it’s not as if we’ve never touched.”

“Only as practice.”

“Sure,” he huffed. “Practice. Maybe we don’t love each other the way your parents did, or the way we’ve felt about other people, but isn’t it enough? If anything happened to you, Attice and Anesia would be taken care of.” She could see the strain as he tipped her face up to look at his. “I want purpose. I want to be respected. Let me be your husband—I’m tired of being called cinaedus behind my back.”

Safinia closed her eyes. Overlapping thoughts clamored for attention. He was right—his family was large and respected, with cousins all over Sabinum and Etruria, while the Safinius line had dwindled down to three. If something happened to Safinia, Anesia and Attice would be safe. She would like to think that would be true anyway, but marriage would be insurance.

He wouldn’t feel emasculated if Safinia took lovers—and there was no doubt that he would have plenty of his own to keep him occupied when she was tired of him.

But why marriage? Why not carry on as they always had, helping each other?

Mettius leaned down and kissed her. His lips were warm, familiar—always a little softer than she expected.