28. Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Eight

M arcus Fabius Varro

I wake before Laura and grab us both one of the dwindling supply of tasteless bars from the main tent. After using the latrinae, I return to our tent to toss her the ration.

She’s told me she’s “not a morning person,” so she groans as usual and makes grumbling noises as she sits up in her sleeping bag. She’s pretty, and it’s hard not to recall how good our kiss felt last night. I’m not exactly sure why she shut things down, but I wouldn’t mind sheathing myself inside her if she changes her mind.

After ripping her wrapper open and devouring a bite as though she hasn’t eaten in days, she says, “sit,” as she uses what’s left of the bar to point to the camp chair tucked up to her small desk.

My ass barely touches the seat before she says, “We need to talk.” Her pretty lips are pursed, her brows lowered. By the look of things, this isn’t going to be a fun conversation.

“Um… last night…”

Perhaps she is a virgin; she’s being indirect, shy. Is she talking about our dancing? The kiss? “What about it? ”

She looks heavenward, a clear sign of her impatience.

“You…” Her mouth is working, but no sound comes out. Finally, “ Perdere semen .”

Wasting semen. She’s talking about me stroking myself last night. “Yes?”

“That’s inappropriate.”

Anger, red and hot, flies through me. She has told me several times she doesn’t own me, that I’m no longer a slave. How dare she tell me what I can and cannot do with my own body?

“You have no right to control me!” I jump to my feet and glower at her. Should I remind her that she aroused me? That I went to bed wanting?

She breathes deeply, her hands up to placate me. “That came out wrong. I shouldn’t have said that. Let me start over. It’s not considered polite.”

Scrubbing my hand over my mouth, I try to understand.

“Was it the act itself? That I didn’t invite you to join me, though you made it clear you weren’t interested? Was it how I disposed of the… semen?”

“I was embarrassed, uncomfortable.”

We’ve continued the game we started shortly after we met, sharing information about our different cultures. I’m trying to make sense of things from her point of view, but need more information.

“I grew up in a cottage about the size of the one we discovered yesterday. Very similar. One room. My parents’ activities were under the blankets, but I wasn’t deaf. I heard them.”

Her head is tipped in question as though she still doesn’t understand.

“A gladiator barracks, with ten, maybe twenty men crammed together, men who’ve fought hard all day and have little entertainment. The sound of men taking pleasure with their hands was the music I went to sleep by for decades. Not nearly as pretty as ‘Claire de Lune’.”

Her awareness dawns as her mouth pops open to a little O.

“I’ve been taken as well as been forced to take others in front of an audience since I was twelve. I don’t understand embarrassment.”

“Oh. Sorry. I… thought you were being extremely rude. Disrespectful.”

“No. For me, this is normal behavior. But although I don’t understand your emotions, Laura, I honor them. I will not do it in front of you again if that is your wish.”

“You’re a good man, Varro.”

This astounds me. I thought she was angry.

“We’re from two different worlds, but we’re both trying.” She heaves out a relieved sigh. “This is going to work.” She’s nodding, as though the more weight she gives her statement, the more likely it is to be true.

Her wide smile is like a ray of sunshine on a dark winter’s day, making me realize this relationship is unlike any other I’ve had. Even Decimus, my protector and lover of five years in my first ludus , never talked with me like this, never shared or spoke of feelings, never wanted much more than the solace of being filled and a body to touch during lonely nights.

I like the connection Laura and I are forging.

Then it strikes me. She just said, “This is going to work,” but what, I wonder, is “this”?