42. Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Two

M arcus Fabius Varro

Laura thinks I’m asleep. Perhaps that’s because I’m keeping my breaths soft and measured. I don’t want to change a thing, because if she knew I was awake, she’d never touch me this way… or talk to me like this.

Moments ago, my mind was whirling, getting mired in the deepest emotions a human can endure. I watched some of my most dangerous bouts in the arena and fondly wondered what might have happened if I’d lost each match instead of won. If I’d died on the sands so I was never forced onto the Fortuna , and never suspended in ice for two thousand years.

For a moment, I wondered what would happen if I mashed on Jenny’s long pedal and crashed into a tree and put myself out of my misery. But I can’t do that. Laura wouldn’t make it a month on this fucking island without me.

But now, with her warm little body hugging me tight, with her plush breasts pressed against my back, with her soft, lovely, whispered words wafting at my ear, I want to live.

Though I’d like to stay like this forever, I doze for a while. Perhaps Laura fell asleep too. When her hand slides softly through my hair again and I know she’s awake, I decide it’s time to talk to her. Really talk.

I’ve already let her see my weakness, and this position is perfect; she can’t see my face. There will be no better time to expose more of my vulnerabilities, give her more ammunition with which she can decimate me with her words if she wants. So I grip the hand that’s tucking me close, and thread my fingers through hers.

Though I’ve told her the basics of my life, once snapping it at her during an argument, I tell her more. I’ve painted her lovely pictures of my home and vineyards in Hispania. Now, I tell her about the day the Legion marched through my village, setting fire to our homes and crops. The centurions barked orders as the auxiliaries rounded us up like cattle, then killed the rest of my family.

Did I really think she would use this information to spit back at me? Perhaps it was a test, which she passes the moment she silently kisses my back, giving me freedom to tell my truth in my own time, in my own way.

Although when I speak to Laura, I pretend optimism about leaving this island, I fully believe we’ll both die here. I want this person I’ll spend the rest of my days with to know who I really am, so I tell her about Centurion Servius plucking me from among the other boys and men and placing me in front of him on his horse as we rode over the Pyrenees. How every night I expected him to take me against my will as we shared a blanket.

I spare no details as I tell her about Gracchus, nor do I shy away from admitting to killing the two guards at the dinner party. On and on I vomit the facts of my life, from the smell of the gladiator barracks to the way I learned not to feel anything when I cut down another gladiator in the prime of their life.

My monologue is only interrupted by Laura’s steady stream of kisses and her soft fingers furrowing through my hair. She didn’t mention my tears, so I repay her by not mentioning when hers slide onto my back.

“A slave does not refuse his Dominus or Domina anything.” I’ve already made that clear. “Although I’ve had many owners, when a Domina called me to her rooms, I obeyed, as I did when she ordered me to pleasure her. I also obeyed each Dominus, even when the last one ordered me onto the Fortuna to fight with other slaves in a new arena in Britannia.”

The sun has set. Our dozing and talking—and my weeping—has taken all day. I haven’t let Laura glimpse my face since I saw the picture of the Colosseum. At some point, I’ll have to let her see me, and when I gaze into her eyes, I’ll be able to assess the damage I’ve done with my honesty.

She tugs gently at my shoulder. “Can you turn around, Marcus Fabius Varro? Can we speak face to face?”

I comply, wanting to get this over with. But instead of seeing her disapproval, her eyes are bright with… affection.

“You’re a gift.” Her voice is heartfelt, her gaze unflinching as it tethers to mine.

She started this conversation with the same words.

“Perhaps someday you’ll tell me how you think you survived all those years frozen in that block of ice. Not today, though. But I’ll tell you this. By whatever stroke of fate or by the hand of whatever God, I am so lucky to have met you.”

I keep my eyes hooded. Though I’ve known her for months, I still don’t know how much I can trust her because I know how ambitious she is. Perhaps she’s lucky to know me because if we get rescued, she can use my mere existence to earn the accolades she’s dreamed of since she was a child.

“You are a good man, Varro. Those are rare.” Her palms press my cheeks with such care it’s as though I’m made of costly, breakable glass. “I am so, so lucky that you trusted me with your truth. It must have cost you a lot to show me what you consider your weakness, but know this, Marcus Fabius Varro, the very things you think of as your weaknesses are actually your strengths. ”

I consider her words and how clever she was to find a way to twist things in my head, to help me see my vulnerabilities as something to be admired.

“You are so strong, Varro.” The moment hangs between us, so ripe, so full of unspoken words that it’s as though time has stopped. Her gaze dips to my lips the moment mine is drawn to hers. I learned my lesson, though. I will never be the one to initiate touch with this fine woman. She’s made that perfectly clear.

“Are you hungry, gladiator?” Her tone is different than the soothing croon she’s used all day. Now she’s all business.

“No. Still sleepy.”

“Funny how emotions can be more exhausting than running a marathon, isn’t it?” She kisses my forehead then turns on her side as she says, “Would you be the big spoon to my little spoon tonight?”

It takes me a moment to discover what she means, but when I do, I scoot close and pull her tight. Everything feels different inside my mind, like those wooden puzzles when everything falls into place at once.

I go to sleep with her murmured “sweetheart” echoing in my mind.