59. Chapter Fifty-Nine

Chapter Fifty-Nine

W eeks Later…

Marcus Fabius Varro

The hum of the airplane engine vibrates through my body as I stare out the small window, marveling at the patchwork of land and water far below. Even after weeks in this new world, experiencing a thousand new things, both large and small, the miracle of flight qualifies as the most spectacular.

I smile quietly to myself as I imagine what might happen if this entire plane went back in time and landed in the Colosseum. Would it entertain the masses as much as witnessing the slaughter of innocent people and animals? In many ways, I’m glad that’s not my life anymore.

Pulling my thoughts to the present, I wonder how Laura’s family will accept me. How long will it take for me to give myself away and inadvertently spill my secret because I don’t know how to do something as common as turn on the television? Even though I’ve learned how to do that, what other obstacles might I face that a child of this age can easily navigate, but I can’t?

Laura’s hand squeezes mine, pulling me from my circling thoughts .

“How are you holding up?” Her eyes search mine for any sign of distress.

I manage a smile, hoping it masks my nerves. “I’m fine. Just… thinking about meeting your family.”

She leans in, her voice low. “They’re going to love you, Varro. Don’t worry.”

As we begin our descent into what Laura calls “Missouri,” my stomach churns with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. The forged papers in my pocket feel like a heavy weight, a reminder of the secrets we carry.

The airport is a whirlwind of noise and activity, but Laura navigates it with ease, guiding me through the crowds. And then, suddenly, we’re through the gates, and I hear a cry of joy.

“Laura!”

A group of people rushes toward us—Laura’s family. Her mother reaches us first, enveloping Laura in a tight embrace. Her father isn’t far behind, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.

I hang back, uncertain, until Laura reaches for my hand. “Mom, Dad, this is Varro. Thanks for saying he’s welcome to stay with you.”

Laura’s mother turns to me, her smile warm and welcoming. “Varro! We’re so glad to meet you. I don’t know why Laura’s been so tight-lipped. It looks like she’s got nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Mom!” Laura’s embarrassed squeal is met with a hug as her mother sputters a half-hearted apology then challenges with, “But he’s so handsome! ”

Before I know it, she’s hugging me. The warmth of their welcome washes over me, easing some of my worries.

The drive to their home is filled with chatter as Laura catches up with her family. I listen as I try to take in every detail of this new world. The traffic is crushed together, so crowded we don’t go nearly as fast as on the boat. Then, as the city gives way to the suburbium, the pace slows and the buildings become shorter. Finally, we’re in rolling hills with lots of trees and grass. It almost reminds me of Hispania.

At the house, more family members await. Laura’s siblings, their spouses, nieces, and nephews all greet us with enthusiasm. It’s overwhelming, but in the best possible way.

As we sit down to what Laura predicted would be a welcome home feast, I’m struck by the easy camaraderie, the laughter, and the love that fills the room. It’s been so long since I’ve experienced anything like this—not since before the Roman Legion destroyed my life.

Throughout the meal, Laura and I field questions about how we met, carefully skirting the truth. But as the evening wears on, I can see the weight of our deception weighing on Laura.

Back in Norway, we had discussed whether we should tell her family the truth, even going so far as making a list of positives and negatives. Finally, we left it up to Laura to decide when the time was right.

I lean close and whisper, “I can see you’re bursting to reveal our secret. I would feel more comfortable, too, if we didn’t have to lie to your family.”

Her shoulders sag with relief as she flashes me a thankful smile. As we’re finishing dessert, Laura clears her throat. “Actually, there’s something we need to tell you.”

The room falls quiet, all eyes turning to us.

“Varro isn’t just someone I met overseas,” she begins, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hand. “He’s…” She stops speaking and quits moving altogether as though she’s a stone statue. Finally, she shakes her head and says, “I don’t know how to say this.”

“Just blurt it out!” her sister, Jewel, says. “When’s the date?”

Date ?

“You think I’m announcing my engagement?” Laura’s eyes widen in surprise.

“Well, duh! You can’t keep your hands off each other. Or are you pregnant?” That last part is said with disapproval. Laura had told me that is frowned upon in her religion.

“We’re not getting married and I’m not pregnant. It’s hard to believe.…”

“Spit it out, sis!”

“I need to tell you Varro is from the past. Ancient Rome, to be precise.”

For a moment, there’s stunned silence. Then Laura’s younger brother bursts out laughing. “Good one, sis! You really had us going there for a minute.”

“A minute ,” her dad scoffs, “how about a second? Your sister’s been serious and studious since grade school, not one for absurd flights of fancy.”

Her father certainly knows her well, but when Laura doesn’t laugh, it captures the family’s attention. She launches into our story—the Fortuna , the ice, my awakening.

She peppers the story with so much detail, it would be hard not to believe it if it weren’t so bizarre. Their gazes flit to me from time to time, noting I have the same serious expression on my face as Laura carries on hers. The disbelief on their faces slowly gives way to wonder.

“It’s true,” I add softly when she finishes. “I know it sounds impossible, but…”

Laura’s father leans forward, his eyes searching mine. “You’re really from ancient Rome?”

I nod, bracing myself for rejection.

Instead, he breaks into a wide grin. “Well, I’ll be damned. That’ s… that’s incredible!”

Suddenly, the room erupts in excited chatter. Questions fly from all directions about my life, about Rome, and about how I’m adjusting to the modern world.

Laura’s mother reaches across the table, taking my hand in hers. “Varro.” Her voice is thick with emotion, “I can’t imagine how difficult this must be for you. Laura’s never brought a beau home before. She must think you’re more than special. That makes you family now. We’re here for you, no matter what.”

A lump forms in my throat, emotions I’ve kept buried for so long threaten to overwhelm me. “Thank you,” I manage to choke out. “You have no idea how much that means to me.”

“Varro’s existence is amazing.” Jewel flashes me a wide smile. “But tell us the most important part! What happened to the gold? ”

“The lengths we went to in order to keep things under wraps was a bit of cops and robbers.” Laura is so expressive as she tells this part of our story, her voice low and compelling. “Before we left Norway, we secured a private vault in one of Oslo’s most reputable banks.”

“Was it like in the movies?” Laura’s mom asked, her voice filled with excitement. “The staff brown-nosing you both? I would have liked to see that.”

“All very posh. They treat you very differently when you have a thousand pounds of gold than when you open a checking account.”

The family laughs.

“The bank manager assured us of their utmost discretion and security. As we signed the paperwork, I couldn’t help but marvel at the irony—treasure from Rome meant to buy gladiator slaves is now sitting in a modern Scandinavian vault and will be used to fund the expedition to retrieve gladiator slaves from the bottom of the Norwegian Sea. ”

I don’t precisely understand how much millions of millions are worth in modern money, but when Laura says that we’re richer than Croesus, it makes me feel lightheaded.

She squeezes my hand, a silent reminder that our real treasure isn’t locked away in any vault.

As I look around the table at these people who’ve accepted me so readily, I’m struck by a realization. For the first time since I lost my family at twelve, I feel like I belong somewhere.