“Well, if you were a pleb, then these meetings of ours wouldn’t be just ill-advised, they would be illegal.” She began to enumerate the various laws forbidding congress between plebeians and patricians, but Drusus stopped her mouth with a kiss.

“Snob. But I’ll forgive you, just for those dimples.” He kissed them too, one by one. “You know how often I tried to make you smile, following you around on guard duty, just so I could see those dimples? I could put my thumb in them up to the knuckle . . .”

“Your family?” Cornelia prompted after a while.

“Yes, my family. My mother has a house with an atrium now—she’s very proud of it. And my younger sister will make a good marriage; we’re all proud of that. I’ve got an older brother in the legions, doing his tour somewhere in Dacia. He might make optio, but he doesn’t care much. He just likes the life.”

“So you’re the pride and joy of the family?” Cornelia ran a hand through his hair. “Centurion in the Praetorian Guard by thirty-four! They must be proud.”

“They were.” His smile disappeared. “I’ve kept away from them this year. Don’t want to drag them down with me.”

Cornelia kissed him silently. Hiding in a whorehouse when once he’d guarded emperors at a palace—even with her here, she knew he still felt the shame of his demotion. “So your sister will be married soon?” she said, changing the subject. “Does she have a sweetheart, or are your parents arranging a proper match?”

“There’s a boy she wants.” He smiled again. “Son of another local shopkeeper. My father would rather see her married to a magistrate, but likely she’ll get her way.”

“Your father should arrange a marriage for her,” Cornelia decreed. “Young girls don’t have the sense to pick out a dress, much less a husband. And it’s not just young girls, either—does anyone pick sensibly for themselves? Lollia’s current choice is a slave from Gaul, Diana would rather marry a horse than any man—”

“And my choice is you.” Drusus lifted Cornelia’s sweat-damp hair off her neck, coiling it around his hand. “My family would be appalled at me. Aspiring to one of the Cornelii? You’re right, no one picks well for themselves.”

“No.” She settled against his arm. “I let my father choose for me, and I was very happy.”

“Senator Piso?”

Cornelia nodded. The first time either of them had brought up that name. Drusus’s hand slowed in her hair.

“Do you—think of him often?”

“Not here.” She drew a finger over Drusus’s chest. “It’s just us in here.”

“This room’s too small for anyone else. Even a flea.”

“There’s always room for fleas! My maid keeps finding them in my clothes and complaining—one more thing to bribe her to keep quiet about—”