“All yours,” she whispered back. He looked so imposing in his formal red and gold—a centurion of the Praetorian Guard once again, thanks to Emperor Vespasian. Was I so happy the first time I married? Cornelia didn’t know. Maybe that was a question that didn’t need an answer. Maybe it was enough that if she’d had to marry twice, it had been to two such good men.

“Juno’s mercy,” Cornelia exclaimed as they led the way through the vast double doors into the atrium. The columns had been twined with garlands of myrtle and jasmine, the fountain flowed with Falernian wine, soft music filled the air, the smells of a hundred savory dishes tantalized the nose . . . “Lollia, you shouldn’t have!”

“This wedding might be a bit on the hasty side, my honey, but no one will say it wasn’t done up properly. My grandfather did the works, let me tell you.” Lollia gazed around with satisfaction. “It’s such fun to plan a wedding that isn’t mine.”

“Nothing but the best for you, m’dear.” Lollia’s grandfather pinched Cornelia’s cheek affectionately. “My jewel tells me how much you comforted her when she was married to that vicious bastard Fabius Valens.”

Cornelia looked at the plump face of Lollia’s grandfather, beaming and happy again, and flung her arms around his neck. She remembered her own father, who hadn’t even attended her first wedding and could barely tell her apart from her sister. “You’ve done more for me than my father ever did,” she said, and kissed Lollia’s grandfather on both cheeks.

He beamed at her again, and then took Drusus by the arm and bore him off to the other side of the atrium. “You come with me, my lad! Plenty of guests here want to meet our brave soldier. Let’s see what we can do to make you a commander down in Tarracina, eh?”

The wedding guests were flooding in now, exclaiming over the flowers and the wine, and Cornelia looped an arm about Lollia’s waist. “I suppose there will be another wedding for you soon?”

“Yes, to some cousin of Vespasian’s,” Lollia said unconcernedly. She wore a sunny yellow dress with an embroidered sash, simpler than the elaborate silks she used to wear, and scarlet poppies in her hair instead of rubies. And Cornelia rather thought the hair itself had been dyed a gentler shade of red. “I think his name is Gnaeus Flavius. Or was it Publius Flavius? Well, I’ll find out soon enough . . .”

“Domina.” A familiar golden Gaul bowed at Lollia’s side. “The steward, he wants to know if the musicians should begin.”

“Gods, yes, Thrax. And get the wine flowing, please.” Lollia turned back to Cornelia, beaming. “I have to say please, since Thrax is a freedman now. Freed last week! So if I’m not very polite to him, he might leave me.”