“That’s not the same thing!”

Drusus burst out laughing and pulled her close, kissing her temple. A reluctant smile tugged at Cornelia’s lips, and she let him pour her some more watered wine.

Domitian stayed an hour longer, and rose to leave as abruptly as he’d entered. “But we’ve just arrived,” Marcella protested.

“Correct. And now we’re leaving. Did I mention to you all?” he added to the room at large. “I’ve changed my wife’s name. I don’t like the name Marcella, so from now on she’ll be called Domitia. After me.”

“Domitia,” everyone echoed, applause rippling. Cornelia saw her sister’s eyes hunt around the room, panicky, and finally felt a twinge of pity. But Marcella was gone, back to the Imperial palace and the life she’d somehow earned for herself with her scheming, and Cornelia didn’t know her at all. This Marcella was a thousand years removed from the little girl who had nibbled cakes under a quilt with her big sister and giggled about the future. Just as well she had a new name. Marcella—her Marcella—might as well be dead.

The sun had started its descent now toward the atrium roof, and the wedding guests sprawled on their couches in happy idleness. Lollia had disappeared somewhere after taking little Flavia upstairs for a nap. Lollia’s grandfather was tipsy, in love with the whole world, the laurel wreath slipping more and more rakishly over his ear. A troop of dancers glided out to entertain everyone before the sweets course was brought in, and Cornelia just closed her eyes and leaned against Drusus’s shoulder, half asleep and entirely content. Something fluttered in her stomach—could the baby be starting to move already?

Then an earsplitting shriek tore the room in half.

The music died away. Cornelia opened her eyes, and they all looked around. Tullia was clutching the edge of the door leading toward the culina. Normally only slaves passed back and forth through that passage, but the slaves were all occupied with the sweet courses. Except for one freedman, tall and golden and quite familiar by now, who had Lollia pinned up against the wall and was kissing her passionately. Lollia’s hand twined through his hair, the plain ring gleaming on her fourth finger.

“Really, Tullia,” Lollia drawled over Thrax’s broad and suddenly immobile shoulder. “Don’t you knock?” She dragged the freedman’s head down for another kiss, and suddenly half the room was swept in giggles. Cornelia felt a bubble of laughter rising in her throat and clapped a hand hastily over her mouth. Drusus’s lips were twitching.