“Oh, I know.” Cornelia smoothed a hand over his chest. “And I’ll be entirely cautious and respectful in public. But in here, where it’s just us—well, can’t we gloat just a little?”

“Maybe a little.” Piso laughed, and tilted his head down to give her a long, lingering kiss.

“You’ll be late,” Cornelia murmured between more kisses. “Galba wants to present you to the troops this morning.” Of course she couldn’t go to the Praetorian barracks; that wouldn’t be fitting for a woman.

Piso twined his hand through her hair. “They can wait.”

“Mmm . . .” She kissed him drowsily. “Really?”

She hoped he’d stay, but he groaned and sat up. “No, you’re right. I should go.”

Cornelia robed him herself, brushing the slaves away as she brought out his finest toga. “Lift your arm—no, the other one—hold still—”

“I really am late,” Piso moaned.

“Blame it all on your lascivious wife.” She aligned the pleats along his shoulder.

“I intend to,” he said, mock stern. “And afterward I shall make you Augusta.”

Cornelia smiled demurely, hiding her excitement. Augusta, the title given to Emperor Augustus’s wife Livia in mark of her virtue and intelligence, giving her the power of sitting alongside her husband in political matters. “The Senate might not approve. I’m very young to be Augusta.”

“They’ll approve. It will be one of my first decrees.” Piso pulled a fold of his toga up over his head. “Though first, my dear, I shall see if I can persuade Galba to pay the Praetorians their bounty. They do expect it, and we don’t want them grumbling.”

“Who could grumble at you?”

His lips found hers and they kissed again until footsteps sounded outside. Piso immediately broke away, and Cornelia felt a little wistful urge that he would just keep kissing her—although of course, the heir to an empire must maintain the decorum due his station. She turned with a smile to see Centurion Drusus Densus in the door, helmet beneath his arm, two Praetorians in red and gold behind him. “We stand ready to escort you to the palace, Senator. Another detail has been assigned to your use.”

Cornelia felt a moment’s embarrassment at having been caught in a loose bed robe with her hair still hanging down her back but couldn’t repress a radiant smile. “I am pleased to put the safety of Rome’s next Emperor in your hands, Centurion.”

Densus smiled. “The pleasure is mine, Lady.”

“Stay with Lady Cornelia today, Centurion,” Piso ordered. “I’ll take the other detail to the barracks.”

“Yes, Senator.” Densus gave a crisp salute.

Piso did not kiss her good-bye, but he did squeeze her hand under cover of his toga’s folds. “Augusta,” he mouthed, and was gone: every inch an emperor. Even if it wasn’t proper to think so just yet.