Lollia’s latest betrothed: one Lucius Salvius Otho Titianus, who had divorced his wife in record time when he learned that Lollia was available. Along with my dowry, Lollia thought. The villa in Baiae and the villa in Capri and the villa in Brundisium, the two marble mines in Carrara, the blocks of tenement flats on the Aventine, the shares in the docks of Ostia, the six merchant ships, the estates in Apulia and Praeneste and Toscana and Tarracina and Misenum, the vineyards in Ravenna and Pompeii, the olive groves in Greece, the shares in the racing factions and the gladiator school on Mars Street, the percentage in the Egyptian grain fleets, the rents from the land in Gaul and Hispania and Germania and Syria . . . Oh yes, the new Emperor’s brother had been more than eager for a new wife. He hadn’t looked at Lollia at all, but they rarely did. They just looked at the pile of gold shining invisibly around her.

“So you’ll be first lady of Rome now, instead of Cornelia.” Marcella sounded more animated at that.

“So?” Lollia shrugged.

“Haven’t you even thought about what that means? It’s power, Lollia. Prestige. Position.”

“It means I have to host all those endless Imperial dinner parties now, instead of going as a guest. Much more work.”

“And we all know you’d do anything to avoid that. You and your parties!”

I don’t ever want to go to another party, Lollia thought. Not even my own wedding party. Not even this wedding party, which was bound to be even more spectacular than the last one since she was marrying into the Imperial family. Why can’t I seem to care? Lollia wondered. It wasn’t like she did anything but go to parties—why couldn’t she enjoy it now? She was just longing for it all to be over, longing for wine, longing with all her heart that Cornelia would bustle in to give her trite little speech about the world looking different once the red veil came off. But she wouldn’t.

“How is Cornelia?” Lollia asked as the maids began dressing her hair in the traditional six locks across her head. Soon there’d be a lock for every husband . . .

“She’s moved in to live with Gaius and Tullia and me.” Marcella wandered to the window. “Tullia said it wasn’t fitting for a young widow to live alone.”

“Who cares what Tullia thinks?”

“What she thinks, Gaius thinks, and he can make Cornelia come home. He has charge of her, now Piso’s dead. And besides, Cornelia doesn’t have anywhere else to go. Otho made sure to confiscate Piso’s house and all his assets for the Imperium.” A sigh. “At least she’s at home with me now, and I can look after her.”