“You can wake up now, Lucius Aelius Lamia.” Marcella shook his shoulder till his eyes opened. “Listen to me. I am trying to be a wife to you! You want someone to see that your togas are starched, to talk to your colleagues, to help advance your career? Give me a household of my own, and I can do all that. I’m a clever woman—I could be an asset to you, so why won’t you make use of me?”

“Later.” Lucius waved a hand vaguely. “When things are more settled.”

“You’ve been saying that for four years.” Disgusted. “You don’t have any intention of giving me a home, do you? Are you that stingy, or is my company that unpleasant?”

“Sometimes it is,” Lucius grumbled, turning over.

“You might find yourself in the minority with that opinion.” Marcella addressed her husband’s back, her fingers throbbing with the urge to sink themselves into the soft flesh of her husband’s throat and just squeeze. “You may not have the sense to appreciate me, Lucius, but plenty of other men do. Including Emperor Otho.”

“Is that how you got that promise out of him?” Lucius glanced back over his shoulder at her, amused. “I hope you got some decent jewelry out of it too. He’s had everyone’s wives, you know—more than he can remember. Don’t think you’re special.”

“That’s it,” Marcella hissed, scrambling out of bed. Her naked skin was burning so fiercely it was a wonder the sheets didn’t ignite. “I’d rather have a snail for a husband, Lucius. I’m divorcing you.”

“Your brother won’t allow it.” Maddeningly, Lucius’s eyes were still closed. “He finds me very useful—the contacts I’ve made in my Judaean travels this year are keeping him in support for the Senate.”

“Then I’ll go to the Emperor for permission!”

“Yes, and he’ll marry you off right away to one of his own supporters. Who knows which?” Lucius yawned again. “Let me sleep, won’t you?”

Marcella felt her hair lifting off her scalp like a handful of red-hot wires. Childishly, she yanked all the sheets off Lucius onto the floor, giving a wordless snarl at his yelp as she picked up her gown from the chair and stalked out of the bedroom.

“Marcella.” Tullia accosted her as she stamped across the atrium. “The slaves tell me your husband is home? How nice to have him back in Rome after such a long journey. We’ll have a dinner party in his honor—”

“Do that.” Marcella yanked the sash of her dress tight with such a snap that she nearly cut herself in half at the waist. “I’ll provide the hemlock.”