“It’s realistic.” When Amara does not answer, but stays staring upward, he leans over to kiss her on the forehead. “Don’t be upset, my love, I didn’t mean it that way.”

Amara is unable to resist and turns back toward him. He takes her hand, laying it over his heart, caressing her fingers. The gesture reminds her of Britannica when she declared herself a fighter.

“Britannica spoke about her family tonight,” she says.

“Did she?” Philos says. “I thought of them during the ritual. It’s very sad. She tried so hard to protect her younger brother. I hope one day she can forgive herself.”

“When did she tell you about him?” Amara feels even guiltier at all the questions she has never thought to ask.

“A while ago. I asked how she came here, where her people are from. A lot of the tribes in Britain have women warriors. I was curious.” Philos has his gray eyes on her, so open and kind, Amara never wants him to look away. “But then, nobody’s journey to enslavement is a happy one. Even if you are born into it. I know yours wasn’t, either.”

“If I had never been enslaved, do you think you could still have loved me?”

“I wouldn’t have had the chance. You would never have looked at me. Or at least, not as a man.”

Philos is still gently stroking her fingers. Memories, like the black beans he threw for the shades, cascade through Amara’s mind. Chremes, Felix, the brothel, even Rufus. All the men she wishes she had never been forced to endure. She takes back her hand, covering her face, as if that will blot it out. “I wish you really were the only lover I had ever known.”

“You can’t be worrying about lost virtue, can you?” Philos says, his tone light. He puts his arms around her. “I don’t have any of that myself.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know,” Philos murmurs, stroking her back, a gesture he has used a number of times when the darkness of her past seeps between them.

The rhythm of his hand against her skin is as soothing as the thud of his heartbeat. Amara’s breathing eases. She imagines what it would feel like if Philos were her family, if he belonged to her. “Do you never think about how we might be together?”

“I try not to, honestly.”

Amara pushes herself away from him, so she can see his face. “But why?”