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Back The House with the Golden Door Save as PDF
Chapters (60)
  1. Cover
  2. PRAISE FOR
  3. PRAISE FOR
  4. Dedication
  5. 75 CE
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. FLORALIA
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. LEMURIA
  27. 20
  28. 21
  29. 22
  30. 23
  31. 24
  32. 25
  33. 26
  34. 27
  35. 28
  36. 29
  37. NEMORALIA
  38. 30
  39. 31
  40. 32
  41. 33
  42. 34
  43. 35
  44. 36
  45. 37
  46. 38
  47. 39
  48. 40
  49. 76 CE
  50. 41
  51. 42
  52. 43
  53. 44
  54. 45
  55. 46
  56. 47
  57. 48
  58. EPILOGUE
  59. AFTERWORD
  60. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

“Amara.” He sighs, with a hint of exasperation. “It’s not about how much I love you. Think of how little control either of us has. One day, if we’re not caught, Rufus will lose interest in you or move me. It’s inevitable. And I can either drive myself mad thinking of all that pain on the horizon or be grateful for whatever days of happiness Fortune grants us. It’s useless planning a future you don’t own.”

“I’m not grateful,” Amara says, surprised by the strength of her own anger. “You can’t sit by hoping Fortune will turn her wheel for you! What sort of excuse is that? You have to seize it and force her.” Philos is amused by her passionate outburst, but Amara is not interested now in his indulgence or attempted kisses. “I mean it!” she says, almost forgetting herself and raising her voice. “You’re smarter than Rufus, I’m smarter than Rufus. Why shouldn’t we think of a way to free you?”

“You say that because you were born free. I cannot imagine what it feels like.”

“You can imagine. You know what it feels like. When you recited Homer in the garden, and the other children hated you because you were cleverer. You felt you had the right then, didn’t you, to what they had? And what are we even asking of the Fates? That you have a little more control over your life. I’m not suggesting you aim to be emperor.”

Philos looks taken aback by the ferocity of her speech. “You want to marry me that much?”

Amara tries not laugh. “Don’t worry, it’s not about that. If you gained your freedom and left me, so be it.” She pauses, the noble sentiment heavy in the air. “Though I’m not saying I wouldn’t be annoyed.”

They both laugh this time, or at least, the silent shake of the shoulders that passes for laughter between them. Amara can feel her willpower slipping again, and she twines herself around him so that barely any scrap of her skin is not touching his. Even that is not close enough. She can feel the ridges of the scarring on his chest press into her cheek.

“You really love me.” It is hard to tell, with a whisper, if he is asking a question or stating the obvious.

“No,” Amara replies, holding him even tighter. “I can’t stand you.”

21

“See to it, slave boy, that water washes feet and a serviette wipes away the drops; and that our linen covers the couch.”

—Motto from a Pompeii dining room