At that, Philos does move. Amara sees him shift slightly on his feet, as if resisting the urge to turn around. “Oh,” she exclaims, swiftly thinking up a lie. “I was just remembering my own grandfather. How sad I am you will never meet any of my family.”

“Dear girl,” Rufus says, kissing her forehead. “Why don’t you tell me about him?”

Amara hesitates. She never knew any of her grandparents. Her mother came from a much poorer family than her father, so they were subsequently avoided, while her father’s parents died before she could remember them. “My grandfather was a doctor, like my father,” she begins, truthfully enough. “He used to like me reading to him. He would make me recite all the different herbs and their properties. I don’t think there was a plant he had not encountered. After all, his own father was a chemist. He was the kindest man,” she adds, warming to this imaginary forebear who is, in fact, another version of her father.

“What a clever child you must have been,” Rufus says. “I can just imagine you, a solemn, pretty little thing, all big eyes and curls. I’m afraid I was much slower at my own learning. My poetry recitations certainly never gave Grandfather any joy. Though he always had a favorite slave boy on hand for all that. Another annoyance for poor Grandmother.” Rufus strokes a ringlet of hair behind her shoulder. “It’s why I know he would have approved of you, though. He always put a high value on romantic love. Why not satisfy your desires, he used to say, Enough time for denial when you’re dead.”

Amara does not dare look over to where Philos is standing this time. She takes Rufus’s hand and lays it against her cheek, masking her inability to speak with a gesture of affection. Above them, Terentius and his wife stare out from their alcoves with sightless, painted faces.

That night, Amara is certain Philos will not come, that his humiliation will make him hate her. She keeps seeing him as he appeared on the street, when she was embarrassed by his poverty, and the guilt is smothering. When he eventually slips through the door, she feels ashamed all over again.

“I had no idea Rufus was taking me there,” she says, as he sits beside her. “I’m so sorry I didn’t stop him; I’m sorry he said those things, I wish—”

Philos lays a finger on her lips. “Do you mind if we don’t talk about it?”

“No,” she replies. “I don’t mind.”