“This place is extraordinary!” Amara exclaims as soon as the girl is out of earshot.

“I told you.” Drusilla is smug.

“And what’s with the tunic? I didn’t even know you could sew!”

“Of course I can sew,” Drusilla retorts crossly. “He likes wearing things I’ve made; he says it means I’m always near his heart.”

“You like him!” Amara has never, in all the time she’s known Drusilla, heard her repeat a patron’s flattery with fondness.

Drusilla purses her lips. “Why shouldn’t I like him? Who doesn’t enjoy being doted on?” She lowers her voice. “It’s better than a man like Quintus who takes and takes and makes you feel like a whore every time he gives you a present.”

“I’m glad to hear Ampliatus treats you well.”

“More than that, he’s kind to Primus,” Drusilla whispers. “He’s taken him all around his warehouses in the port, making a fuss of him. None of the others had any interest in my boy—they just found him a nuisance. Ampliatus even tells him stories. Primus adores him.”

Amara is so used to seeing Drusilla’s public face—the hard, glittering front she shows to the world—she has not imagined her ever looking this vulnerable. She supposes it makes sense, that the way to win Drusilla’s heart would not be sex or flattery or even wealth, but kindness toward her child. “He sounds like a good man,” Amara says.

“As much as any of them are.” Drusilla tosses her head, clearly not wanting to appear too sentimental. “How is Rufus? I hope he is planning to spend some of the Nemoralia with you.”

“I’m spending it with Julia,” Amara replies. “Rufus says he has to spend the festival with his parents.”

“His parents?” Drusilla raises her eyebrows.

“That’s what I thought,” Amara says.

Drusilla is silent for a while. The maid has returned with the tray of refreshments and is standing at the opposite side of the garden, but Drusilla does not call her over. “Have you thought more about what we discussed?”

“Yes, and I’ve stopped.”

“Stopped completely?”

“Completely. For many weeks now.” The two women stare at one another, both aware of the implications. It is such an unusual moment of intimacy between them that Amara hates the thought of ruining it by begging for money, but she has to get the loan. “Drusilla.” She takes her friend’s hand. “There’s something I need to ask you and which I hope you will be able to forgive. It is the reason I have called on you.”

Drusilla is wary. “What is it?”