“Your mistress is here,” says the porter, looking aggrieved to be cut short.

“So she is,” Philos replies to him, with a bow. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

The porter nods, pleased that Philos treats him as if he were the person important enough to be called upon, not his master or future mistress.

“She said yes,” Amara whispers, as soon as they have stepped out onto the street.

“Thank fuck for that.” Philos breathes out with relief.

They both stand for a moment, the busy life of the port unfolding before them. “I don’t want to go back yet. Do you think we could walk along the waterfront?” Amara asks. “Or would it look suspicious?”

“I could tell Rufus you wanted some air, if anyone sees,” Philos says. “It’s not as if I’ve let you go wandering off on your own.”

They skirt round Ampliatus’s enormous villa, walking toward one of the colonnades that frames the harbor. Small fishing boats bob against the sea wall as they pass, men dragging their nets onto the stone. Amara sidesteps to avoid being splashed as the fish jump and writhe by her feet. Past the noisy hustle of boats in the harbor, the blue of the bay stretches out, its horizon limitless. The gap between her and Philos as they walk feels almost as large. She wonders if he is thinking of Restituta, whether his wife’s absence is an ache as constant for him as Dido’s loss is for her.

“How far do you want to go?” he asks.

“Maybe we should just keep on and never stop,” she jokes, before she sees from his face that she has pained rather than amused him. They reach the colonnade, and the space is less crowded. She remembers sitting here with Victoria and the others, dangling their legs over the wall. There is no way she and Philos could do anything so brazen. “Josephus will have the money for you this afternoon, when you go around with the contract. Has Rufus said anything to you about staying away during the Nemoralia? Drusilla thought it odd he was seeing his parents.”

“He is not. Or not only his parents.”

“Do you think he has another lover?” It almost makes Amara want to laugh at the dread she feels, when she cares so little for Rufus.