“Nobody minds a man having a few girlfriends before he marries. They even tolerated my foolishness over you at the Floralia. But not this sort of indiscretion.”

Rufus has his head in his hands, still leaning over the couch. Amara tentatively strokes his back, and when he doesn’t shake her off, she gently kneads his shoulders. “I promise you I won’t make this difficult,” she says, her voice soft. “I don’t want to bring you shame, I never did. I can live quietly with Julia. You don’t have to pay much, just enough for me to survive. Philos would be a suitable servant to care for the child, and educate it. Beyond that, I needn’t trouble you at all.”

He sighs, his shoulders sagging. “You’re a good girl. I’m sorry if I said anything unkind.” He pauses, letting her massage him. “I suppose that would be one way of limiting the damage.”

Amara is desperate to press him further, to make him promise to give her Philos, but she cannot draw too much attention to that part of her plan, not yet. “I will move whenever you need me to.”

“I don’t mean to throw you out.” Rufus finally sounds embarrassed. He sits up, shrugging her hands from his back. “There’s no enormous rush.” His eyes, when he looks at her, have some of the kindness she remembers from earlier days. “I suppose, at least, this shows my father I can give him an heir. So it’s not all bad.” He sighs again, more heavily this time. “I just thought you knew how to be careful about that sort of thing.”

“Nothing works perfectly,” Amara says, truthfully enough.

Rufus is staring at her stomach. She wonders if he is going to reach out and touch her, to lay his palm against her skin the way Philos does. Last night, she had fallen asleep while Philos held her like that, lulled by the warmth of the gesture. Now, she is tense, waiting to see what Rufus will do. It is a relief when he turns his back on her, picking up his tunic from the floor.

Amara also dresses, covering the body Rufus so recently enjoyed, unable to fight off a growing sense of shame. “No need to get up.” Rufus raises his hands to block her embrace. “And no rush. But maybe speak to Julia. Just to see when one of her apartments will be free.”

Rufus leaves, and she draws her legs up onto the couch, curling herself into as small a space as possible. She did not feel the euphoria she expected when Rufus raised no objection to her taking Philos. Instead, Amara’s feelings are closer to grief, knowing that they will always be under threat, unable to acknowledge one another, their lives strung together by nothing more than a fragile fabric of lies.

39