In her mind’s eye, Amara can see the glass statuette of Attica’s patron in her parent’s house. Pallas Athene, goddess of wisdom and strategy, more beloved than any other immortal in the city of Amara’s birth. The goddess Amara abandoned in favor of Venus, the patron of Pompeii. As perhaps Demetrius also once abandoned the gods of his fathers. “I’ve heard,” Amara replies, in Latin. “That the Temple to Minerva in Rome rivals anything to be found in Attica.”

Recognition passes between them. “As Rome surpasses Athens in every respect,” Demetrius replies. At that moment, Amara could almost be looking at her own father. The familiar, crooked smile he reserved for when talking about the power of Rome. Everything they have is borrowed from us, Timarete. Always remember that.

“Greeks,” Livia says, rolling her eyes. “You’re all insufferable with your sneering. As if we don’t know what you’re up to.”

“Since Rome’s dominance over Athens is not in doubt,” Demetrius says, amused, “I think you can spare us our little jokes.” He smiles at Amara. “And you are right about the temple on the Capitol. Though it is only one of many wonders in the city.”

Amara bows her head, suddenly nervous, not wanting him to extend an invitation to take her there.

“You should see the work being done on our Temple of Venus,” Julia says. “We may not be as grand as Rome here in Pompeii, but there are still a few sights worth seeing.” She stands. “Perhaps you will join us, Amara?”

Amara looks out across the garden, at the lengthening shadows. “I will need to feed Rufina,” she says sadly, as if reluctant to turn down the invitation.

“Your former patron did not supply a wet nurse?” Demetrius looks displeased, though it is hard to tell if his disapproval is aimed at her or Rufus.

“It’s no matter. You can join us later, darling,” Julia says to Amara, cutting across Demetrius’s question to spare her embarrassment. Amara bows deeply to them all, and as she walks away, she hears Julia’s muttered reassurance to Demetrius. “Such things are easily rectified.”

Philos is home when Amara returns, Rufina sleeping upstairs. The sight of him, sitting bent over some wax tablets in the small, darkened room, makes her chest constrict. She bends down to kiss him, and he looks up at her with a smile. It is the type of open exchange of affection other lovers take for granted, but which is still precious to them both.

“Have you eaten?” She moves to the brazier, desperate to do something for him.

“I’m not especially hungry. Why don’t you take it?”

“I’m eating later, with Julia.”

“Then I’ll have it, thank you. Though leave some for Britannica.”

“Is that more work for Rufus?”