Demetrius is sitting alone in the outdoor dining room, looking out at the garden. Amara has a brief moment to study him before he sees her, the relaxed way that he sits, his complete ease in his own company. Wealth and power rest on him, as light as the folds of his luxurious tunic. She presses a hand to her cheek. Her eyes are still hot from crying earlier, but the dusk should hide any blemish to her skin. Amara has played so many parts in her life, she tells herself this is only one more mask, perhaps no harder to wear than any other.

Demetrius glances up when she joins him, a wry look on his face. “Julia insisted she was too tired to eat. A suggestion even more subtle than her behavior earlier.” He speaks in Greek, and Amara notices his voice is deeper in his native language. It also makes his tone harder to read.

“I can leave if you prefer.”

“You cannot possibly imagine that would be my preference.” He stares steadily into her eyes, not with desire, but appraisal. She does not look away. “I understand from the admiral you once worked in the town brothel. You don’t act like that sort of whore.”

“Is your experience of brothel whores so extensive?”

“I meant no offense.” He smirks at her irritation. “But your story is somewhat outlandish. Pliny’s explanation that he hired you to assist him in his research would be laughable from any other man, but I’ve known him long enough to be familiar with his insatiable curiosity.” Amara almost smiles at this description of her benefactor. Demetrius watches her. “You’re fond of him, aren’t you?”

“Fond does not begin to express the gratitude I feel.”

“And what about your young patron? The man who fathered your child.”

“I am also indebted to him.”

“But not so fond of him as you are of the admiral.” The corner of Demetrius’s mouth dimples in a smile. “Pliny told me you begged him to take you on as his secretary, in the most passionate, desperate terms.” Amara does not drop her gaze from his, even though her cheeks blaze with mortification. “If I had not seen you with him in Misenum, I would never have believed that tale, even from Pliny. A brothel whore trying to bribe the Admiral of the Roman Fleet, not by offering him the use of her body, but her mind.”

Amara does not allow herself to show any trace of the embarrassment she feels. “I’m glad the story amused you.”

“I’ve been in service my whole life. Believe me, I am not laughing at you.” He pours her a glass of wine, takes one for himself. “Why did your last arrangement end? And don’t fear I will judge you for disparaging your former patron—I prefer honesty.”