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Back The House with the Golden Door Save as PDF
Chapters (60)
  1. Cover
  2. PRAISE FOR
  3. PRAISE FOR
  4. Dedication
  5. 75 CE
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. FLORALIA
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. LEMURIA
  27. 20
  28. 21
  29. 22
  30. 23
  31. 24
  32. 25
  33. 26
  34. 27
  35. 28
  36. 29
  37. NEMORALIA
  38. 30
  39. 31
  40. 32
  41. 33
  42. 34
  43. 35
  44. 36
  45. 37
  46. 38
  47. 39
  48. 40
  49. 76 CE
  50. 41
  51. 42
  52. 43
  53. 44
  54. 45
  55. 46
  56. 47
  57. 48
  58. EPILOGUE
  59. AFTERWORD
  60. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

The sound of the rain, cascading onto the roof, drowns out the beating of Amara’s heart as she and Demetrius stare at one another. The older man has his back to the window, its feeble light casting him in relief, like a statue in the Forum. Amara reaches for the imperious tone of the night before, hoping she can again control him with coldness. “What shall I read for you,” she says in Latin, turning to search through the scrolls lined on Julia’s shelves.

“Nothing.” The Greek word stops her from moving, as Demetrius walks toward her. He is standing so close, the sharp lavender of his pomade cuts through the soft scent of the rain. She looks up at his face, at the lines etched deep into the skin, and the hollows under his eyes. He notices her scrutiny and raises an eyebrow. “Yes, I’m old,” he remarks drily. He runs a finger gently down her cheek. “Like Hades and Persephone.”

There is self-mockery in his voice, as well as authority, and Amara finds she does not know how to read this man, or how to respond to him. She falls back upon the obvious, on what she learned from Felix, but he catches her wrist before her hand can reach him.

“No. I want to touch you.”

Amara lets her mind slide to blank when Demetrius pushes her gently against the wall, his hand drifting up between her legs. Somehow, it makes it worse that he is touching her like a lover, not with the thoughtless, grasping fingers of the men at the brothel. She shivers when he undoes her tunic at the shoulder, exposing her breasts to the cold air, intent on his doomed quest to give her pleasure. Amara allows her eyelids to flutter shut, running through the repertoire of moans she learned from Victoria, willing it to be over. Demetrius’s own breathing becomes ragged, and she opens her eyes to check how close he is, then gasps in shock.

Philos is standing frozen in the doorway, a bundle of wax tablets clutched in his arms and a look of horror on his face. Their eyes meet, anguish taut between them, before he turns and walks away.

47

“Not always is a woman feigning love

When she sighs and clings to a man in close embrace.”

—Lucretius, On the Nature of the Universe