Helvius is caught off guard. He draws Victoria even closer toward himself, evidently seeing no hypocrisy in the prospect of enjoying a prostitute, even as he rails against the depravity of women. He caresses Victoria’s waist with thick fingers. “Not if we propitiate the gods as we should,” he says.

Quintus sighs heavily, perhaps irritated Helvius is getting to enjoy the newest woman at the party. “I thought you promised music?” he complains to Drusilla.

Rufus turns to Amara eagerly. “That’s the moment I’ve been waiting for too, my love,” he says, raising her hand to his lips and kissing it. “Why don’t you lead the way?”

Amara wants to tell Rufus then, to warn him about the harp, but instead, she smiles with feigned delight. “Of course.”

✦ ✦ ✦

Afterward, when they are alone together in her rooms, Rufus is uncharacteristically quiet. He sits on the couch, not looking at her, holding the unused harp on his lap. Amara knows she has seldom played better than she did that night. Philos had hung lamps from the two trees and trailed them around the fountain, and in the starlight, with the evening scent of narcissi, the garden had looked to Amara like a constellation borrowed from the heavens. Victoria had thrown her whole heart into the singing, while Amara and Drusilla played in harmony with one another in a faultless performance that almost brought tears to Amara’s eyes. When they had finished, to delighted applause from the men, she had sought out Rufus, hoping to see his approval. He was smiling along with his friends, accepting their congratulations, but for the first time since the start of their affair, she had been unable to read the expression in his eyes.

“Helvius liked Victoria,” she says pleasantly, sitting beside him, hoping to overcome his bad mood by ignoring it. “He’s still enjoying her, hopefully,” she adds, alluding to Helvius’s decision to retire upstairs.

“Why did you humiliate me?”

Amara’s mouth feels dry. “Humiliate you?” She pretends to laugh. “How difficult you men are! I did everything possible to please you!”

“Don’t mock me, Amara,” Rufus says.

“I don’t understand, I—”

“The harp. The gaggle of women you decided to buy without telling me. That . . . creature you had serve us rather than the steward I left for you to use. What were you thinking?”

“I just wanted to make the evening special!”

“Don’t lie to me!” Rufus says, raising his voice. “You never used to lie to me. What’s happened to you?”

“How dare you!” Amara exclaims. “How dare you call me a liar.” A display of anger has always tamed Rufus before, and she is about to flounce off to the bedroom, expecting him to follow, pleading apologies, but instead, he catches her by the wrist.

“You forget yourself.” His voice is quiet, and she is about to argue, but something in his face stops her.