Rufus sighs, but with indulgence. He never minds her fussing to please him. While he is outside, Amara swiftly undresses, throwing on the silk, and rifles through a cheap woven basket in her linen chest. It’s full of dense, boiled lambswool: her contraceptive. She grabs a handful, and stuffs it up inside her body as high as she can, wincing. Then she hurries to open the door.

“Beautiful girl,” Rufus says, kissing her. He leads her to the bed, not bothering to shut the door behind him.

Amara takes her time, running through the repertoire she knows he likes best. She has been with her patron numerous times since their argument on the night Helvius came to dinner, and since then, he has never been anything but loving. If anything, he has seemed even more devoted than before. Sometimes, she thinks she must have imagined what happened, that her memory has exaggerated the threat, that she misread his intentions, that of course Rufus did not force her, not really, but whatever lies she tells herself, her body remembers. Her heart beats painfully fast when he holds her, and a sick feeling churns her stomach. She fakes her sighs of desire, moving her body to excite him, and when he is lost to passion, breathing heavily in her ear, Amara stares wide-eyed up at the ceiling.

She tries to blot out the present, imagining herself somewhere else. She thinks of Philos, pictures him being chased by Britannica across the pool. His laughter. The way he held her hand, so briefly, in the street. The look in his eyes when she took his arm. “I love you,” she murmurs, surprising herself.

“I love you too, darling,” Rufus answers, although the words were not for him. He rolls off her body, kissing her tenderly. “Dear little bird.”

Amara smiles. She has smiled at worse men, after all, and her comfortable life depends on his continued affection. Surely Rufus is an easier master to manage than Felix. And he does not own me, she reminds herself. She draws a finger gently over the outline of his face, as if it were the one she truly wanted to see. “I’m so happy for you that Helvius has been elected,” she says. “You must be so pleased.”

Rufus sighs with contentment. “Yes, it’s a relief. My father had already sunk so much money in his campaign. And all that time in his pompous company!” He runs his hand down her flank, his fingers moving over her ribs into the hollow created by the jutting bone of her pelvis. “Such a tiny little thing, you are,” Rufus says affectionately. “My little sparrow.”