At first, Amara cannot understand what he means, then she remembers the lie she told to ensure he didn’t come to the brothel—that Felix is monstrously jealous of her happiness. “Oh,” she says. “I hope you don’t mind. I told him I was afraid of you. He was pleased by the thought you might be cruel to me.” No need to add that it was the prospect of charging extra for violence that Felix liked.

“He sounds appalling!” Rufus says. “My poor, darling girl.” He squashes her in a hug so tight, the pendant digs into her skin. “I was hoping you would stay all night. But will that make your life more difficult?”

He is clinging on to her, clearly willing her to stay, and Amara herself is longing to accept. But she knows that if she gives in to every desire, fulfils every passion, she risks his infatuation burning itself out too quickly. Better to deny him from time to time. “I think that might be safer,” she says in a small voice. “Next time, I will stay.”

He lets go of her, cupping her face in his hands, kisses her tenderly on the forehead. “Whatever you think is best,” he says.

His sincerity hurts her heart.

31

“I see that it’s brothels and greasy bars that stir your desire for the town.”

—Horace, Satires 1.14

Felix is alarmed to see her before daybreak. He is waiting in the corridor as she comes up the stairs, obviously having heard Philos drop her at the door.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t do what he wanted.”

“I did everything,” Amara says. “I just didn’t want to stay the whole night. I told you, he scares me. And besides”—she meets his cold stare with one of her own—“it keeps him keener that way. We want to string this out as long as possible, don’t we?”

“Little bitch,” Felix says. She starts unfastening her cloak, expecting to be dismissed, but he gestures at her to stop. “Don’t take that off. I’m heading out. You can come with me.”

“Why?” Amara asks, unable to hide her astonishment.

“Doesn’t hurt to show off the wares,” Felix says. He puts an arm around her, and for a bewildering moment, she thinks it is a gesture of affection. Then she feels his fingers, hard and pinching at her waist, like a baker checking the quality of his dough. “Just don’t open that big fucking mouth of yours.”