The bride worried that she would shatter. She felt as fragile as the glass bottles of oils and perfumes set out for her bath--a bath she didn't welcome, and one she knew would never make her feel clean. In the water, a gilded lion gushed rose-scented water from his mouth. Julia had always thought the fountain beautified the room, but now the lion seemed like he was just another predator waiting to pounce.
"Your hands are shaking," her nursemaid chided with a teasing laugh. "Why so nervous, Domina? You know what to expect. It's not your first wedding after all!"
The other slaves gasped at the nursemaid's familiarity. After all, no one was supposed to tease the emperor's daughter. In fact, none of them were permitted to meet her eyes--not since the emperor had declared his family divine, and his daughter a living goddess. Julia was sacrosanct, and none of the slaves dared to come close to her without trembling.
It was different for her nursemaid, who had known Julia when she was still just a mortal girl. A mortal girl with an open heart who had the foolish notion that she'd never be touched by anything but love. Of course, all girls are born to be disillusioned, Julia thought.
This was her third marriage and she did know what to expect. She'd been passed from one marriage bed to the next whenever her father decided to show his favor to a new man of Rome. The man who would become her new husband was not a good man, but even if he were, she couldn't give him her heart. And even if she could, it would make no difference. This marriage would be a political union. Nothing more.
As the slaves undressed her, peeling away the smothering stola that propriety required Julia to wear, she could see that her arms had broken out in a rash. She hadn't dared speak one word against her father's plans, but the evidence of her broken heart revealed itself in red and irritated skin.
"Oh, Domina," one slave whispered. "Your goddess skin is too delicate for wool."
Julia's laugh caught in her throat, a hysterical sound that wasn't entirely sane. If she were a goddess, she would choose her own consort. She would have power over her own body. She would have reverence for herself, and not just the hollow worship of frightened slaves or plebs who had seen no more than a glimpse of her when her litter passed them on the street.
Julia was well-aware that she was not a goddess and maybe if she swallowed the poison secreted by her pillow tonight, all of Rome would know it too. "Leave me," she said, running her fingers over the flame-colored veil draped over the bench near her wedding gown. "Leave me!"
The slaves scattered, bare feet slapping the mosaic floors as they scurried to obey. For a moment, she thought she was alone. But then she thought she heard someone's breath catch behind her and turned to berate whatever hapless slave had returned.
That's when she saw him. Antonius. She wanted to breathe his name, but her throat had swollen shut. It was foolish of him to come here. Impulsive and irresponsible. Even if he hadn't been the son of her father's old enemy, if Antonius was caught in her baths, she'd be shamed and he'd be executed.
Still, her heart leapt at his recklessness. Shame. Risk. Taboo. Jeopardy. These were the special aphrodisiacs that tightened her stomach and made her tremble. "You shouldn't be here," Julia whispered, her arms crossing over her bare breasts. He'd seen her body before, but it had been so long since they'd last made love that she now felt shy before him.
"Don't cover yourself," Antonius said, only partially shrouded in the silk curtains of the archway, his expression dark. "I can't bear for you to play a shy maiden. Not today."
She knew he was angry, and why shouldn't he be? He'd waited so many years for her. He'd given her his heart over and over again, only to watch her wed other men. Today he'd have to do it again, and she couldn't blame him for his bitterness. But this wasn't her choice. It had never been her choice. "It's my wedding day, Antonius. You need to go."
"Do I?" He closed and bolted the door. He was armored and the steam of the bath gathered on his breastplate, Julia's nakedness reflected in its misted sheen. Then he grabbed her by both arms. "No. I don't need to go. That's not what I need."
She wasn't startled by his rough hands. He'd never touched her with any undue reverence or fear. No, from the moment she'd admitted that she loved him, he'd behaved as if he had a right to her. And she'd always been desperately grateful for that.
"Antonius, it's too dangerous for you to be here."
He gave her his pirate's smile, sardonic and perilous. "But you like danger, don't you? At first you refuse, but then you end up begging me to do whatever it was that you refused me in the first place."
Heat flamed at her cheeks as Julia remembered all the times it had happened exactly that way. As a girl, he used to lure her into the gardens and kiss her until she wilted at the knees like a plucked flower. But as she matured, her arousal for him was nothing so dainty. Now it was like a fever. Madness. And he knew it. "Don't be so smug," she said.
"You'd resent me if I wasn't."
Perhaps he was right. There was no place in her life for a humble man. But still, she must refuse him. "Today of all days, I can't be with you..."
Antonius didn't let her finish. Instead, he leaned forward to bite her neck, below her ear, where the skin was most tender. The chill of his armor against her bare skin made her feel like a ravished Gallic captive and she closed her eyes, wishing that were true. Better to be a savage girl, for then no one would deny that she belonged with him. He could carry her away and they could be together.
As a goddess, though, Julia could never have Antonius. He was a soldier and senator, but he could never be hers. Her father would always keep them apart. They could not even run away together, because there was no corner of the Empire far enough for them to run.
Now, as he kissed her, her heart thundered in her ears. Her blood pulsed through her limbs and she felt the familiar ache awaken between her legs. She wasn't shaking with fear anymore. She was shaking with desire, and it was only for love of him that she managed to tear herself away. "Antonius, don't you understand that they'll kill you? One day, they'll find out about us, and they'll kill you."
"This is already killing me." He held her tightly and the pain was not the endless chafing of wool, but the intense animal need of intimacy. "Sneaking around the imperial palace like some malefactor just to find you alone. And now you're going to say no to me?"
She stared into his eyes, realizing that something had snapped in him. He'd been there when the betrothal was announced, stone-faced and pretending to be indifferent. He'd played his part. But now he had the look of a man who might go mad if he couldn't have her. And somehow, in spite of a bridal chamber being readied for her even now, she couldn't deny him. Saying no to him was unthinkable.
She lifted her mouth and pressed it against his, luxuriating in the familiar taste. His lips were full and dry, his scent some sort of heady mixture of incense and oil. He was a big man, with a thick neck, and she had to stand on tiptoe to kiss him, so he lifted her up, fingers digging into her hips. Normally she loved the marks his hands left on her. She liked to trace them later. They let her know she was real, and not the marble busts that depicted her, cold and pristine. But now she warned, "You'll leave bruises."
Antonius expression turned furious and forlorn at once. "Good! Let your new husband see my fingerprints on you. Let the bastard know that there's someone who touches you, takes you, and loves you." It was dangerous nonsense and he must have known it, because he leaned forward and buried his face in her hair. "I hate this."
