Perhaps now his friend would return soon, as well. She smiled. The single kiss she had bestowed on him had told her that Jason Visibullis would appreciate a chance to spend some of his time in her company, and she would not mind spending some of hers in his, either.
She came to the doorway and smiled anew when she saw Titus within. He was even more handsome than she had remembered, with that darkest brown hair, muscles tanned from working outside, the proud bearing that struck fear into every heart that came across him. He was the epitome of what a man should be, a model of the gods. She stepped into his chamber.
“Master.”
Titus looked up, something indiscernible flashing in his eyes. She was suddenly aware of the way she was dressed, more provocatively than he had ever permitted. No desire flashed in his eyes, but surely that was just his usual Stoic control. “Caelia.”
She took the acknowledgment as invitation, closed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around him. She kissed him soundly, but he did not respond. Instead of crushing her against him, he held her a few inches apart.
“Titus.” She had expected his distance . . . but still it pierced. “I have missed you.”
He seemed amused by the statement. “Were you lonely, Caelia? I find it hard to believe, knowing my father.”
Heat flooded her cheeks even as she lifted her chin in pride. “You knew what you were forfeiting by leaving. But you are back now, Lord, and I welcome you eagerly. I will come to you tonight–”
“No.” He disentangled her arms from around his neck and forced her a step away. “You will not come to me tonight, nor tomorrow, nor the day after.”
“But my lord, you never refused the others, though they were shared. Why should you refuse me?”
Titus sighed, his jaw clenched. “It is not that.”
“Then what is it?” She planted her hands on her hips.
A melody of laughter rang out, decidedly feminine. Caelia walked a few steps until she could look through the doors and into his servant’s room. A woman swayed into view, bouncing a baby on her hip. “Who is that?”
The woman looked up, revealing a face that made Caelia’s blood boil. Of course Titus would have found the most beautiful woman in Israel. But why did he bring her home with him? The child? Was it his?
Titus looked that way even as the woman wandered back out of sight. “Abigail Visibullis.”
Caelia spun to him, eyes wide. “Visibullis?”
“Jason’s widow.”
Her amazement only grew. “Widow?”
“And their son, Benjamin.”
“Son?”
Titus bit back a grin. “Have you forgotten your command of Greek in my absence, Caelia?”
She opened her mouth, but it took a moment to find words. “It is only that I did not know, master, either of his marriage or his death.”
He nodded. “I brought her here to claim the estates for her son.”
Her eyes narrowed. “She is lovely.”
“She is indeed. Jason was quickly the envy of us all.”
Anger made her shake. “Well, you never waited long to take what you wanted.” She spun to the door. “When you tire of her, Titus, you know where I will be.”
*
Titus watched with mirth as Caelia stormed from the room. “Indeed, Caelia, I know where you will be,” he said to where she had been. Feeling eyes on him, he looked over to find Abigail leaning against the door to the procoeton. “Do you see, now? Our involvement is quite believable, however false.”
Abigail rolled her eyes. “I think you enjoyed that, Titus Asinius.”
Titus only grinned. “I am only a man, my friend.”
Abigail grinned, shook her head, and turned.
A slave filled the doorway of his chamber. “Master, your father has arrived home.”
Titus nodded with a sigh. After Abigail he called, “I must go down and meet him, Abigail. Get yourself settled in up here.”
Hearing her agreement, he left the sanctuary of his room in favor of what he was not so sure would be a warm reunion. His father was one thing he had not missed when in Jerusalem. It seemed that they could not be in the same room without bursting into the flames of argument. It made it so that in past years, Titus simply avoided his sire whenever possible. They did not understand one another, could never agree, and were hence always disappointed in what the other did, thought, or said.
But Titus had prayed for forgiveness for his own insolence and had tried to forgive his father’s, too. It seemed that now he would be tested, to see whether or not he had been sincere enough.
Titus met his father in the atrium and made himself smile. Caius stood at the same height that he did, had the same build and gait. His hair had turned to an iron gray, his face was creased with lines that only added severity to his appearance, rather than age. He was by all accounts a dignified personage; most held him in fear. What terrified Titus was that he knew he would look the same in thirty years, though being similar to the man was the last thing he desired. He could only pray he would not be hewn by the same tides.