Livia poked her head from the side room. ‘Aurelia, inside voice. Who – oh, Loren!’
In two strides, she crossed the room to pull him into a massive hug. Loren melted into it. Her hair, dark and curly as Aurelia’s, smelled of honey and clean water and everything else right in the world.
Which, these days, wasn’t much.
When Livia withdrew, she kissed each of his cheeks, but Loren couldn’t meet her eyes. ‘It’s been far too long, love. I worried you were avoiding me.’
‘You scold like Nonna.’
‘Good. If I can be half as formidable as she is, I’ll have lived a good life.’ She joked, but a sad crinkle formed between her brows. Quieter, just for him, she repeated, ‘Far too long.’
Questions lurked in her tone. Loren didn’t know where to begin.
Blessedly, Aurelia saved him. She hopped on the counter, feet swinging, and pointed. ‘Loren brought a friend. A smelly friend. He’s called Felix.’
Livia released Loren when she followed Aurelia’s finger to Felix, hovering half out the door.
‘Oh, dear,’ she fretted. ‘Dreadful-looking thing, what happened to you?’
Felix grimaced. ‘The Priest of Isis.’
‘Horrible old man.’ Livia tutted and moved to hug Felix, too, but he shifted back, and she stopped herself. Switching tactics, she clasped her hands and beamed, though Felix didn’t relax his defences. ‘Well, worry not. We’ll clean you up.’
‘I don’t have the savings to cover more than half right now,’ Loren said. ‘But I could run errands until—’
‘Have I ever asked for pay before?’ Livia ushered a stiff-limbed Felix behind the counter, patting Loren’s cheek as she passed. ‘Next time, don’t insult me by offering.’
They disappeared behind the threadbare curtain blocking off the tailoring room, and Loren rubbed the cord around his neck. Livia was the last person who would keep score, but Loren added this to his tally of wrongs to right.
‘You like him,’ Aurelia said, mouth full of dates scrounged from Loren’s basket. ‘I saw you laughing together.’
‘Stop spying,’ he said, ‘and chew with your mouth shut.’
She slipped off the counter. ‘Come see my project.’
Aurelia took him upstairs to the bedroom she shared with Livia. Common for Pompeii’s working class, their living space was small, most of the unit belonging to the shop. A single bed, slightly wider than Loren’s own, stood neatly made and covered in pillows. Old dolls sat beneath a weaving loom, and above the window hung Aurelia’s father’s military gladius, sheath carefully dusted.
Livia made any place feel like home. It lay in the little touches, hand-stitched tunics dressing the dolls, embroidered poppies on bed linens. This had been Loren’s room once, too, his first year in Pompeii, until he noticed the strain with all three of them packed in. But by then he had his place with Isis, where he made enough to rent the room at the brothel. He made his excuses to Livia, and he left.
She had never forgiven him for growing up, but Loren likewise couldn’t forgive himself for taking advantage of her when she knew nothing about where he came from.
Focus. He shook off the nostalgia.
‘I got you something,’ Loren said, fishing out the silk, and Aurelia’s eyes lit up. She grabbed, but he held the scrap above her reach. ‘If you help me first.’
She glared. ‘I hate being bribed.’
‘And yet.’ He sidestepped her stomping foot. ‘You spend a lot of time in the Forum. Playing, snooping, whatever you call it. What can you tell me about the stolen helmet?’
‘Mercury’s helmet?’ Aurelia bit the skin around her thumb. ‘It can’t be touched. I dared Celsi to try once—’
‘Aurelia.’
‘But he told me his pappa would never stop nagging if he came home with burnt hands. Then I said that’s only a rumour, andhesaid he knows because he saw someone try once, and now the man has to wear gloves. Sounds awful, hiding your hands all the time. Imagine trying to weave.’ She scrunched her face and flounced to undo the covering on her loom.
‘Did Celsi say who?’ When she only blinked, Loren huffed. ‘The man with the gloves.’
‘Oh. Some smuggler who lives in town.’ Her face twisted impishly. ‘But if you want the real story, Celsi told me he’s a pirate on the run from the emperor.’
