by Monica Burns
“I was terrified of something happening to you, carissima. The thought of the Praetorians taking you the way they took Gabriel . . . it was unbearable.” Atia’s quiet statement sent a flash of understanding across Cleo’s face before her expression hardened again. It was so reminiscent of her father’s.
“I can understand why you’d keep me in the dark when I was a child, but when I was older?” Cleo said fiercely.
“I wanted to tell you, but with each passing day it became harder to do so. I knew you’d see my silence as having lied to you, and I was afraid.”
“Afraid?” Cleo snorted with angry disbelief. “You’re fearless, Mother. You take on Council members like a lioness does her prey. You chose not to tell me the truth because it was easier not to.”
“It was not easier. From the moment you were born, I’ve lived in fear. If the Praetorians had known who your father was, they would have stopped at nothing to take you like they did Gabriel.”
“So why now? Why not three years ago?” Cleo bit out. “You couldn’t tell me the truth then? The Praetorians don’t have any use for women they can’t breed.”
“If I had told you then, would it have changed anything?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know. But you should have told me.” Cleo’s voice echoed with confusion, and Atia ached to reach out to her daughter and fold her into her arms, just as she had when Cleo was younger.
“Please, Cleo. I want us to—” She started to close the physical distance between them, but Cleo jumped back.
“No,” Cleo snapped. “Not another word, Mother. Now, unless there’s some other dark secret you’d like to reveal, may I leave?”
Once again, Atia leaned toward her daughter, but Marcus stepped forward to intercept her. The physical touch of his fingers digging into her arm silently ordered her not to continue.
“We understand you need time to adjust to everything your mother has shared with you this morning.” Marcus’s voice was one of serene calm, but Atia couldn’t tell if it had any effect on Cleo. His voice softened even more. “I know how difficult this must be for you, Cleopatra. It wasn’t easy for me when your mother told me about you only two weeks ago. But if you’ll give me the opportunity, I’d like to get to know you. All I ask is that you think about it.”
Cleo acknowledged him with a sharp nod. She hesitated for a fraction of a second, and Atia thought she might say something, but Cleo simply wheeled about on one heel to stalk out of the study without a glance in Atia’s direction.
The moment the door closed behind her daughter, Atia jerked away from Marcus and slowly circled the corner of the desk to sink down into the leather office chair. She’d lost her. Cleo would never forgive her for not telling her the truth. Head bowed, she closed her eyes and tried to think, but she couldn’t. For the first time in a very long time, she didn’t have a plan. Didn’t have any sense of what direction to turn. It made her feel lost and alone.
“She’ll eventually see her way to forgive you.” At Marcus’s quiet statement, she lifted her head up to look at him.
“No. She won’t,” she said bitterly. “You don’t know her like I do.”
“You’re right. I don’t.” There was no accusation in his words. It was just a simple observation, but it filled her with guilt all the same.
“She hates being lied to. It started when she was a child. Her best friend fell three stories when the two of them were playing on the rampart of the east wing at the White Cloud estate. I told Cleo her friend would live. The child died. She’s demanded the truth ever since. She can be very unforgiving.”
“Then we’ll make her see you had no other choice.”
“And do you believe I had no other choice?” She met his gaze steadily, remembering how furious he’d been when he’d learned of Cleo’s existence.
“You did what I would have done. You protected our daughter,” he said quietly, but there was a flash of emotion in his vivid blue eyes that worried her. “I can’t fault you for not telling her the truth.”
“But?”
“You should have told me, Atia. I had a right to know that I had a daughter. I could have watched her grow up from a distance. You denied me even that small joy.”
“If you want me to say I’m sorry, I can’t.” She shook her head. “I couldn’t risk you taking her from me.”
“And yet you risked her life in attempting to raise her alone, thinking no one would discover your secret. I could have helped protect her.”
“Her life was at risk no matter what course of action I took.” She bristled with resentment. “I did what I thought best for my daughter. I won’t apologize for that.”
“Our daughter.” The fierce intensity of his words emphasized that he was still angry she’d hidden the truth from him. Like Cleo, he would have a hard time forgiving her. And the fact that she wanted his forgiveness frightened her. It showed how quickly he was becoming a part of her life again.
“Our daughter.” She nodded with resignation.
Eyes closed, her fingers rubbed at her temple. Another headache. They seemed to come so often these days. A gentle, unseen touch stroked her forehead, and she sighed at the invisible caress.
“Why are you so certain Cleo won’t forgive you?” At the quiet question, she raised her head to meet his puzzled gaze. “Her concern for you last night at the Pantheon demonstrated how much she loves you.”
“Cleo is like you. She has a stubborn streak. When she makes up her mind about something, it’s difficult to convince her otherwise.”
“Then perhaps she’s met her match in me.”
Although his gaze was somber, there was just a hint of amusement curving his lips as he watched her. It stirred something deep inside her that helped ease some of the grief still assaulting her body. She closed her eyes at the memory of Gabriel’s death and how close Marcus had come to joining their son.
A tear squeezed its way out from under her eyelid, and a harsh oath escaped Marcus. Her eyes flew open in surprise at the sound, and she saw Marcus move quickly to pull her up out of the desk chair. The moment his arms wrapped around her, she burst into tears. A shudder went through him, and she knew she was shedding tears for both of them.
The grief she’d experienced the day the Praetorians had taken Gabriel from them had been different from the pain she was feeling now. Then, she’d been filled with terror for Gabriel’s life and her own. She’d killed one Praetorian before the second one had dealt her what should have been a deathblow.
Until Cleo was born, she’d wished thousands of times that the Praetorians had killed her that horrible day. It would be better than living with the fact that she’d failed Gabriel. Failed to do her duty. She’d not had the courage to take her son’s life that day. She’d allowed herself to hold on to the hope that she could defeat the bastardi that had surprised her and their bodyguards.
But she hadn’t. And the Praetorians had laughed at her as they’d dragged a crying Gabriel from her arms. Like her, they’d been certain she was as good as dead. They’d taunted her with departing words about how Gabriel would become one of them.
It was a memory that haunted her every day. The bastardi had deliberately left her to die knowing the last few minutes of her life would be spent agonizing over the fate of her child. She was the one to blame for Gabriel. And the fact that she’d survived . . . if Marcus ever learned the truth, he’d never forgive her.
She’d lied to him. She’d told him she’d been unconscious when they’d taken Gabriel. Even if she’d had the strength to do so, she could not have killed their son just to keep the Praetorians from taking him. Suddenly, she wished she were far away from Rome.
She gently pulled out of his arms, grateful he’d not attempted to probe her thoughts. Her ability to keep her mental shield in place was sorely limited at this point. If he really wanted to know what she was thinking, he would have no difficulty breaking through her thoughts. The realization terrified her.
To face his condemnation so s
oon after Gabriel’s death heightened the deep-seated fear that had never left her since the day of their son’s kidnapping. Afraid her expression might reveal more than she cared for him to see, Atia turned from Marcus and brushed away the wetness on her cheeks.
“What are you afraid of, mea kara?” His voice was a soft caress on her senses.
My beloved. The endearment enveloped her with warmth. It made her feel treasured. Safe. And it emphasized her vulnerability where Marcus was concerned. She had always wanted to tell him the truth, just as she had wanted to tell him about Cleo. She simply hadn’t ever found the courage to do so.
Her inability to explain her mistake only emphasized the fact that she’d never stopped loving him. She trembled as his hand caught her chin, and he forced her to look at him. There was a frown of concern on his face as he studied her. She pulled away from his touch and shook her head.
“I’m not afraid, Eminence.” She winced at the dark cloud of irritation that swept over his features. “With your permission, I’ll take the Tyet of Isis back to White Cloud. It’s not safe here in Italy.”
“Agreed,” Marcus growled. “I need to speak with Dante before we leave.”
“We?” She hadn’t meant to sound so sharp.
“Yes. We,” he said in a firm voice. “I wish to examine the documents that are in the artifact.” The minute he mentioned the artifact, she stiffened. The thought of working closely with him in studying the antiquity was alarming. She swallowed the knot in her throat.
“The Order has several researchers, including me, who are extremely knowledgeable about the Tyet of Isis,” Atia said.
“Perhaps, but I wish to examine the parchment as well. My memories of my past life as Tevy may prove useful.”
“But—”
“No arguments, Atia. I’ll not be put off in this matter.” His mouth thinned slightly with determination. “I intend to study the parchment with you. But that’s not the only thing I plan on doing. I also intend to claim what is rightfully mine.”
“And I told you that I’m not your property.” A sharp hiss of air blew past her lips. “The blood bond is one of mutual agreement.”
“Which you agreed to thirty-six years ago next month, if memory serves me correctly.” His words made her jump with surprise. He remembered the day of their blood bond. His eyes narrowed. “Did you think I would forget? We belong to each other, Atia. And I’ll go to Tartarus and back to make you see that.”
The intensity in his voice made her even more apprehensive. He was acting as if everything between them was settled. It wasn’t. And his arrogance in assuming so irritated her. Her gaze fell to the paperwork on her desk. Work. It had always been a sanctuary, and it would be again. She sank down into her chair and brushed several papers aside to find a pen.
“Forgive me, Eminence. I have work to catch up on.” Her dispassionate comment pulled a sharp hiss of air from Marcus.
“You would try the patience of the Carpenter himself, Atia,” he said harshly. “You always found it easier to hide from your problems than face them. I see nothing’s changed.”
“I’m not hiding from anything. As Prima Consul I have responsibilities I cannot avoid, and unlike you, I don’t have someone waiting in the wings to help me perform those duties.”
She didn’t bother to look up at him as she spoke. A moment later, she felt him at her side and the instant the palm of his hand cracked loudly on the desktop in front of her, she jumped. He jerked her chair around with his other hand, and she retreated deeper into the soft leather as he bent over her.
“I’m willing to give you time, carissima, but nothing has changed since the other morning when we watched the sun rise over the city at La Terrazza del Ninfeo. I said you were mine, and I meant it.”
“Deus, but you are an arrogant son of a bitch,” she snapped as she violently pushed the chair and herself away from him to stand. “What makes you think you can walk back into my life and simply demand the right of blood bond? I’ve built a life without you, and as difficult as it might be to accept, I’ve been happy without you.”
That wasn’t exactly true. She’d learned to adapt and find happiness where she could. She didn’t dare tell him how many nights she’d lain awake through the years wishing he were lying beside her. The number of sleepless nights had only increased since he’d summoned her to meet him in the Santa Maria sopra Minerva just a few short days ago when she’d arrived in Rome.
But it changed nothing. What they’d had in the past had cost her dearly. And she was too tired—too old—too scared to start over. She tightened her jaw and glared up at him. His vivid blue eyes immediately narrowed as he studied her face. It was that assessing look that always managed to see more than what she wanted to show. But over the years she’d had lots of practice hiding her thoughts from others. She’d mastered the skill as Prima Consul. With a vicious grunt of anger, he took a step toward her, and she immediately retreated. Something flashed in his eyes that made her want to reach out to him, but she forced herself to remain still.
“You said not too long ago that the past is always with you. It’s with me as well. It would serve you well to remember that,” he said harshly.
With one last hard look in her direction, he turned away and strode out of the study. Left alone, Atia stared at the closed door. He intended to have his way, and she was suddenly of a mind to let him do exactly as he wanted. She closed her eyes at the thought.
Marcus could be persuasive when he wanted to be. In the few short years of happiness they’d shared before Gabriel’s kidnapping, she’d invariably given in to him when they argued. Even when he’d become leader of the Absconditus, he’d never forced her to do anything, despite the fact that his command was virtually law. He’d simply seduced her with words. And his touch.
The memory of those passionate moments in La Terrazza del Ninfeo caressed her thoughts. Cleo had been the result of that union. And now everything hung in the balance. Just as it had when Gabriel had been kidnapped. The heartache of that event had driven a wedge between her and Marcus. It was the only time Marcus had ever deserted her.
She’d needed him in those days and weeks after Gabriel had been taken from them. But he’d shut her out. He’d carried a burden of guilt that wasn’t his to carry. Perhaps she would have been able to tell him the truth if he’d not left her. She shuddered as the memories rushed at her with the fury of a raging Praetorian. Legs weak, she sank back into her chair.
Perhaps Cleo was right. Maybe she didn’t know how to tell the truth. But then the truth was never as easy to reveal as her daughter thought. Her fingers brushed across the papers on her desk. She was anything but fearless. She was a coward. That was the real reason she didn’t want Marcus back in her life. She didn’t have the courage it would take to face him and the truth. Like Cleo, it was unlikely he would forgive her sin. She closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair trying desperately not to let the tears flow. She failed.
At the soft knock on the office door, she jerked upright. Had Cleo returned? The sight of Ignacio stepping into view made her release a sigh of disappointment as she quickly wiped her eyes dry. Although the sound was barely audible, she knew Ignacio had heard it because his jaw tightened. Atia’s heart sank. Their friendship had always been something she cherished. Why hadn’t she realized before now that the man wanted something more than friendship from her? The answer was easy. There had never, and never would be, anyone but Marcus.
TEARS glistened in Atia’s beautiful gray eyes as Ignacio closed the office door behind him. He saw her hands tremble as she hastily brushed the dampness from her cheeks. The last time he’d seen her cry was when the doctors had told them Cleo would never have any children. Ignacio’s gut tightened. He’d never meant to fall in love with her. He’d known better, but he’d succumbed anyway.
Until a few nights ago, he’d actually begun to believe he could persuade her to give up the ghosts of her past. A foolish thought. He knew it was a futile hope. The f
act that Vorenus had reentered Atia’s life only emphasized just how unrealistic he’d been.
Just thinking about the Sicari Lord made Ignacio’s blood run hot with jealousy. The bastardo had simply strolled back into Atia’s life as if she were some prize the Sicari Lord was entitled to. Ignacio didn’t care that the two were blood bonded, it didn’t entitle Vorenus to lay claim to Atia again after all these years.
“You should be in bed,” Ignacio said gruffly.
“I wouldn’t be able to sleep.” She gestured toward the paperwork in front of her. “Work will help take my mind off of everything.”
“I’m sorry about Gabriel.” She would never know just how sorry he was.
“Thank you.” She swallowed hard.
Fingers pressing into the desk, she bent her head as if studying the papers in front of her. Ignacio knew she wasn’t reading. She’d lost her son tonight, and her grief was his. The thought propelled him forward. When he reached her, Atia stared up at him in surprise as he gently pulled her into his arms.
“I’m here for you, carissima. I always have been.” It was the truth.
From the first time he’d met her, Ignacio had made it his goal to become indispensible to her. It has been expected of him. In the process he’d fallen in love. He’d fought against it and had never spoken of his feelings to her until the night he’d discovered Vorenus was Cleo’s father. He almost felt sorry for the man, finding out the way he had that Cleo was his daughter. Almost.
Cleo was the child Ignacio had never had. He’d tended to her scraped knees, taught her how to fight and a dozen more things any father would teach their children. He’d allowed himself to become such a part of their lives that he wasn’t sure he would be able to let go when the time came. And that time would come. It loomed in front of him like the river Styx. He crushed the thought. There had to be a way to make Atia his, no matter what the obstacles.
“I take it Cleo didn’t react well to the news.” His simple statement made her flinch.
