Prompt #17: Novel
The next weeks were torture of the sweetest kind possible.
We all reconvened at the safe house and managed to finally convince Marcus that he had to stay hidden until the trial, but that meant living all together in close contact until we could leave the whole ordeal behind us.
And Marcus in close contact was a force to be reckoned with because, as he didn’t have any work to keep him occupied, I became his next project. And the effort he put into it was overwhelming.
It was the little things: asking my opinion on some matter, brushing my hand as he was passing by, even dining all together, instead of keeping the employer/employee divide. I found out that Marcus and Aurelius were old friends as they spent a lot of time talking about their experiences together, their families, their shared background.
It would seem a harmless enough pastime, especially when we were forced to stay inside, but the covert glances Marcus kept throwing my way when nobody was looking, told another story: he wanted me to know about him, to realize he was a man and not an institution.
It’s hard to stay detached when the one you don’t want to be attracted to is telling funny stories about his childhood or how close he is to his cousins, since he has no siblings.
Then there was the sparring. We kept up our routine and he joined us every day for our training always sparring with us at the end. Having his hands on me after everything that happened? Sparks were flying every time we touched.
The nights were the worst: we took turns guarding the house and no matter the hour, Marcus always spent my watch with me, once the others went to rest. Sometimes he would just sit down with me without saying a word. Sometimes he would ask questions about me, my family, my hopes and dreams. And he always presented me with a cup of hot tea and some sweets, always asked if I was warm enough, if he could do anything to make me more comfortable.
He never tried to kiss me again but he wouldn’t shy away from touching me: my hand, my hair, leaning his head on my shoulder when we were sitting down, like an overgrown puppy… this mixture of strength, humour, longing and tenderness became a drug that I couldn’t be without too long without missing it.
I tried to deny it to myself but our forced cohabitation was having the intended effect of addicting me to him, to his calm presence, to his voice and worst of all, to his touch. He was burrowing a place inside my heart that I wasn’t sure I would ever be able to seal shut.
The problem was that this was novel to me: I had flings in the past, I had boyfriends, intimacy, and I believed myself in love more then once as an adolescent, but this tempest of feelings he sparked in me was something I wasn’t accustomed to. I struggled to understand if what I was feeling was a product of his relentless, if subtle, courtship, or if it was really coming from my heart. I was full of doubts.
More than by virtue of my job, I began to be aware of him on a deeper level, to always know where he was, to feel his presence deep in my bones and blood.
This was bad, very bad. I would have to resign if it kept up, before someone like Augustus reported me and had me fired. But damn, I needed this job.
Then finally came the day of the trial. In the course of a very tense morning we delivered him safe and sound so he could give his testimony and finally, after weeks, we breathed a sigh of relief.
It was over. Well, it wouldn’t be until the judgment, but the hardest part was done. Or so I thought.
Because the day the judgment came and the heir of the Claudia family walked free, despite everything, was the day everything changed forever for me.
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Misty 