Page 135 of Blue Moon

I’d half expected him to show up in a toga, but he was wearing faded jeans and a white T-shirt with a green plaid shirt over the top. His worn leather boots channelled last season’s lumberjack trend, and the only nod to impracticality was the chunky gold ring on his left hand.

I took a deep breath, rose to my feet, and willed myself to stop shaking.

“Marcus Antonius! Why have you chained me up like an ox?”

The man was delusional. And if Ryder was right, he needed some kind of medication. This whole Roman general thing was no passing fancy. The bathing chamber had a sunken tub with a golden faucet, and the room was tiled in mosaic. It must have taken him years.

Which meant that trying to convince him this was all a big mistake wouldn’t work. At best, he’d ignore my protests, and at worst, he’d get angry. Maybe he’d even think I was disposable? Which meant I had to approach things differently. Lean into the fantasy and keep him happy until Ryder arrived. I’d spent my whole life playing a character, pretending to be someone I wasn’t, so this was nothing new for me. I just had a different audience.

“Ita me paenitet, mea.” He stopped six feet away from me and sort of…bowed? “Tu animae dimidium meae. Ego fui sine te amissa.”

What the heck did that mean? It wasn’t Spanish, I knew that much.

“Can’t we speak English? I didn’t get a chance to relearn Roman.”

“You mean Latin?”

“Right, Latin.”

“Yes, of course we can speak English. Now that we’re together again, there will be plenty of time for you to learn, although perhaps we should start with Ancient Greek? Of course, it was just Greek when we first met.”

Phew. “So what was all that you said?”

Also, Greek? I’d been to Greece a bunch of times, and most everybody spoke English.

“I said, ‘I’m so sorry, my love. You’re my better half, and I’ve been lost without you.’”

“I’ve missed you too, but why have you chained me to the wall? It’s uncomfortable. I couldn’t sleep properly last night because every time I rolled over, the padlock dug into my hip.”

“Again, I’m sorry. Sorry I couldn’t be here to explain things when you awoke. I used the chain because I didn’t want you to panic and run. Let me take it off.”

Huh. That was easier than I thought.

Mark Antony took a step toward me, fishing in his pocket, only for Rocky to dart forward and bite his ankle. Hard. There was blood and everything. It spread over the leg of his jeans as he hopped around, cursing. When he aimed a foot in Rocky’s direction, I dropped to my knees and wrapped my arms around my sweet little furball.

“Don’t you dare hurt him!”

Mark Antony gritted his teeth, but then his glare softened. “You need to stop him from biting. It’s rude.”

Rude? Said the man who’d kidnapped me from my hotel suite.

“Strangers make him nervous. You should have brought him treats. Mr. Munch’s Gourmet Doggie Delights are his favourite kind.”

“I don’t have any dog treats, but I did pick up a bag of kibble. His arrival was…unexpected.”

Huh? So Mark Antony hadn’t snatched me himself? Then how had I gotten here? He had a partner? There were two kidnappers? And why hadn’t Rocky been left behind?

“I hope it’s the hypoallergenic kind.”

“Is that important?”

“He itches otherwise.”

“I’ll look the next time I go to the store.”

“When will that be?”

“In a week or two.”

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