Page 79 of Thawed Gladiator: Varro

“So you believe me?” I ask, hardly daring to hope.

She nods slowly. “I’m skeptical by nature, Laura, but I’m also a scientist. At the very least, this deserves investigation.”

Relief washes over me. Finally, someone who understands.

Dr. Diaz outlines her thoughts rapidly, her excitement palpable. “We’ll need a multidisciplinary team—cryobiologists, historians, ethicists, translators. And a secure facility with state-of-the-art medical equipment.”

“I think I can help with that last part,” I interject, thinking of the gold we’ve recovered. “But what about governmental approval? These aren’t exactly standard archaeological finds.”

Dr. Diaz’s brow furrows. “That’s trickier. Technically, these are human remains, but they fall into a gray area legally. We’ll need to approach this carefully.”

Over the next few days, Dr. Diaz and I work tirelessly, reaching out to contacts, drafting proposals, and navigating a labyrinth of international laws. It’s exhausting but exhilarating. Varro and I are still on the research vessel, staking our claim to what’s under the sea in case other treasure hunters track this location down.

We settle on a facility in Switzerland—neutral territory with some of the world’s most advanced medical technology. They are allowing us to rent an unused wing of a research hospital and will prepare it the moment we give the word. Dr. Diaz uses her connections to arrange a meeting with the Swiss Federal Department of Home Affairs.

The video conference is tense. I lay out our case, careful to emphasize the historical and scientific significance without revealing too much. Dr. Diaz chimes in with technical details, her expertise lending credibility to our outlandish tale.

Finally, after what feels like hours of deliberation, we receive tentative approval. We’ll be granted temporary custody of the bodies for research purposes, under strict ethical guidelines and international oversight.

As I end the call, exhausted but elated, Varro pulls me into a tight embrace.

“You did it,” he murmursinto my hair.

I shake my head, pulling back to meet his eyes. “Wedid it. But this is just the beginning.”

Later that night, as I’m reviewing Dr. Diaz’s proposed team roster, I’m struck by the magnitude of what we’re undertaking. We’re about to attempt something never done before in human history.

My phone buzzes with a text from Dr. Diaz: “Just confirmed our lead medical doctor, Albert Petrov. He’s currently the chief of cryobiology at the University of Yekaterinburg. The Russian government has given verbal permission for this collaboration. It’s waiting for the final approval. Laura, this is really happening!”

Her enthusiasm is infectious, and I find myself grinning at my phone. Despite the challenges ahead, I’m grateful to have found such a brilliant and passionate ally.

As I crawl into bed beside Varro and kiss the handsome face that has become the best part of my world, my mind races with possibilities. Tomorrow, we start the process of retrieving and transporting the bodies. Soon, we might be looking into the eyes of people who last saw the world two millennia ago.

“Varro, we’ve already made the impossible possible once. Who’s to say we can’t do it again?”

“No one, Dulcis. Now get naked and lie on the bunk. I’ve wanted to sketch you since before I ever saw you without clothes.”

I quirk an eyebrow in question, but don’t protest. There’s something about the heat of Varro’s gaze that makes me shed all my inhibitions.

He grabs the notebook and one of the charcoal pencils we bought when we were shopping, then arranges the spread so the rippling folds look artful.

He sits down, rests his ankle on the other knee, and begins to sketch. It’s odd, having him look at me like this. Sometimes it’s dispassionate, sometimes he seems to forget his mission and his hand quits moving as heogles me with lust.

“I’m not as skilled as I’d like,” he hedges as he uses the edge of his hand to smudge the charcoal. “If my ability was worthy of you, you’d look more beautiful than Venus. Sadly, this will have to do.”

When he turns the journal to show me, I gasp softly. Its style is primitive, but I’m… beautiful. If this is the way he sees me, I’m a lucky, lucky woman.

“You’re so talented, Varro. It’s lovely.”

“Yes, Dulcis. Beautiful. Now let me make sure those nipples stay nice and hard.”

He sets down the pencil and journal and climbs next to me, his mouth homing in on my right nipple like a heat-seeking missile.

He stops teasing my hardened tip to tease me with words. “Where should I hang this, love? In the galley, where everyone can admire my woman?”

“We’ll keep it in your journal, just between the two of us. But if you want to show off, just make me come so hard everyone on the boat can hear me scream.”

Chapter Sixty-Two

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