Page 50 of Thawed Gladiator Thrax

Chapter Forty

Skye

The taxi ride from the airport is a whirlwind of laughter and excitement—or should I say terror? Thrax’s eyes are wide, drinking in every detail of modern Rome passing by our windows. His hand hasn’t left mine since we landed, as if he needs the constant connection to anchor him in this new world.

“I still can’t believe how calm you were during takeoff,” I tease, nudging his shoulder. “Mr. ‘I’m not scared of anything’ clutching the armrests for dear life.”

Thrax chuckles, a warm, rich sound that never fails to make my heart skip. “I wasn’t scared,” he insists, looking me in the eye as if to convince me he’s not lying. “I was… appreciating the engineering.”

“Oh, is that what we’re calling it now?” I laugh. “And I suppose all that whooping and cheering when we broke through the clouds was just you ‘appreciating the view’?”

His grin is infectious. “It was magnificent,” he admits. “Like soaring with the gods themselves.”

The pure wonder in his voice makes me fall for him all over again. Every new experience, every modern marvel, he faces with a mix of curiosity and courage that never ceases to amaze me.

As we pull up to our hotel, Thrax’s eyebrows shoot up. “This is where we’re staying?” he asks, taking in the elegant façade.

I nod, feeling a flutter of excitement. “Laura urged us not to scrimp. She wanted your first trip to be special.”

Inside, Thrax’s head swivels as he tries to take in every detail at once. The gleaming marble floors, the crystal chandelier, the soft music playing from hidden speakers—it’s a far cry from the story he told me about sleeping with a donkey as a child.

When we reach our room, I can’t help but grin at his reaction. “Classy, right?” I say, watching as he explores the spacious suite with childlike wonder.

“It’s… incredible,” he breathes, running his hand over the plush bedspread. “But why are we so far from the city center? I thought we came to see Rome. I haven’t seen one building left from my time.”

Joining him by the window, I wrap my arms around his waist. “One step at a time,” I explain gently. “I didn’t want to overwhelm you right away. We’ll explore the heart of Rome tomorrow, I promise. But, Thrax… remember what we’ve told you. Nothing will look the same. Nothing.”

He turns in my arms, his brow furrowed. “Right. I guess I was just… hoping.”

As we unpack, Thrax’s fascination with modern amenities provides endless entertainment. He marvels at the plush bathrobes (“Fit for an emperor!”), is baffled by the in-room safe (“A tiny vault for our treasures?”), and nearly jumps out of his skin when he accidentally turns on the bidet (“By the gods, what manner of fountain is this?”).

When he fiddles with the shower handles and turns on the water, he exclaims, “Jupiter’s beard,” as he stares at the rainfall showerhead. “It’s like a personal waterfall!”

I can’t help but laugh at his enthusiasm. “Wait until you try the jacuzzi tub,” I tease, wiggling my eyebrows suggestively.

As night falls, we stand on the balcony, Rome spread out before us like a glittering carpet. Thrax’s arm is warm around my shoulders, his presence solid and reassuring.

With a tender smile, he leans in, capturing my lips in a kiss that speaks volumes. We may not have said “I love you” yet, but in this moment, under the Roman stars, those words feel unnecessary. They’re in every touch, every shared laugh, every quiet moment of understanding.

Thrax was born a slave. He can’t read or write. But he’s smart. He knows how hard this city is going to be on him emotionally, but instead of choosing Paris, he’s here. Ready for the challenge, taking his life back one step at a time.

Chapter Forty-One

Thrax

Skye and I spill out of our taxi in the heart of Rome, the streets stretching before us, a confusing clash of old and new. My head swivels; I don’t know where to look first.

“Ready for an adventure?” Skye looks as excited as I feel. She’s told me she’s never been here before.

Nodding, I take her hand. “Lead the way.”

We navigate the bustling sidewalks, dodging scooters and cars. The noise and speed of modern transportation still startle me, but Skye’s steady presence keeps me grounded. I keep my arm around her protectively as we’re jostled by the crowd, glaring at any would-be thieves who might get too close. The buildings and language might have changed, but some things always stay the same.

Our first stop is a place called the Spanish Steps. As we approach, I’m struck by the elegant sweep of marble stairs, rising up to a church perched high above the city.

“Why are they called the Spanish Steps?” I ask as we climb. “Varro mentioned that his home country, Hispania, is now calledSpain. Did Hispania conquer Rome?” Certainly, someone would have warned me.

Skye pulls out her smartphone, tapping and swiping at the screen. “Let’s see… Ah, here we go. They’re called that because the Spanish Embassy to the Holy See, which is the Vatican government, was once located at the base of the steps.”

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