Page 49 of Thawed Gladiator: Cassius

I look between them, feeling blindsided and cornered. “I can’t—”

“You can,” Laura interrupts. “You’re stronger than you think. Remember, I know your secrets.” Panic swamps me for a moment as I wonder what she’s about to divulge. “You told me how much you love this job. It’s your Kryptonite. And you’re too invested and too good at it to let one man drive you away.”

One man. As if Cassius were just any man. As if seeing him every day wouldn’t be exquisite torture.

“Fine,” I finally say. “I’ll stay. But there will be rules.”

“Anything,” Cassius agrees almost too quickly.

I turn to him, steeling myself. “You’ll work where and when I tell you. No unauthorized contact with the kids. No decisions without consulting me first. And most importantly—” I meet his eyes directly, “—we keep things strictly professional. No private conversations, no lingering looks, no… anything.”

“Of course.” Is it my imagination, or does he look pained? When I give him a closer look, his gaze flicks from mine.

After all three of them leave, I lean against Atlas’s warm side, suddenly exhausted. Why does Cassius still affect me this way?Even now, after everything, my body hums with awareness when he’s near. It would be easier if I could hate him, if I could look at him and feel nothing but contempt.

But I saw genuine remorse in his eyes. Genuine desire to make amends. And underneath it all, I saw the man I fell for—not the arrogant patrician, but the caring, thoughtful soul I glimpsed during our first weeks together.

“Stop it,” I mutter to myself, stepping away from Atlas. It doesn’t matter how sincere he seems or how my body reacts to his presence. I can’t risk losing my heart again.

I grab a curry comb and groom Atlas with perhaps more vigor than necessary. I have a program to run, gladiators and kids to help, and a professional relationship to maintain. Everything else—the lingering attraction, the what-ifs, the maybes—needs to stay buried.

Even if burying it feels like killing a piece of my soul along with it.

Chapter Forty

Cassius

As I perform my morning chores, I quietly practice my English. Since returning from St. Louis, I’ve increased my studies. I might as well, since I’m no longer welcome at game nights. “You look lovely today,” “The students really seem to enjoy your lessons,” and “Have a good evening.” Simple words, but each one is a step toward belonging in this world. If they also happen to be words I long to say to Diana without the translator, well, that’s just an added incentive to learn.

I don’t want Diana to know I’m so focused on learning English. Not just yet.

When I see Bailey struggling with a heavy bag of feed, I ask Diana in Latin, “May I help Bailey with that?” The words taste bitter—not because I mind asking permission, but because I hateseeing the girl strain while I wait for approval. In Rome, I would have simply acted. Here, I must learn patience.

Diana considers for a moment, then, lips pinched, she nods. “Go ahead.”

I approach Bailey carefully because she’s tended to flinch away from me since my return, obviously having heard enough about my behavior to harbor anger at me. “Would you like a hand?”

Her eyes dart between me and Diana before she gives a tiny nod. As we work together to pour the feed, I keep my movements slow and deliberate, my voice soft.

“Like this,” I demonstrate, showing her how to brace the bag against her hip. “It gives you better control.”

She doesn’t respond, but I notice her copying my technique. Small victories, I remind myself. Like repairing muscle after an injury, trust must be rebuilt gradually.

Jason enters the barn, his face hardening when he sees me. His rejection cuts deep. We had connected, sharing our common experiences of father-wounds, though they were two thousand years apart. Now he treats me like a stranger—worse, like an enemy.

“Diana,” he calls out, pointedly ignoring me, “can you help me with Atlas’s bridle?”

“Cassius can show you,” she replies, busy with paperwork. “He’s good with the tack.”

Jason’s jaw clenches. “I’d rather wait for you.”

The old me would have bristled at this disrespect. Instead, I focus on sweeping the barn aisle, keeping my movements calm and non-threatening. I’ve learned to make myself smaller, less imposing. To speak softer. To wait.

Diana glances up from her clipboard, her eyes meeting mine briefly before skittering away. “Cassius,” she says, her tone professionally neutral, “would you check the back pasture fence? I thought I saw a loose board earlier.”

“Of course.” I set the broom aside, careful to return it to exactly where I found it. Everything in its proper place. Everything by the rules. That part is easy. Not so easy is her edict to avoid lingering looks.

As I walk to the pasture, I hear Jason’s voice drift out of the barn. “Why’d you let him come back? He’s just like my dad—acts nice until he shows his true colors.”

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