Page 66 of Thawed Gladiator: Cassius

“Yes,” she whispers, then louder, “Yes!”

I stand and ease the torque around her wrist. “I thought it would be more practical than a ring that you could lose while mucking a stall.”

She pulls me into a kiss that is so enthusiastic it threatens to bruise my lips. It tastes of joy and promises and the ripe bloom of the future.

When we part, I rest my forehead against hers. “Te amo, I love you,” I say in Latin, then English, then in the language of my heart that needs no words at all as I drown in her gaze.

The scent of roses mingles with an impossible hint of sea spray. A figure appears in the sunset’s glow—a woman in flowing robes, her presence both ancient and timeless. The Goddess Fortuna’s smile is knowing as she touches the wheel at her side, then gestures between Diana and me. The message needs no translation: some loves are fated, destined to survive even time itself.

As quickly as she appeared, she vanishes, leaving only the lingering scent of the distant sea. The sun sets over Second Chance, painting the sky in shades of promise. Below us, lights twinkle in the barn, the dining hall, the scattered homes of our strange, wonderful family. Tomorrow will bring new challenges, new students, new opportunities for growth.

But right now, holding Diana close as stars appear above us, I am exactly where I’m meant to be. Not because fate or the gods ordained it, but because we chose this—chose each other, chose to grow, chose to build something beautiful from the ruins of our pasts.

“Take me home?” Diana asks, offering her hand.

I take it, knowing she means more than just her cabin. Home is wherever we are together, whatever we build together, however we grow together.

“Always,” I reply, and follow her down the hill toward our future.

Epilogue

Diana

Summer roses climb the barn walls, their fragrance mingling with fresh hay and morning dew. A commotion outside draws my attention. Dominus, wearing a tiny bow tie that Skye managed to attach to his collar, is determinedly trying to eat the flower arrangements. Thrax chases after him, cursing in Latin while trying to maintain his dignity in his formal attire. The sight of the fierce gladiator being outwitted by a naughty goat sets off a round of laughter from the arriving guests.

I stand before a small mirror in my office, now transformed into a bridal chamber, as Laura weaves tiny white flowers into my hair.

“No veil?” she asks, though she already knows my answer.

“Cassius wants to see my face,” I explain, touching my crooked nose and the small scar on my lip that I no longer try to hide. “All of me. Just the way I am.”

The dress is simple, flowing, perfect for a woman who spends her days with horses. But the belt is pure Roman elegance—a gift from Thrax’s talented hands, carved wood with intertwined horses and laurel leaves strung with leather dyed the color of rich earth.

Through the window, I watch our guests arrive. A sudden breeze carries the scent of roses and sea salt, though we’re hundreds of miles from any ocean. For just a moment, I see a reflection in the mirror that isn’t my own—a woman in ancient Roman dress; her smile knowing and warm, one hand resting on the wheel of fate.

Fortuna. The goddess who preserved Cassius through two millennia of frozen sleep, who brought him to this time, to me. She inclines her head slightly, as if giving her blessing, then vanishes like morning mist. The scent of the sea lingers.

I come to my senses to notice the mayor and his wife chatting with Quintus about the expanding garum production. Alex, resplendent in a suit that matches their confidence, guides newcomers to their seats. Jason helps an elderly couple with a gentleness that would have been unimaginable months ago.

“Ready?” Laura asks softly.

I nod, my heart too full for words.

Cassius

The sound of my bride approaching causes every fiber of my being to roar in triumph. She is mine, as I am hers. Diana appears in the barn doorway, and my world stops turning.

She’s wearing dainty sandals, flowers in her hair, sunlight turning her into something divine, like the Goddess she’s named after. But it’s her smile—open, unguarded, radiant with joy—that brings tears to my eyes.

We’ve chosen to blend traditions, like everything else in our life. The barn has been transformed into a temple of sorts, hay bales draped in white fabric, roses everywhere. Our guests sit in a circle, erasing any distinction between bride’s side and groom’s.

As Diana walks toward me, I speak the traditional Roman words of welcome, then repeat them in English—not because she needs the translation anymore, but because each language carries its own kind of love.

“Cor meum tuum est.My heart to yours.”

“Nunc et semper,” she responds. “Now and always.” Her accent is perfect.

The ceremony passes in a blur of ancient vows and modern promises. When it’s time to exchange rings, Diana pulls out a surprise—a torque. The bracelet matches the one I gave her at our engagement. I assume Laura had a hand in all of this.

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