Page 59 of Thawed Gladiator: Cassius

I press my hand to my mouth, trying to contain the storm of emotions threatening to overflow. I want to run to him, to tell him I understand now—really understand. He’s not just playing at being better. He’s not doing this to impress anyone. He’s chosen this path, chosen us, chosen to be the man I always glimpsed beneath the pride and confusion.

Dara leaves soon after, her stilettos clicking a sharp retreat. I barely notice, too caught up in the revelation thundering through me. I love him. Not despite his flaws or because of his change, but because of who he is—all of him, past and present, struggles and triumphs.

Tonight, I decide. Tonight I’ll tell him. No more walls, no more professional distance. Life’s too short to waste another moment pretending I don’t want to build something real with this impossible, wonderful man who chose love and service over power and prestige.

I just hope I haven’t waited too long to let him know.

Chapter Forty-Eight

Diana

I’m in such a hurry, I almost trip as I make my way to Cassius’s room in the connected barracks. My heart pounds as I swallow anxiously over and over. This is it. It’s going to be a pass or fail test. He either forgives me, or… tells me it’s over.

Cassius just chose us, chose Second Chance over adulation and attending elite events. Even though I’m putting myself out there, putting my heart on the line, I can’t wait another moment to tell him how I feel about him. My heart is bursting with love for him.

I pause outside his door, my fist raised to knock. Through the wood, I hear him speaking in halting English. Is he reading? It sounds as though the words are from a grade school primer. He’s practicing English. Not just learning how to speak it, but how to read our language. The thought makes my chest tight. He’s beenstudying in secret, working to bridge the gap between his world and ours.

Before I can knock, the door swings open. Cassius stands there, looking surprised but pleased to see me. “Diana? I heard footsteps stop at my door, but no one knocked.”

“I—” My carefully prepared speech dies in my throat. He’s fresh from the shower, his blond hair a shade darker because it’s still damp. He’s wearing only a pair of loose cotton pants. A droplet of water trails down his chest, and I lose my train of thought completely as my gaze follows it over the hills and valleys of his muscles.

“Is everything alright?” He steps back, gesturing for me to enter. The invitation in his eyes is clear, but so is his respect for my boundaries. He won’t push, won’t pressure. The choice is mine. My chest squeezes as I realize the choice has always been mine.

I step into his room, noticing the English books scattered on his desk, the neat stack of Latin poetry beside them. The space is sparse but comfortable, reflecting the man he’s become—neither the pampered patrician nor the hardened gladiator, but something uniquely his own.

“I heard you practicing English.”

A faint blush colors his cheeks. “I wanted to surprise you. When I was ready.”

“Why?” The question comes out barely above a whisper.

He meets my eyes steadily. “Because you deserve to hear how I feel in your own language. Without technology between us.”

My breath catches and it feels as though my whole body is quivering, but I doubt it’s visible on the outside. “And how do you feel?” My mouth is dry.

Cassius takes a step closer, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his skin, but not touching. Always giving me space to choose.

“I love you.” The English words are careful, accented, but clear. He’s practiced this. “Not because I need you. Not because you help me. But because loving you makes me want to be better.”

Tears spring to my eyes. All my carefully constructed walls, all my protective distance—they crumble in the face of his simple honesty.

“I’ve been so afraid,” I admit, my voice shaking. “Afraid to trust this change in you. Afraid to believe…”

“I know.” He lifts his hand, hovering near my cheek, but not quite touching. “I had to learn who I was before I could be worthy of you.”

“No.” I catch his hand, pressing it to my face. “You didn’t have to be worthy. You had to be real. And you are—so wonderfully, imperfectly real.”

His pupils dilate at my touch, but still he holds back. “Diana,” he breathes my name as though it’s sacred, “I have a heart too,you know. These last months have torn me apart. I don’t think I could go through it again—being so near you and feeling your wrath instead of your affection. So, are you sure?”

In answer, I rise on my tiptoes and press my lips to his. The kiss is gentle at first, questioning, but then his arms wrap around me and the tenderness ignites into flame. I pour everything I’ve been holding back into this kiss—all my longing, my fear, my growing certainty that this man, this moment, is exactly where I belong.

When we finally part, both breathing heavily, I see my own emotions reflected in his eyes—love, desire, and a bone-deep certainty that this is right.

“Te amo,” I whisper, using the Latin I’ve secretly been studying too. I love you.

His answering smile is brighter than the setting sun. Then he’s kissing me again, and I’m lost in the perfect rightness of his warm arms around me, his heart beating against mine.

We’ve both come so far—me from my guarded isolation, him from his prideful past. But here, in this moment, we’re simply two people who have found something rare and precious: a love worth choosing, worth fighting for, worth becoming our best selves to deserve.

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