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Her life would be marked by scandal and suspicion, worship and adoration…
At the tender age of fourteen, Livia Drusilla overhears her father and fellow aristocrats plotting the assassination of Julius Caesar. Proving herself an astute confidante, she becomes her father’s chief political asset—and reluctantly enters into an advantageous marriage to a prominent military officer. Her mother tells her, “It is possible for a woman to influence public affairs,” reminding Livia that—while she possesses a keen sense for the machinations of the Roman senate—she must also remain patient and practical.
But patience and practicality disappear from Livia’s mind when she meets Caesar’s heir, Octavianus. At only eighteen, he displays both power and modesty. A young wife by that point, Livia finds herself drawn to the golden-haired boy. In time, his fortunes will rise as Livia’s family faces terrible danger. But her sharp intellect—and her heart—will lead Livia to make an unbelievable choice: one that will give her greater sway over Rome than she could have ever foreseen.
391 pages, Kindle Edition
First published March 22, 2011
“I am sorry for you,” I said. It was true. But the words slipped out against my will. I did not intend to speak them.
“Really? I’m surprised you’re so softhearted.”
“I’m not the least bit softhearted.”
“I didn’t mean it as an insult,” he said.
I was silent. We sat looking at each other for a long time. He tilted his head and studied me. Then all at once he smiled. I was a married woman. And my father had helped plot Caesar’s assassination, as had my husband. This boy who sat happily gazing at me was Caesar’s adopted son. We were enemies. Yet I could not keep from smiling back at him.”
“Caesar gave your father a funeral.”
I rose. “What?”
“He gave him a perfectly proper military funeral, with sacrifices and incense, and legions lined up in rows to do him honor. He lit his funeral pyre himself.”
“Did he say why he treated my father differently?”
Tiberius Nero shook his head.
“Of course it is. And you have nothing to fear from me. The difficulty, as I see it, is that you think you’re supposed to hate me. And you don’t.” He paused, studying my face. “You don’t, do you?”
“I thought I did.”
“But you don’t.” There was a trace of triumph in his voice.
I do not hate you. Of all the emotions I could feel, fear and hatred are the ones that make sense. And those are the ones I feel no trace of.
“What do you feel?” he asked.
I shook my head.
“If I were to go to kiss you, you wouldn’t back away, would you? You wouldn’t do that.”
I took a sharp breath. My heart hammered. A part of me wanted to feel his lips on mine. A part of me wanted to run. “Don’t,” I said.
“Well, you’re right, this isn’t the place or the time. But strangely enough, I still feel like doing it.”
I made myself say, “There is no place and no time. There can never be a place or a time.”
He came and sat beside me again. He said in a low voice, as if he were telling me a secret, “You might want to consider this: I love you. I will love you until the end of my life. If you never bear me a child who lives, I will accept it. I will leave this empire to some other man’s son, rather than marry elsewhere and give you up.”