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‘Huh. Tomorrow, Isobel Martin, you can make your own breakfast,’ he retorted. Though the gleam in his eye told her he was enjoying the banter as much as she was.
‘House rules—you stay here, you make breakfast,’ she teased back.
His eyes glittered. ‘I can think of some much more interesting house rules. But then you’ll be very, very late for work.’ He moistened his lower lip. ‘Want me to tell you?’ His gaze slid lower. ‘Mmm. Looks as if you can guess.’
She folded one arm across her breasts. ‘Alex. That’s not fair.’
He laughed. ‘Sorry, Bel. I shouldn’t tease you. Not when I can’t carry it through to its proper conclusion.’
‘No.’ She paused. ‘Alex, about last night … I wasn’t expecting it to be so…’ How could she say this without insulting him? ‘Well, so good,’ she ended lamely.
‘Neither was I,’ he said. ‘I mean—I’ve always liked you. A lot. But last night wasn’t just going through the motions, was it? It wasn’t just perfunctory sex.’ He reached over and took her hand. Kissed her palm and folded her fingers over his kiss. ‘Maybe we should’ve done this a long time ago.’
‘You weren’t ready to settle down.’ She wasn’t so sure that he was ready now. Alex wasn’t a settling-down kind of man. He was more like a meteor shower that made a spectacular appearance in your life for a brief while and then vanished—until the next time.
So although sex with Alex had been a revelation—of the nicest possible kind—she wasn’t going to let her heart get involved. Wasn’t going to rely on him.
‘What are you doing today?’ she asked.
‘A bit of research. You?’
‘Probably working up a handout for the touring exhibition.’
‘Want to do lunch?’
She shook her head regretfully. ‘Sorry. I’ve got meetings that I know are going to end up going through lunch.’
‘Admin. Bleugh.’ He pulled a face. ‘My least favourite bit of any job.’
‘Says the man who’s planning to get a desk job.’
‘I’ll be negotiating for an admin assistant.’
She laughed. ‘You would.’
‘I don’t want to spend my time on tedious paperwork when I could be doing something much more interesting.’ He smiled at her. ‘I’ll see you back here tonight, then. And I might even cook you dinner.’
‘Yeah, right,’ she scoffed. ‘Once you’re in the archives, you only leave when they chuck you out at closing time.’
He gave her a speaking look. ‘As if you don’t do exactly the same.’
She shrugged. ‘I love my job.’
‘I know. Which is why you understand me so well.’
She finished her toast. ‘I’d better be off. See you later.’
‘You’re leaving me to do the washing-up? Not fair,’ he complained teasingly. ‘I made breakfast.’
‘I’ll pay you back tonight.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘I’ll hold you to that.’
Over the next few days, life just seemed to get better and better. Alex was right about an affair not affecting their friendship; he still talked to her as much, argued with her and teased her. But at the same time their love-making gave an added dimension to their relationship. One Isobel hadn’t expected. She couldn’t remember being this happy before, even in the early days with Gary—in the days before they’d tried for a family. Before Gary had accused her of putting her job before their baby, the last time she’d miscarried. An accusation that was so far beyond unfair, it was untrue. She’d wanted a baby just as much as he had. And if the midwife had put her on bedrest for her entire pregnancy, she would’ve done it for the sake of their child.
She shook herself.
Not now.
Though now she’d agreed to marry Alex, the question of babies rose uppermost in her mind. He’d been so casual about it, saying that if it happened, it happened, and he’d be guided by her. But when she told him just how much she wanted a baby, would it make him run?
And there were no guarantees she could even have a baby.
Then there was his new job. Although he was based in England, it would still involve a fair amount of travelling. So his lifestyle wasn’t really going to fit in with being a dad.
She needed to talk to him about this. Before the engagement and wedding plans went too far. It was just a matter of finding the right time.
The following Thursday morning, Alex was not only up at the crack of dawn, he was wearing a suit.
Isobel blinked. ‘Blimey. You really are trying to impress the interviewers.’
‘No. I’m giving them a chance to see me as a consultant,’ he corrected. ‘Someone who can talk to the money people—they already know I can do the other side of the job.’
‘The last time I saw you in a suit, it was Flora’s christening.’
‘It’s the same suit,’ he said with a grin. ‘I only possess one. And it usually gets dragged out for just christenings and weddings.’
‘Uh-huh. Well, you look professional. Just check your pockets for confetti.’
‘Good point.’ He checked his pockets. ‘No confetti.’
‘Good.’ She kissed him lightly. ‘And I’m buying you dinner tonight to celebrate.’
‘You really think I’m going to get the job?’
‘Of course I do. You’re the best candidate.’
‘You don’t actually know any of the other candidates,’ he pointed out.
She shrugged. ‘I don’t need to.’
He smiled. ‘Thanks for the vote of confidence. So what are you doing today?’
‘Being Flavia.’
He laughed. ‘You love all that dressing-up stuff, don’t you? It’s just like when you and Saskia were little—pretending to be a princess or a bride or what have you.’
‘Don’t knock it,’ she said with a grin. ‘It’s a lot of fun. I know you proper archaeologists have a bit of a downer on living history, but it gets the kids interested, and that’s a good thing.’
‘Living history’s OK as long as you’re not too earnest about it.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘And you know exactly what I mean. So what’s today’s topic? Roman food?’
‘Domestic stuff. Beauty,’ she said.
‘Mmm. Well, if you need someone to oil you and get the strigil out…’
She laughed. ‘Don’t you dare. You’ll mess up your suit.’ She paused. ‘Will you know today?’
He nodded. ‘Assessments this morning and then interviews, and then they’ll tell us.’
‘Text me when you hear?’
‘Course I will.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I’d better go. See you tonight.’
‘I’m not going to wish you luck. Just go and be yourself. That’ll be more than enough to get you the job.’
‘Especially as I’m a nice, settled, about-to-be-married man.’ He kissed her. ‘Thanks, Bel. I owe you.’
She patted his shoulder. ‘Go and show them what you’re made of.’
When he’d gone, Isobel tidied up the kitchen and then headed for work. Although she normally loved the days when she did the hands-on displays, today she found herself itching for her lunch break so she could check her mobile phone.
But there was no message from Alex. He must still be in the interview, or waiting round while the other candidates were being grilled, she thought. Well, she’d just have to wait until the end of her shift.
She was partway through getting the children to guess what all the items were on the little manicure set she kept on her belt, and was right at the point where they were gleefully disgusted by the earwax remover when she became aware of someone walking into the gallery, dressed in a toga with a broad purple stripe. Odd. She didn’t think they had anyone playing the part of a senator today. Maybe they’d changed the schedules round a bit without telling her and were doing politics in the next gallery.
As the man in the toga drew nearer, she realised who it was.
He’d oiled his hair back to give the impression of a short Roman crop.
And he looked utterly gorgeous.
But what on earth was Alex doing here, dressed like this?
‘Sorry I’m late. Politics in the Forum,’ he said with a smile, coming to join her.
What?
But—
She didn’t have time to ask any questions because he stood next to her and took her hand, before turning to the audience. ‘I’m Marcus, the senator in charge of the emperor’s entertainment. I order the elephants and the gladiators for displays in the circus, so I’m very busy—and I really need someone at home keeping my domestic affairs in order, running my household.’
He was ad-libbing, Isobel knew. But his knowledge of the historical period was sound and he was used to performing to a TV camera or lecturing at conferences, so their audience would no doubt think he’d played this role for years.
‘One of the important customs in Roman times was betrothal. If I wanted to get married, I’d have to negotiate with my intended bride’s family. And if they approved of me, we’d have a betrothal ceremony.’ He produced something from inside his robe; it glittered in the light. ‘The Roman wedding ring used to be made of iron in the early period, but betrothal rings like this one could be more opulent.’ He let the audience pass it round, then made sure he got it back. ‘Now, what did you notice about it?’
‘It’s gold and shiny,’ one little girl piped up.
He smiled. ‘Absolutely right. It’s a new one, so my bride’s parents will know that I’m wealthy enough to buy her jewellery and I haven’t just borrowed it from my mum. Anyone else notice anything?’
‘There’s a pattern on it,’ another child offered.
‘That’s right.’ He smiled at Isobel, then showed the audience the pattern on the front. ‘What sort of pattern?’
‘Two hands,’ one of the children said.
‘It’s a claddagh ring,’ one of the mums offered.
‘Not quite a claddagh—though that also has two clasped hands, it usually has a heart between them to represent true love, and a crown or fleur-de-lys carved over the top for loyalty,’ Alex explained. ‘There’s a very pretty story behind that—about three hundred years ago, a fisherman from Claddagh in Ireland was captured by Spanish pirates and sold into slavery. His new master taught him how to be a goldsmith, and every day he stole a speck of gold from the floor and after many years he had enough to make a ring to remind him of his sweetheart back in Claddagh. Eventually he escaped and made his way home—to find that his sweetheart was still waiting for him. And he gave her the ring to prove his love.’
Oh, Lord. She could practically see various hearts melting right before him. He definitely had this audience in the palm of his hand. Half the women in the audience were clearly imagining that he was the Irish fisherman about to give her a gold ring.
And Alex was on a roll.
‘This is actually a replica of a Roman betrothal ring, and the hand clasped at the wrist represents Concordia, the goddess of agreement,’ he said. ‘But, as with the claddagh ring, the design also symbolises love and fidelity. It’s sometimes called a “fedes” ring.’ He smiled. ‘Does anyone know why an engagement ring is put on the third finger?’
A chorus of no—and now practically all the women in the audience were gazing longingly at Alex, Isobel noticed. Hardly surprising: in a toga and sandals, he looked fantastic.
He lifted Isobel’s left hand and stroked his fingertip along the length of her ring finger. ‘The Romans followed the Egyptian belief that there was a vein in this finger that led straight to the heart, so it was important to capture it within a ring—a symbol of unbroken eternity.’ He slid the ring onto Isobel’s finger. ‘Like so.’
A shiver went down her spine. He was acting … wasn’t he?
‘Aren’t you the guy from the telly?’ one of the women asked. ‘You did that programme on Egypt last year. The Hunter’
‘Uh, yes,’ Alex said.
‘So you work here now?’ she asked.
He smiled. ‘No. My fiancée does.’ He draped one arm around Isobel’s shoulders. ‘I just hijacked her exhibition. But that’s how people got engaged in Roman times—exactly as we got engaged just now.’ He took Isobel’s left hand and raised it to his lips. ‘Sorry about that, Bel. I mean, Flavia.’
‘He’s … I …’ Isobel squirmed. ‘Sorry, everyone. This wasn’t planned. And he isn’t supposed to be here.’
‘Don’t worry, she’s not going to get into trouble,’ Alex said in a stage whisper. ‘I talked to her boss first.’
He’d talked to her boss? What? When?
‘Oh, that’s so romantic,’ another of the women said, sighing. ‘To surprise you at work like that.’
‘Given what she does for a living, I couldn’t really do anything else,’ Alex said. ‘And if you’ll excuse us, Flavia has finished work for today.’
‘Alex, I—’ she began.
‘Shh.’ He placed his finger on her lips. ‘I cleared it with your boss. Thank you, everyone, for being our witnesses today in a genuine Roman betrothal ceremony.’
Everyone started clapping and calling out their congratulations. Alex smiled back, then simply picked up all the elements of Isobel’s display, took her hand, and shepherded her out of the gallery.
‘Alex, I can’t believe you just did that!’ she said in a low voice.
‘Stop worrying. I really did clear it with your boss. Rita also let me borrow the outfit—which I need to return, so let’s go and change.’
