First, I'm sorry but I HATE cutting my stories up once I have them written in chapter form so I guess this is just going to be long. Because if I cut it up, it'll look a mess and just irritate people (including myself) But I did space it out as much as I did to make it easier on all of you.

One more thing before I allow you to read! This is the new, corrected version. But, that doesn't mean that it is perfect. So, harsh reviews is highly recommended!

Hope you like it!

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CHAPTER ONE

The city is nothing as I imagined. I hadn’t prepared myself for the vastness of it all. It seems to stretch on forever in an endless sea of whitewashed stone, the tall buildings with sculpted pillars reminding me of home. I can feel the nostalgia setting in, gnawing away in my stomach with aching persistence. But, I conceal it within me with a mask of awe.

I am jostled and shaken as we traverse among the crowds and the boisterous noise is deafening. Shouts and screams and children’s laughter is knitted together into a babel of sound. I feel so out of place and I cower closer to my father. The people are so foreign, with their harsh tongues and rash words. It is a pandemonium here on the streets of Rome and I feel slightly light-headed as I look at so many different faces. However, I have familiarized myself with the Roman language at a very young age, and it is not hard for me to understand the crescendo of speech around me.

The people, on the other hand, are a blur to me. Their faces swirl together into a moving ameba of nothingness. But I do see, with precise detail, the clothes they wear. Togas and robes of all colors with aureate skirts drape over their frames and sandals enclose their toes. Their feet are in danger of being crushed and yet they still wear them. I am baffled, as I gaze at my own feet enclosed in sheepskin lined slippers.

We are nearing the opulent part of town with the more glamorous buildings displaying signs of wealth at every turn. White marble fountains are a centerpiece in open courtyards with blooming flowers that drift mellifluous scents across my nose. Servants scatter here and there, their colored bands jangling on their ankles, a signal to all of what they are. Each colored band represents the family they serve. I notice many deep purple anklets amongst the multicolored bands.

Now, we are in the center of it all. The magnificent buildings contain families who gain the utmost respect and I am directed to the largest house. I follow a slave to the front door as he opens it for us.

It is as though I have walked into a glittering palace. The floor, with its reflecting, immaculate tiles, plays like a mirror beneath my slippers. The whitewashed pillars are scattered randomly throughout the spacious welcoming hall and Persian carpets, along with nude figurines, crowd the space. It is all so different compared to my modest home with its walls adorned with murals of our families history. Never have we displayed nude sculptures of the human body. So flagrant and uncivilized, I think, my nose wrinkling in distaste.

Our tour continues into the main entertaining room.

The mother draws my attention first. A long and slender woman with a wild mess of light brown hair piled high on her head sips her goblet of wine with delicate movements, as if she were a china doll in danger of smashing into millions of pieces at the simplest of actions. Her tiny feet are stretched out beside her on the sofa with her ankles looped together.

The woman fascinates me in a negative way. She is delicate, poised, and annoyingly perfect. And because of this, the sight of such a human being still alive fascinates me. If she had lived in Greece, life wouldn’t have been so easy.

Her name is Delicia Chandrenos.

The next is the father. He stands immediately at our entrance and the slave who guided us steps aside so the father can greet my own father, Amycus. The differences between the two men are profound. My father is short and stubby with a full beard and a head of hair that is course and peppered. The other is tall and built with thick black hair graying at the roots. My father is wearing our custom Greek attire for a commoner; a wool tunic and wool breeches with sheepskin slippers. The man is wearing a white toga gilded with gold and gold sandals, as if they were sculpted with the metal itself.

His name is Evander Chandrenos.

He greets my father with an air of success. You can see the pride seeping from every pore in his well-toned body. His excretion of wealth leaves a bitter tang in my throat.

My eyes finally stray to the son. The first thing that intrigues me about him is his mysterious nature. He is the very essence of everything dark and occult. His head is bowed over his silver goblet filled with carmine colored wine. His head is a tangle of inky curls that tumble around his face like a veil of darkness. His muscled arms show his strength yet, there exists a weakness about him that I can’t explain. His appearance is a sudden and welcoming change to the others.

He lifts his head only when his father calls his name. My stomach curls inwards at the sight of his eyes. The smoky incandescent light floating from them is entrancing. “Nicandro, why don’t you greet our guests?” Evander asks his son with a cogent glare.

Nicandro’s eyes flit between my father and I with a disdain that I feel in the very pit of my gut. With eyes like knives, slicing holes in the confidence of my soul, he makes me feel as if I am lower than the stray dog on the street or the refuse it produces. He nods his head, once, twice before saying in the dullest, driest tone I have ever heard emerge from another human’s mouth, “Welcome to our home.”

I see my father’s beard crinkle with a half-hearted smile and Evander shoots his son a most grisly stare. If it had been me he was looking at, I would have fallen to the floor in full submission before his gold-gilded sandals. Nicandro, however, turns casually away, and sips his silver goblet, the wine staining his tongue and lips a most gruesome red. And yet, so far, nothing about him repulses me. I am just as entranced with his actions as I am with his appearance.

Evander faces us once again with an apologetic smile. “Why don’t I show you both to where you will be staying?” My father nods his head and we follow Evander out into the hall.

Our rooms are on the second floor and we each have separate quarters. My father’s is large and spacious with deep mahogany walls and he has his own office. Mine is slightly smaller and airy with walls painted a cheerful yellow and a balcony overlooking the family’s courtyard and garden. Evander and my father leave me, then, to talk business and I am left alone.

I immediately stride to the balcony and look out upon the garden. It is just like all the others, with the marble fountain as its center but this one is much larger, with a cobblestone pathway snaking its way through the area. The flowers rooted beneath me release their nectar and it flows up to me on a wind carried from the sea. The mixture of salty air and the smell of lilacs cause another spasm of nostalgia to ripple through my body. I close my eyes and wish myself back to my homeland in Greece.

The hills are speckled with lilacs and sunflowers, and the grass tickles my knees as I frolic along through the rolling plains. I crest a hill and the span of my village is cluttered below me. I tumble downwards and enter the mirthful atmosphere of my place of birth. The houses are made of sod and plaster, the walls carrying the history of its occupants spanned out over decades of descendants.

I greet with the other girls my age and we sit and create crowns of flowers, entwining them in each other’s hair. Then, we skirt around the village, flirting and giggling every time we spot Damaris.

His bronze colored skin has brilliance of no other man and his eyes hold the strength of a leader. He is like no other in our village. He represents all that is Greek and he carries with him the power of his father and the knowledge of his mother.

My heart aches. I remember him as clearly as if he stands before me.

Another enters my thoughts then. She is fair-haired and light-skinned with pale eyes and a chipper voice. Her name is Timandra and she is my closest friend in the village. I remember the day we set sail and she had waved and called out: “Remember to write, Isadora Chatzi!” I had sworn I would.

I break free of my childhood memories then, and focus on the present. I am in Rome now, the king of the world; the city of emperors and lords. I wonder how my father is fairing with Evander. I can see how Evander prides himself amongst these lords of the land. My father is now residing in a completely different battlefield and I wonder if he is up to the challenge.

I leave the balcony and float to the bed with a transparent canopy draped over it. I pull back the covering and enter a world of mountains made of down-filled pillows and hills of plush blankets. They envelop me into their deep seas and I sink to the bottom in a paradise of comfort.

A knock at the door startles me and I scramble from the world, hurrying to the door. It is the slave who had led my father and I to the Chandrenos household. “It is time for dinner, my lady,” he says in a deep, monotone voice. I nod, feeling slightly odd at the title.

The slave leads me into the lower levels and then, into the entertainment room once again. Delicia is present along with her son. I enter awkwardly and place myself on an empty sofa, shifting uncomfortably when neither of them says a word. They just sip their wine-filled goblets or nibble from trays laden with exotic fruit without emotion. I catch myself watching Nicandro out of the corner of my eye and quickly avert my gaze. But, something about him makes me look again…and again. He places a violet grape on the tip of his tongue and slips it inside his mouth in one smooth motion. He glances at me then, and roses bloom in my cheeks.

No emotion is present on his face He just stares, expressionless with his black curls brushing his long lashes. Suddenly, Nicandro’s eyes leave me to look to his father and I see his mouth tighten slightly at the sight of him. I frown but my stomach lightens when I notice that I am not alone, thankful that when my father enters with Evander. They are laughing and Evander is clapping my father on the back as if they are long time friends.

My father has worked for Evander Chandrenos for as long as I can remember. Evander is a wealthy tradesmen and merchant. My father is the owner of one of the ports Evander sells to. But, over the last few years, Evander has paid my father more and more attention. My father keeps his port neat and organized; never is there a barrel or crate out of place. My father’s men are disciplined and respect him. And so, Evander offered my father the chance to help him be a partner in his thriving business and, of course, my father couldn’t refuse.

So, here we are, guests in the Chandrenos’ home.

Evander places himself besides his fragile wife, who has barely glances up at his entrance. Nicandro’s eyes return to his food, his face plain again. My father smiles encouragingly at me from across the room and I grin warmly back, my spirit higher at his arrival, sitting taller as my confidence seeps back.

Moments later, servants arrive with platters of food. I have never seen such delicacies in my life and, I am embarrassed that my mouth salivates at the sight of it all. I sample the roasted salmon with chives and lemon on the side to drizzle over. Cooked salted pork, the ripest grapes Rome can offer, and a full goblet of wine is included and I eat it all, savoring every bite.

As I enjoy the scrumptious meal, I observe each family member over the bridge of my goblet.

Delicia is a dainty eater, choosing carefully before nibbling and replacing her fork, drinking large amounts of wine instead of food. Then, she resumes her nit picking again. I can’t understand how she is ever nourished when she swallows so little down her throat.

Evander is extremely enthusiastic, which brings about a slight smile to play across my lips. He digs into every delicacy with excitement and swallows with a loud satisfied sigh after every bite.

Nicandro is the most peculiar eater. He observes his food and then eats first, the one which looks the least appetizing, saving the most beautiful arrangement of the salmon with chives for last, all the while taking sips of wine between every bite. To him, I discover as I watch him eat, that it isn’t about the taste, but of the beauty of the food he is putting into his mouth.

I, however, praise food by the flavor. Yes, the salmon is nice to look at, but it is the salted pork that draws my complete attention. It isn’t just salted, but has many spices cooked into it to make the most harmonious symphony of music with my taste buds. I close my eyes as I swallow the last bite, licking off the last of the spices from my lips. When I open them, I realize Nicandro is watching me, and I blush furiously, glaring down at my clean plate.

I dare to look up again and he is still watching, curiosity now clouding his dark eyes. The light streaming from them hits me with a cloud of mingled novelistic gaze and a wondering stare. It is the first emotion I have seen present on his face, and it vanishes as quickly as it came.

I am left feeling bewildered.

~ ~ ~ ~

This night is probably the hardest night for me to bear. Sleeping in a foreign bed in a foreign land without my mother is troubling. I think of her now, curled up in the plush blankets. Her face swims before my closed eyelids and my heart yearns to hear her voice; to see her smile. Her dark hair laying straight and flat to the middle of her back

I imagine her as she always is back home, working on her loom, singing songs of long ago. I would always listen from just inside the door, weaving my own blanket with a needle and thread. It had seemed to me that I work better when she was singing rather than when she wasn’t.

I crawl from the bed and shuffle to my bag. I dig around for a moment until I feel the wool fibers brush my fingers. Smiling in the gloom, I pull out my finished blanket. Taking this with me, I bury back into the sea of cotton and place the wool beneath my head. The smell of home washes over me. My blanket smells of smoke from our fire, lilacs, and our family dog, Ruffy. It isn’t the loveliest of scents, but it is the one I yearn to smell.

And so, with my wool blanket tucked behind my cheek, I eventually drift off to sleep.

~ ~ ~ ~

Birds hum their sweet melody beyond the hills of blankets and I stretch luxuriously, yawning. I had slept wonderfully. My wool blanket cuddles next to me. I sit up and push the garnished sheet away so I can desert the confines of my bed. I traverse to the balcony and lean contentedly against the pillars, looking down below.

The courtyard is in full bloom today, and I have the sudden urge to walk amongst the flowers. I smile and quickly pull on my robe, leaving my room for the outside world.

Down in the garden, I float pass hundreds of kinds of flowers. Some are as large as a plate, others as small as nails on my fingers. Bees make themselves known as they flit from flower to flower, eating the sweet nectar they provide. Butterflies and other insects are present as well as they buzz their warnings to me as they fly by. I place myself on a stone bench, besides the fountain.

Centered in the fountain is a sculpture of another nude figurine. Two, actually, both raised on pedestals. The one on the right is that of a woman, her legs concealing her as the left crosses the right. Her chest, however, is bare and it makes me advert my gaze at such a blunt statement of the womanly figure. Her head is pulled towards her chest as her left hand holds up the weight of her forehead. Her hair is short and cropped tight around her face and her expression holds a sense of ecstasy that perplexes me. On her right, is the male. His body is turned away from her, baring his back and behind to all that can see, his leg pulled towards his chest. But, his neck and head are turned towards the woman, a look in his eyes so intense that it burns a fire in my cheeks.

I wrap my robe tighter across my chest and lean back against the calves of the man behind me. His body is cold and I shiver, sitting straighter. Instead, I observe the activities of the courtyard, watching every creature.

A caterpillar inches its way along towards the safety of the grass. I look up and see a bird circling the courtyard. Hurrying forward, I kneel, scooping the bright green worm into my hands. The bird voices its disapproval with a sharp click of its beak before flying off to find breakfast elsewhere. I open my fingers to find the caterpillar curled in on itself for protection in the palm of my hand. I smile and let it gently slide into the forest of grass and tulip stocks. I wait until it uncurls and continues its journey to find no doubt, a safer place to create its cocoon. I lift my head from where I kneel and gasp when I see I am not alone.

Nicandro stands a close distance from me. He is leaning lazily against the bark of a small tree planted near the entrance of the courtyard, head tilted in a most observant poise. I jump to my feet, raising my chin to appear unaffected by his unwelcome presence. He proceeds to walk away from the tree, slowly making his way towards me, pausing every few steps to lower his head and smell the different flower he passes.

I stand, stock-still, unable to find words to say to him. I want something witty to say; something, anything, to make him reply. But I am speechless, at a loss for words and struck dumb.

He stops only feet from me. There, he plucks a tulip from its earthy home and twirls it around and around in his fingers. I watch the petals weave in and out, wishing he would say something to me. But he stays mute. He lets his eyes lift from the flower in his hands to me. They are just as unnerving, if not more in full daylight. His curls are ruffled and uncoiled from the night’s rest. An image of him sprawled upon his bed appears in my mind.

I close my eyes briefly, wishing the vision away. When I open them, he is walking pass me. His arm brushes my shoulder and I jump, as if electrocuted. Before he turns his head, I swear I see a tug of a smile at the corner of his lips and I find my voice, then. “What do you want?” It comes out as more of a request then a demand and he contemplates my question with ease. He plays with the tulip some more, but stops his walking and turns back to me.

“Can a man not wander his own courtyard freely?” he asks, his voice deep and alluring. I find myself struck dumb once again, unable to come up with something to say to that. He steps closer. “But, I do wonder on why a guest of my household seems to think that she can wander my courtyard without permission?” My eyes widen and he stares intently at me.

“I hadn’t meant to intrude. I-I was – “ but a voice from the house calls us back inside.

“Isadora! There you are, child.” My father breathes a sigh of relief as he steps into the courtyard. Nicandro takes a step back from me and my father stops at the sight of him. He looks to me with questioning eyes, and I just lower them to my bare feet. “I was looking all over for you. I came to your room this morning and you weren’t there,” Father adds.

“I apologize. I couldn’t help it. The courtyard was too alluring to ignore.” I glance side-ways at Nicandro but he says not a word.

“Well, at least I know that you are safe. My old heart can rest easy now,” he teases and I smile.

“Sorry to worry you, Father.”

“Quite all right. Now, would you please join us for breakfast? Evander is waiting for us.” I nod and do not miss my father’s glance at Nicandro again. “Are you coming, Nicandro?” Father questions him as we turn to go.

Nicandro keeps his gaze on the tulip woven amongst his fingers. “I will join you later, Amycus,” he says calmly, before turning his back on us. Father nods curtly and wraps a securing arm around my shoulders, guiding me back inside.

“You silly girl! What were you doing out there?” he whispers harshly once we are alone.

“I was touring the garden.” I shift uncomfortable at Father’s scrutinizing glare.

“I mean, what were you doing with Evander’s son?”

“Nothing. He entered the garden just as I was leaving and we talked. That’s all.” My father shakes his head hurriedly before leading me towards the outside terrence where Evander waits with his wife. Evander is in an elegant toga and I suddenly remember that I still wear my lace nightgown and wool robe. I wiggle my toes and realize that my feet are bare.

My father seems to notice this at the same time I do and quickly lowers me into a chair, one of the five surrounding a painted table with a glass surface. A canopy covers and shades us from the glaring sun. I pull the robe further across me, tying it tight to keep it in place. “Amycus, I see that you have found Isadora,” Evander greets, smiling warmly at us both.

“Yes. She was touring your garden.”

“Ah,” Evander says with twinkling eyes. “And, did you find it to your liking?”

“Oh yes. It is beautiful,” I complement with a grin.

My father nods his approval before servants arrive with our breakfast. It is just as delicious as last night’s supper and I consume every bite, as Evander and my father discuss business. I see Delicia glance up from her plate and I follow her gaze to where Nicandro stands in the doorway.

“Nicandro, have you finally decided to bless us with your presence?” Evander asks with slight scorn.

Nicandro smiles in spite of his father’s disapproval and says calmly, “I couldn’t postpone my arrival any later or you all would be damned.”

Evander frowns at his son’s wit and watches him with obscene eyes. Nicandro places himself on the other side of his mother, beside me. I shift uncomfortably at him being so close and concentrate on my empty plate. A servant promptly places a platter before him and Nicandro eats while looking at his father with a mocking smile. Evander frowns and turns back to Amycus.

Soon, talk resumes and all is normal.

Out of the corner of Nicandro’s mouth, he whispers, “You still haven’t answered my question.”

I glance at him with raised eyebrows and whisper back, “And what is that?”

“Why were you touring my garden?”

“So I could aggrieve you with my opinion,” I say simply before turning back to my cup of wine, sipping it delicately.

“And what is that opinion you planned to aggrieve me with, if you can aggrieve me?” I hear the challenge in his words and close my jaws around the bait that he dangles so willingly close across my nose.

“That you and your family have opulent taste,” I say through thin lips, minimizing the chances of my father overhearing.

“Opulent taste?” I can hear the smile in Nicandro’s words but I dare not look in his direction for it would give us away.

“Yes. Opulent. And that your need for a manifold of items is very clear.”

“My, such large words for something with so little.” There is no longer a smile in Nicandro’s voice and I hear the bittersweet of his tongue. I have offended him and I glance at him.

“Take no offense. My words are harmless.”

“Harmless you say?” he snaps. “Your talk of my family is audacious and unneeded.”

“I hadn’t meant it to come out so. Understand that it was harmless banter, nothing more,” I say, urging him to hear the lightness of my words.

Unexpectedly, a playful smile crosses his face, and I am perplexed. “Your rally was quite amusing, seeing as you were distressed with my displeasure.”

I scoff. “I thought you were angry.”

“My hostility was taken seriously?”

“Of course it was. Clearly, I was distressed with you taking my words so heavily.”

He chuckles lightly, bringing about a curious look from his mother. I quickly avert my gaze but he continues to speak, “Well, be distressed no longer. You have not burdened me.”

“That’s a relief,” I huff and he laughs again, louder than he should have, and Evander glances over.

“Do you care to share what is so humorous, my son?” he asks with narrowed eyes.

Nicandro casts a look in my direction, and my eyes widen. “I was merely expressing my amusement at Isadora’s wit.”

Father raises his eyebrows, and I look to my hands clasped in my lap. Evander looks between Nicandro and me. I, shy and diffident; Nicandro haughty with a challenging smirk. Evander looks back to my father and says, “I think it is time we take a visit to the shipping yards. Shall we, Amycus?”

My father stands along with Evander. “Sounds refreshing. Isadora?” I stand, eyes on my father as he continues to speak. “Why don’t you join us? A little fresh air may bring you in high spirits.”

“Sounds delightful, Father. I will just go and change,” I say and everybody’s eyes linger on my inappropriate clothing. I catch Nicandro staring with what appeared to be a sly smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. I retreat from the terrence as quickly as I can.

Upstairs in my quarters, I quickly change into a skirt with a flower design hugging the hem and a blouse of a shade of brilliant yellow. I pull my dark hair high on my head and spray some perfume on my neck and wrists, a gift from Damaris before my departure. I then put on my slippers and hurry to the entrance hall.

I am surprised to find Nicandro present as well, along with Evander and my father. Evander keeps shooting his son disapproving looks but Nicandro seems completely content. When I arrive, that playful smile tugs at his mouth, and I scurry to my father’s side. Father is uneasy with Nicandro accompanying us as well but it is not his place to voice his disapproval of Nicandro. He welcomes me beside him with a smile and we proceed to leave the home.