Her nasty, protracted divorce from her second husband was finally over. Her first divorce had been an amicable walk to the aqueduct, and she hadn’t been mentally or emotionally prepared for the nightmare Titus Herennius Manlius would put her through when she left him. Roman citizen or no, the man was a duplicitous pig. The last time she had been so relieved to get to the end of something she had been giving birth. Lighting the imported beeswax tapers used only when company was coming, Anthea said a small prayer of thanksgiving to Juno that she had never become pregnant by Titus. When she first married him, she had hoped to have another child. The three children from her first marriage were growing up, and she wanted to enjoy a baby again. Nevertheless, after a few months with Titus, she had started using a contraceptive pessary; no child should be burdened with such an ass for a father. She looked around the room that served as her atrium, dining room, and office. Her apartment was large, occupying two thirds of the first floor of the apartment building she owned, but it was not a grand villa by any means.
