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“Teach me,” she kissed him, laughing when the net had slipped from his fingers so he might pull her against him. “I’m hungry,” she teased, pulling away from him and retrieving the floating net.
He sighed, taking the nets from her and pulling her against him again. He kissed her until her knees trembled. Only then did he set her away from him, smiling triumphantly. “Watch me.”
She watched him gather in his nets closely, then cast it wide. He was a patient tutor, and she wanted to learn everything he would teach her.
“Now pull it in quickly,” he said, moving forward to help her draw in the net.
“Like this?” Medusa stood, her skirts tucked up and her hair braided from her face. She lifted the net, preparing to cast it into the rising tide.
She glanced his way, waiting for his answer. He was smiling, a smile that almost made her lose her grip on the net. But she did not want to disappoint him, so she clung to the net’s edge and waited. When he nodded, she let the net fly into the deeper waters.
“A good cast, my lady.” How his praise warmed her.
They worked together, catching their dinner. She lost the net once and he tossed her into the water, diving after her. They swam together, laughing, until they reached one another.
His hands cupped her cheek, his lips found hers and fishing was forgotten. Her limbs grew heavy, desire and fatigue warring within her. He swam, setting her upon the rocks with care.
“The net,” he murmured with a smile, swimming after it.
She sat, catching her breath, watching the raw power of his back and shoulders. A warrior’s body, his strength was tireless. He grasped the net and dove deep.
When he resurfaced, there was a smile on his dripping face. He shook his head wildly, dousing her with water and causing her to shriek. Still smiling, he pulled himself onto the rock beside her and handed her an oyster shell.
She looked at him, wiping the water from her eyes. “What’s this?”
He shrugged. “A gift.”
Medusa opened the shell, smiling in pleasure at the gift inside. A finely carved owl hung from a leather thread. Medusa stared at the necklace, then at her husband.
“It’s lovely,” she whispered. “Is it Thea?”
She would treasure his gift. Though he’d given her so much in the brief time they’d shared.
His smile dimmed Apollo’s sun. “I know she watches over you, my lady. As I watch over you.”
She couldn’t help returning his smile. “When will we go home, Ariston?”
“Home?”
“To Rhodes? Once you leave on Athens’ triremes—”
He shook his head. “I shall not. They’ve little need of me.”
Medusa took his hand in both of hers, gazing up at him with solemn eyes. While his declaration thrilled her, she knew it was selfish. If he took her to Rhodes, he would be turning away from all he’d fought for. Pride, honor, respect – things he valued. Things his family, his father, valued. She would never ask him to make such sacrifices.
She spoke earnestly, “You are an honorable man, Ariston. A man I love because of your honor and duty.”
Medusa saw his face change, growing unsettled by her words.
He turned, staring over the open sea in silence. She squeezed his hand, holding it tightly.
“I fear I may not be able to leave you,” he whispered. He looked at her then, his eyes haunted.
She smiled, stifling her grief, and leaned forward to kiss him. He caught her cheek, holding her to him.
“Then I shall leave you,” she murmured.
He drew back, his brow furrowed. “What?”
