Marcus had walked out not long after our meeting ended.
Not angrily. If anything, that made it worse. He had simply gone quiet for the rest of the meeting, excused himself politely after doing the dishes then disappeared out the door while the rest of us stared in uneasy silence.
I had barely asked where he could've gone when Uncle Alan sighed over his tea.
"If I know Marcus," he said dryly, "he's likely wandered off to the British Museum again."
From there on, I didn't even need to ask which section he would've ended up in.
"I didn't think I'd find you here," I said softly as I approached the bench where Marcus sat alone, facing the towering statue of Emperor Claudius surrounded by other Roman busts and artifacts.
It was in the middle of a weekday morning, quiet enough that only a handful of tourists wandered through the gallery. Their distant footsteps echoing softly against the marble floors, swallowed by the vastness of the museum.
Marcus looked up as I settled closer beside him.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
The stone emperor loomed ahead of us, cold and immortal beneath the museum lights.
"I'm sorry," I breathed finally, my hands twisting together in my lap nervously. "For all of this." My throat tightened slightly. "For pulling you away from the life you knew...then hesitating when it comes to choosing you fully."
Marcus exhaled quietly through his nose.
"I do not fault you, Elena," he said.
But I still caught the way his jaw tightened, his gaze lingering hard on the marble likeness of the emperor before us.
I didn't know much about history, but this must be the emperor he once served. The commander of the world he once belonged to.
"Even in my time," he continued quietly, "marriage was not something entered lightly. Most women approached it with innocence, only to discover afterward the burdens that came with becoming a wife." His mouth curved faintly, though there was a humor in it. "Much less the wife of a man like me."
I turned toward him slightly. "'Much less'?"
Marcus was silent for a long moment. Then—
"I am no one here."
The quiet admission struck something painfully deep inside my chest.
He stared ahead as he spoke, as if saying it out loud required more effort than he wished to show.
"Let us not pretend otherwise," he murmured. "In my world, I commanded armies. Men listened when I spoke. My name carried weight." His hands folded together slowly between his knees. "Here, I struggled to understand your currency, your customs, the machines in your kitchens."
A faint, bitter breath escaped him. "I do not know how long it will take before I can properly provide for you. Protect you. Become the sort of man your world deems worthy."
I stared at him in disbelief before turning fully toward him, my hand slipping over his and squeezing tightly.
"That is not even remotely why I hesitated."
Marcus finally looked at me then, something uncertain flickering behind his dark eyes.
"You still harbor feelings for that hound?"
"God, no," I said immediately, shaking my head before shifting closer beside him.
"Marcus, it was never about Garrick." I swallowed softly. "I hesitated because all of this happened so quickly. One moment you were a stranger bleeding out in my hospital, and now we're discussing marriage and curses and bloodlines like this is somehow normal."
His expression softened slightly.
"It was never about your ability to provide for me," I continued quietly. "I know you. Years from now, once everything settles, you'll find your footing here." A small smile tugged at my mouth. "If you can survive political conspiracies and navigate battlefields, I'm fairly certain you can survive modern Britain."
A quiet laugh escaped him, low and breathless, like some of the weight on his shoulders had finally eased.
I watched him for a moment, my chest tight, before leaning closer, pressing my lips softly against his.
Marcus stilled beneath the kiss at first, almost like he still wasn't used to being loved this gently, this freely. Then his hand rose slowly to my face, thumb brushing against my cheek as he kissed me back with quiet reverence.
"I love you," I whispered against his mouth before I could lose the courage to say it again.
I felt the way he inhaled sharply. For a moment, Marcus simply looked at me.
Then something vulnerable crossed his face, something I rarely ever saw from him.
"You should know," he said quietly, "I was not born into nobility."
I frowned slightly. "What?"
"My mother died bringing me into this world. My father was a soldier I never knew." His gaze drifted briefly toward the marble emperor standing watch across the gallery. "I was an orphan. Forgotten long before I ever became a praetor."
My chest tightened painfully.
Marcus gave a small smile, though there was sadness beneath it.
"The Caesar took me in after seeing promise in me as a boy. Everything I became afterward, I earned through war, loyalty and years of service." His fingers threaded carefully through mine. "Nothing was freely given to me."
I stared at him, unable to understand how someone like him could think any of that lessened his worth.
"But even then," he continued softly, his gaze returning fully to mine now, "with the humblest heart I possess...I would consider it the greatest honor of my life to become your husband, Elena Wright."
I couldn't help the tears stinging my eyes, hearing him say it like that. Not as a command, nor a duty, not even proposal. He said it like loving me was something sacred.
It shattered whatever restraint I had felt.
So I kissed him again, harder this time.
My hand slid into his dark hair as I pressed closer, emotion spilling out of me too fast, too overwhelming to hold back any longer. Marcus let out a low breath against my mouth, one hand tightening around my waist as he kissed me back with equal intensity, like he had been starving for me too.
But just as the kiss threatened to become something far more dangerous, Marcus suddenly pulled back.
Barely.
Enough for his forehead to rest against mine while he struggled for composure.
"Elena," he murmured, voice roughened almost beyond recognition.
I blinked at him dazedly. "What's wrong?"
A faint, helpless laugh escaped him then as his eyes flicked briefly toward the towering marble statue ahead of us.
"As much as I adore you," he said quietly, "I do not think it wise to dishonor my emperor by thoroughly compromising you in the middle of this museum."
For a second, I simply stared at him.
Then I burst into laughter. Breathless and startled, bright enough that a few nearby tourists glanced over at us curiously.
Marcus looked visibly relieved by the sound of it.
God, I love him.
Even now, with centuries between us and impossible choices looming over our heads, he could still make me laugh.
His expression softened as he watched me.
"What will your answer be, then?"
The question settled between us gently this time.
I looked at the man before me, the Roman praetor who crossed centuries, who thought himself unworthy despite carrying more devotion in his heart than anyone I had ever known.
Then I cupped his face carefully in both my hands.
"Yes," I whispered.
Marcus stilled completely.
A smile slowly broke across my lips through the tears burning in my eyes.
"I'll marry you."