The moment you enjoy most during the day is lying on bed next to Marcus, your husband, and just chat with him for hours.

And, even if you understand the women in the market who usually come up to you to make small talk and complain about their noisy and exasperating husbands, you could not be further from that feeling. You love listening to the numerous stories Marcus has to tell you about his journeys, about the places the Roman army has conquered, about the cultures he has seen, about his youth... and you also love the meaningful talks you two have, the discussions on politics, theater and literature, even sometimes gossiping about people you both know.

Tonight is no different: your shared room is dark, lit only by dim candlelight, and Marcus' deep voice fills the space and envelops you as he tells you about the latest campaign. While he lies in bed, you are sitting next to him, listening to his story attentively, but, all of the sudden, Marcus looks slightly distracted once his gaze falls on you, his eyes darken as they follow the path down your collarbone – there is the problem.

One of the sleeves of the underclothes you wear to bed has fallen from your shoulder, exposing your skin there.

Marcus extends his arm not to adjust the sleeve, but to touch you – his calloused fingers reverently caress your skin.

“Lay, dulcissima, lay with me” Marcus whispers, his hand tugging your garments a little.