Outlander: imperium Romanum

I. The curse

Prologue

 I never believed in God. To me, He was as real as a fairy, an evil witch with potions, a troll in a dark forest or perhaps a greedy elf. I'm not so sure now, though. I was cursed. The moment I set foot in Italy, I was immediately cursed by destiny. I died — actually, I had been dead for thousands of years. Is that the correct term for those who have yet to be born? 

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Part One - London, England - June 2011

I closed the car's door clumsily with my back because I had two shopping bags in each hand and let myself smile at last when I saw David at the front door, dirty apron on, his hair looking messy. He kept a sleepy Michael on his shoulder, holding him with his free hand. The pain in my hands caused by the bads immediately stopped once I looked at my husband and son like that; it was a beautiful yet distracting sight. 

Once I was finally within his reach, he gently set Michael down on the couch and immediately picked up the four bags I carried inside the room. I was getting ready to get inside as well when he blocked my way deliberately, always with a somewhat challenging smile (and if I may add, sexy), and tried to kiss me. I turned away, however, for the very reason that he looked like he had been in a food war.

"Why are you so dirty?" I asked in a serious tone, trying to keep the urge to smile for myself.

"I was cooking." 

"You were trying", I tease. "I don't even want to set foot on the kitchen, David. I can already see the mess without actually seeing it."

"It's not that bad, I'm improving."

"Last time you said that, I ended up having to order pizza."  I giggled helplessly. He was such a dork, always trying to cook when he wanted to surprise me, and failing miserably. 

"The time I make a fantastic dinner for you will come. It's a promise." he says. 

"Don't make promises you can't keep." I replied, amused, but could see in his eyes that he saw this as a challenge.

David was extremely charming, with his dark hair and green eyes and that sexy portuguese accent - the sexy accent is the best part - that melts anyone who's capable of hear it. He's built like a swimmer or a basketball player, I'd say. Muscled and strong, but not excessively so. His body is built like that due to his familym treating him like a slave, especially when they found out he liked boys. David and I have been married for four years and we have been together for ten. He's 37 years old and I'm only 29. I usually tease him about his birthdate —April 25, 1974 —,  blaming him for the manifestations that occured in Portugal on that day. It's a simbolic day for that country, where they celebrate their freedom. As it is his homeland, the whole teasing thing is even funnier. 

I finally kissed him, distracting him long enough to be able to spin us around and turn the tables, putting him now outside the house and I, inside. David smiled during the kiss, whispering "you sneaky little fox..." against my lips. I turned my back with a grin on my face, picked up our son, and repeatedly kissed his forehead, glad to finally be home.

I was living the perfect life. I had achieved work as a history teacher, I had adopted a child, something that both David and I had dreamed of since marriage. We were happy together. Nothing could go wrong. Or so I thought.