I’ve seen the outside of Demeter’s building plenty of times, and I have the blueprints of the penthouse she shares with her daughters—just like I have blueprints for all the buildings of people who could eventually be my mother’s marks. It’s still a different experience to walk into the lobby. I count half a dozen carefully concealed security people, which means there’s likely another half dozen on the premises, if not more. Demeter’s taking no chances, though she’s not the type to want to rub the presence of security in her guests’ faces.
Or maybe it’s her daughters she’s worried about.
In any other situation, the security people would be an annoyance, but right now they’re actually an asset. My mother won’t strike here, won’t send her people here. It’s too risky, with too little reward. Psyche is safe as long as we’re in this building, and I can relax a little.
She heads past the main elevators and down a short hallway to a different one. She presses her palm to the pad next to it, and a moment later, it flashes green. Interesting. The doors slide open and she steps inside. “I’m going to put together a suitcase, but I need you to haul out some of the other things.”
Curiosity grabs me by the throat. Her social media always looks so effortless. I don’t fuck with that shit for the most part, but even I know the more natural it appears, the more effort it actually takes. I’m about to get a peek behind the curtain.
It shouldn’t matter. Her savviness at presenting a compelling story to the world is an asset I intend to utilize. That’s it. Watching her stage that “spontaneous” photo with us in my bed was a revelation. She went about it with a single-minded focus that I find entirely too sexy, and that was done with a few lamps and her phone. I want to see how she works when she has all her tools at her disposal.
I would wager that Psyche was being entirely genuine the night we were first photographed together, but she’s a different kind of genuine when she’s creating compelling fiction for Olympus to consume. And consume they do. I check my phone. The likes on that picture of us are well over a million at this point, and it’s not even noon. Truly, she’s brilliant at what she does.
The elevator doors open into a surprisingly welcoming foyer. The walls are a deep green that should be overwhelming, but combined with the light-gray tiled floor, they actually create an appealing balance. There are a few pieces of furniture—two tall-backed chairs in an understated floral print and a long, dark wooden table with a variety of drawers—that seem to invite guests to sit down and have a chat. In the fucking foyer.
Next is the living room. It’s more of the same. Bold walls, light floors, and furniture that looks remarkably comfortable. There are books scattered on the coffee table centered between a long couch and another pair of chairs: genre fiction books with their spines creased from reading. It’s all too possible to picture Psyche draped over the couch, a book in her hands, relaxing with her family.
This place feels like a home.
How novel.
My mother uses her living room as a place to entertain guests, which means she always strongly discouraged me from spending leisure time there growing up. That’s what bedrooms are for; personal space that can be hidden away behind a closed door. She keeps her game face on at all times, even in the relative privacy of the shared spaces of my childhood home. I was expected to do the same.
I want to find an excuse to poke around, but Psyche’s leading me up the floating stairs, and the prospect of seeing her room overrides all else. If Demeter’s daughters treat this entire penthouse as personal space, what will Psyche’s actual personal space reveal?
I stop short in the upstairs hallway. It takes Psyche several steps to realize I’m not behind her and stop as well. She turns with an impatient sigh. “I know the temptation to snoop is nearly overwhelming, but please keep up. We don’t have much time.”
She’s right, but it’s like my brain has skipped. I stare at pictures lining the walls. They’re artfully arranged, of course, but they’re personal. Staged photos in large frames with Psyche and her three sisters in coordinating clothing, starting from when they were very small and continuing to what looks like a recent one. They’re interesting, but what really catches my eye are the unstaged photos in smaller frames peppered throughout.
Psyche and Persephone, their arms thrown around each other’s shoulders, their hair in pigtails, and Psyche missing her front teeth.
A preteen Callisto holding up a fish nearly as large as she is, a happy grin on her face that is entirely unfeigned.
All four girls dressed up in costumes. Eurydice a fairy. Callisto a knight. Persephone an angel. Psyche a princess.
My chest hurts. Why the fuck does my chest hurt? They’re just pictures. Obviously Psyche’s always been good at pictures; she’s the most photogenic of all her rather photogenic family. There is no reason for some undefined barbed emotion to lash through me at the photographic evidence of her happy childhood. It certainly shouldn’t be made worse by the fact that Demeter has said photos prominently displayed, if in a part of the penthouse where only family would spend time.
“Eros?”
I give myself a shake. “I’m good.”
“Are you?” Psyche’s brows draw together, worry lingering in her hazel eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong.” It should be the truth. I dredge up my charming smile, but Psyche only frowns harder in response. Right. She knows I’m lying, and she won’t be fooled by a fake smile. I curse. “Nothing should be wrong. It’s not relevant.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
She looks at me for a moment longer but finally nods. “Okay, let’s hurry.” She turns and continues down the hallway, leaving me to follow.
I give the photos one last long look and then leave them behind. Maybe it shouldn’t be so novel that Psyche and her sisters had a good childhood, but this is Olympus. I was raised on power games, and I learned to lie around the time I learned to walk. It’s the same with Helen and Perseus and their siblings. Those of us both fortunate and unfortunate to be born into Olympus politics were in a sink-or-swim situation from a very young age.
My mother, in particular, tolerated no missteps.
No wonder kindness comes so naturally to Psyche; she had an abundance of it growing up.
She stops in front of the third door, drawing me from my thoughts. Anticipation curls through me. This short visit has already been a treasure trove of information about this woman. Her bedroom will be the ultimate look behind the curtain. Psyche opens the door and steps into the room, leaving me to follow.
It’s…a mess.
I stand in the doorway and take in the stacks of clothing draped over every available surface. There’s an antique vanity with countless jars and tubes of makeup and skin-care and hair-care stuff. “You sleep in a closet.”
“This is a bedroom.”
“Is it? I can’t see a bed anywhere. All I see are clothes.”
“Shut up.” She follows a small path of cleared floor deeper into the room. “I have a system.”
“I highly suggest you find a new system, because I can’t live like this.” The thought of all this clutter, system or no, is nearly enough to make me break out in hives. I expected this room to be more of the attractive, welcoming vibe that permeates the entire penthouse. This is pure mayhem. I edge my way a little into the room and poke the pile of clothes balanced precariously on what I assume is a chair. “I’m marrying a chaos monster.”
“Then I guess we’re both monsters.”
“Cute.” I resist the urge to continue prodding the mound of clothing and focus on her. “But we both know that’s not true.”
“Yes, yes, you’re the biggest, baddest monster in the room. Stay on task.” She disappears through another doorway and returns with a giant suitcase. Another trip through the doorway and she’s got a variety of bags that look like lighting equipment. These she thrusts into my hands. “Hold these, please.”
“I’ve seen photos of your bedroom. It doesn’t look like this.” For all my teasing, the bed is clear—but it’s not the one I’ve seen pictured.
“Oh. Yeah.” She drops the suitcase on the bed and starts picking through the piles of clothing and tossing stuff into it. “I use Persephone’s bedroom. She’s kind of a neat freak and she’s got a nice aesthetic going on in there. Plus, she never posted photos of inside our house even before she moved to the lower city.”
I watch three more dresses land on top of the suitcase, colorful fabric spilling out, before I lose it. “For fuck’s sake.” I’m not a clean freak, as she put it. I like my shit in order because it simplifies my life, but I’m hardly going around with a label maker or having a meltdown when something gets moved. That said, her complete disregard for anything resembling order is making my right eye twitch. I set the lighting equipment by the door and carefully wade to her bed and start folding.
“What are you doing?”
“Ignore me and keep packing.” It’s kind of strange to be handling women’s clothing. It’s a completely different sensory experience from my stuff, and most resist normal folding, so I have to resort to strategic rolling to get them into some semblance of order. I try very hard not to think about Psyche wearing any of the items, especially not the silk dress that slides over my palms as I wrestle it into submission. It would look great on my floor after I tugged it off her shoulders and…
Focus.
The suitcase is half-packed when she gives me a long look. “I just have a few more things. Grab the equipment and I’ll meet you downstairs.”
“Nice try. No.”
“Eros, I’m about to start digging through my underwear drawers. Give me a little space.”
I start to argue, but stop when something else occurs to me. “A wedding dress.”
“What?”
“You need a wedding dress.”
Psyche frowns, but then curses. “I need a wedding dress. Shit. This will never work. There’s not enough time.” She keeps going, words tripping over themselves as she spirals. “Oh gods, no one is going to believe we’re really doing this if such an important piece isn’t involved.”
I grab her shoulders. “Psyche, look at me.”
“Guess I should start picking out my gravestone because—”
I don’t think about the implications of my actions. I just kiss her. She tenses, but before I can pull away, she’s melting against me, her hands instantly going to my hair and her body pressing to mine. Now’s the time to stop, to recalibrate this conversation for a solution. I’ve headed her panicking off at the pass, so I’ve accomplished what I set out to do. We just need to break the kiss…
I’m not ready to give up the taste of Psyche yet. She’s so fucking sweet on my tongue. Another reminder that she’s unlike anyone I’ve ever met. Cunning and oh so careful about her public image, but beneath that, she’s soft and funny and so fucking sweet.
A good man would do anything to preserve this woman’s soft center. He would battle her demons and enemies alike to create a world where she could let down her barriers and live happily without the armor. He would get her the fuck out of Olympus, would promise her safety without any selfish gains for himself, would put her up on a pedestal and worship at the altar of her daily.
I’m not a good man, though.
I’m a fucking monster.
I want Psyche for my own. A desire that was kindled that first night but has grown beyond control in the last twenty-four hours. I don’t care if she deserves someone just as sweet as she is. I want her chained to me, and I’ll rip out the throat of anyone who thinks they can take her away.
I cup her jaw and angle her head back a little, taking the kiss deeper. Claiming her in this tiny way. Marking her as mine, even if we’re the only two people who will know it. She makes a little whimpering sound that goes straight to my cock. It would be nothing at all to nudge her back onto the bed and keep kissing her until we forget all the reasons this is a terrible idea.
Except we aren’t in my penthouse, with a locked door between us and the rest of the world. I can’t seduce Psyche into letting me do everything I want to her because it’s only a matter of time before we’re interrupted, and that will ensure I never get to touch her again.
Unacceptable. Nothing will keep me from this woman…not even my own selfish urges.
Reluctantly, I lift my head. She blinks those big hazel eyes at me, her lips plumped even more from our kiss. It’s almost enough to have me tasting her again, but reason chooses that moment to take control. I drag in a ragged breath. “Tell me your measurements.”
She blinks again. “What?”
The pure satisfaction coursing through me at the realization that I’ve affected her just as much as she affects me is worrisome. Just another piece of evidence showcasing just how out of control I am right now. I push it away and try to focus on the here and now. “Your measurements. I need them.”
She licks her lips, her gaze still distracted. “Um, we talked about this. It’s not—”
“Your measurements, Psyche.” I coast my hands down her sides to grip her hips. “Unless you want me to take them myself. You’ll have to strip down, of course.”
She takes a large step back, breaking our contact. “That won’t be necessary.” She rattles off a series of numbers that I promptly memorize. Psyche’s face has gone red, and she won’t quite meet my eyes. “Is that everything?”
“Yeah.” I grab the lighting equipment. “I’ll wait for you at the car.”
“Thank you.”
It takes more effort than I would have dreamed to turn and walk away from her. I retrace my steps to the living room and take the elevator down. Though I half expect Callisto to appear, I don’t run into anyone as I stride to my car and tuck the equipment into the trunk. There’s room for her suitcase and not much else, but we’ll make it work. After a brief debate with myself, I decide making the call from the car is better than standing on the street and waiting for Psyche. There’s not as much foot traffic here as there is around my place, but I’m still drawing stares. It’s only a matter of time before someone takes a photo, posts it, and then the paparazzi show up. The last thing I need is anyone overhearing this conversation.
Not to mention the tinted windows hide me from anyone who might be walking by and give me a good view of the entrance of Demeter’s building.
I scroll through my contacts until I find Helen Kasios—daughter of the last Zeus, sister to the current one. I had to call her anyway, so this will kill two birds with one stone. She doesn’t make me wait long before she answers. “Since when do you date someone seriously enough to be internet official?”
Of course she’s seen the photo. At this point, nearly everyone in Olympus has seen the photo; that’s the entire point of it. I take a silent breath and gear up for the first of many performances. “Psyche’s special.”
“Uh-huh. Don’t get me wrong; all the Dimitriou women are characters, and if anyone could turn your head, it’s a strong personality, but that doesn’t change the fact that if we were friends, then you’d have told me you were dating someone.”
She’s not exactly wrong. I know my mother hoped that I’d end up marrying either her or her sister, but we’ve never been more than friends. And we are friends, or as close to it as is possible for people like us. “I didn’t think you’d approve.”
“Liar.” She doesn’t sound pissed, just amused. “This reeks of a scheme. It’s fine. You don’t have to tell me the details. I assume you’re calling because you need something.”
“You wound me, Helen.”
She laughs. “That would require you to have a heart that could be wounded.”
She’s got me there. I glance at the entrance to Psyche’s building. I don’t have a heart, but my future bride does. It’s my job now to ensure it stays safely within her chest. Helen will help with that, even if she doesn’t know the full story. I drop the charming persona, strangely grateful to do away with the bullshit. I can maintain the act indefinitely, but there’s a certain relief in being able to be my true self. I’m allowed the freedom with so few people. “I need two favors.”
“Granted, but I want one in return.”
I snort. “You haven’t even heard what they are yet.”
“I don’t need to. I’m bored. After Eris decided to stir the pot by spilling absinthe on both Demeter and Aphrodite at the last party, Perseus has got us all under lockdown so we don’t bring any more shame onto the family name—as if that were even possible after our shitshow of a father.” She makes a derisive noise. “I need a distraction, and whatever you have going on will do nicely.”
“And for your favor?”
“I’ll figure it out later. Just tell me what you need.”
Giving open-ended favors isn’t exactly my style, but I highly doubt Helen will decide to use it against me. Beyond that, if she were in trouble, I might bullshit a little but we both know I’d help. “I need the contact information for that clothing designer in the lower city you like to use. The one who pisses my mother off.”
“Juliette. Sure. I’ll text you her number.” My phone beeps a second later with the text in question. “That was boring. What’s the second thing?”
Best not to beat around the bush. “I need you and Eris to stand as witnesses at my wedding. Tonight.”
She’s silent for so long, I have to resist the urge to check to see if the call dropped. It hasn’t. Helen just needs time to process. When she finally draws in a long breath, I brace myself. She doesn’t disappoint. “Eros, I say this with all the love in my withered heart, but are you out of your fucking mind? Dating her is one thing. Marrying her? Your mother is going to stroke out. Gods, my brother is going to stroke out, too. And likely Demeter. You’re going to take out three of the Thirteen in a single act. It’s brilliantly ruthless but reckless in the extreme, and you’re not reckless.”
Not usually, but then there’s nothing usual about this situation. “Will you do it or not?”
“I’ll do it.” She doesn’t even hesitate. “I don’t know what you’re planning, but I’ll do it. Eris will, too.”
I don’t bother to ask her to confirm. If there’s one thing Eris can be guaranteed to do, it’s show up when there’s chaos in the wind. A wedding between me and Psyche is the very definition of sowing chaos. “We’re doing it at my place tonight at seven.”
“We’ll be there.”
“Helen… Thanks. For showing up. For not asking too many uncomfortable questions. For all of it.”
She huffs. “It’s really sad that you’re even a little surprised that I would, but I can’t exactly blame you. This is Olympus, after all.”
“Yeah.” The rules are different here, at least for the circles we move in. Having a person you trust enough to ask for a favor is the most valuable thing in the world—and about as rare as the Golden Fleece of legend.
We hang up quickly after that, and I glance at the clock and then the front door to Psyche’s building. She’s taking her sweet time, but I have one more call to make before I go hunt her down. This one goes even quicker. Apparently Helen sent Juliette a text right after she sent me one, so the designer is expecting my call.
I explain what I need and give her Psyche’s measurements. She mutters to herself for a few minutes, and I can hear her flipping through hangers on the other side of the line. “I have several items that might suit. You’ll have to come to me, though. I don’t give a fuck who your mother is—that’s a mark against you, to be perfectly honest—or if the bride is one of my clients from time to time. I’m not crossing over into the upper city.”
I silently curse, but I should have expected this. My mother helped drive Juliette out of the upper city. I can’t remember why, only that it was one of the rare cases where she handled things herself instead of having me do it for her. Not that it matters. Aphrodite’s feuds can be as petty as they are long-reaching. At best guess, the designer either refused to work with her or clothed a rival better than Aphrodite for some event.
Then again, this might be something of a blessing in disguise. Psyche is infinitely safer in the lower city than she is in the upper city right now. From there, we’ll go right back to my place, get married, and remove the target from her back once and for all.
I inject as much charm into my voice as possible. “How soon can we show up?”
“Give me an hour to make some adjustments, and then I’ll need another hour to ensure whichever one she picks is fitted properly.” She gives me the address of her place. “Be prepared to pay for disrupting my plans for the day.”
“Of course.”
She hangs up just as I catch sight of Psyche hauling two suitcases out the door. I climb out of the car and hurry to her side. “Packing light, I see.”
“You’re the one determined to move me in with you. This is barely half of what I need to survive.” She follows me to the car and watches me wedge one suitcase into the trunk and the other into the back seat. “We need to leave. Persephone texted letting me know that her brunch with our mother is finished.”
I hold the door open for her, ignoring the strange look she gives me, and then walk around to the driver’s seat. “Call her back.”
“Persephone? Why?”
“We need an invitation to the lower city, and we need it now.”
