After two world-shattering orgasms in quick succession, the rest of the day goes by far too quickly, the hours slipping away as Eros and I get everything in order, until it’s time to get ready for the ceremony.
For my wedding ceremony.
Persephone arrives with both my dress and her glowering husband. Hades is rather attractive—a tall white man with dark hair, dark eyes, and a really nice beard—but the only person he seems to smile at is my sister, and his do-not-fuck-with-me vibe is enough to keep everyone at a distance. He loves Persephone to distraction, and that’s enough for me. He doesn’t have to be a cuddly teddy bear as long as she’s happy. And she really, really is.
It’s too bad I don’t have the same fate ahead of me with my very own monster of a man.
Eros has disappeared, saying something about getting some last-minute details in place. He’s promised me that Aphrodite is still ensconced in her spa weekend—he even called to check in with her assistant earlier—but I can’t help worrying that she’ll show up in time to put a stop to this whole charade. But I trust Eros, at least in this.
When Aphrodite checks social media after her weekend away, there will be consequences, and they will come down on Eros’s shoulders. I can’t help feeling…bad for him.
My mother won’t be any happier when she finds out about this hasty marriage. I might not know the details of her plans for me, but they don’t include a marriage to Eros. That’s for damn sure. Even she can’t fight it once we’re legally bound together. But once she works through her anger? She’ll already be examining the angles for how she can spin the situation to benefit her.
On the surface, our mothers aren’t that different. Both are powerful and ambitious and ruthless to a fault.
The difference?
My mother might try to move me around like a pawn on the chessboard that is Olympus, but she actually loves me. She won’t let love get in the way of power, but she also wouldn’t expect me to show up for a party after being cut up and then be furious because I was late.
And there was the shell-shocked look on Eros’s face when he studied the photos of me and my sisters in the penthouse. It’s possible that I’m completely off the mark and projecting, but he looked almost flabbergasted at how happy we were in those photos. My childhood wasn’t perfect—Demeter is a difficult mother to have, even under the most ideal circumstances—but I had my sisters and we were happy a lot of the time. It wasn’t feigned in those photos.
What must it have been like to grow up with a mother who only saw him as a tool to be exploited and nothing else?
I give myself a shake. I’m projecting. I have to be. No matter how much I hate Aphrodite, surely I’m not seeing the whole picture. She must love her son, even if she demands such horrific things from him.
Right?
“Psyche? We don’t have much time.”
I push my wayward worries away and focus on my sister. “You’re right. Let’s get this started.”
We leave Hades in the living room, studying the place like he’s a general looking over a battlefield, and retreat to the spare bedroom to get me ready. Persephone keeps the conversation light as she pins my hair up in an artful style and I put my makeup on, but when it’s time to reach for the dress, she hesitates. “I know I’ve asked you this already, but are you sure?”
No. Not even a little bit. I wasn’t sure before this afternoon, but now that I’ve had Eros’s mouth all over me, I feel rattled right down to my bones. “Yes.”
My sister snorts. “I knew better than to ask.”
“Hey, let’s not throw stones. It was only a couple months ago that you shacked up with a man everyone thought was a legend and refused to let me help you.”
She lifts her chin. “That was different.”
“Maybe, but I trusted you to know what you were doing. You promised to give me the same benefit of the doubt.”
For a second, I think she might keep arguing, but she finally sighs. “I really don’t like the shoe being on the other foot.”
“It’s hard to stand by and let people you care about take risks.”
She gives me a bittersweet smile. “When did you get so smart?”
“I have two pretty great older sisters as role models.” My throat goes tight, and I have to turn away or I’m going to cry and ruin my makeup. This might not be the wedding of my dreams, but I’ll ensure it’s a believable one. I drop my robe and step into the gown, turning so my sister can fasten the back.
“This is really gorgeous. Not what I expected you’d choose, but it’s perfect.” She does me up quickly, her voice thick. “You look like a goddess.”
“Maybe a nymph.”
She laughs. “You always do that. If today’s your wedding, then you will damn well believe that you look like a goddess.”
There’s no point in arguing. The truth is that I do look good, and I did choose this dress with the intention of making a statement. It’s far too late to change my mind about this, just like it’s far too late to change my mind about the wedding itself. “You’re right. I look like a goddess.”
“There you go.” She looks away. “There’s one more thing.”
Alarms blare in my head. Persephone might not be as confrontational as Callisto, but she’s more than able to hold her own. For her to be exuding guilt right now… This won’t be good. “What did you do?”
“Don’t be mad.”
“Persephone,” I say slowly, grabbing patience with both hands. “I can’t promise you that I won’t be mad until you tell me what you’ve done.”
“I, ah, might have mentioned this event at brunch.”
At brunch.
With our mother.
“Tell me you didn’t.”
She’s got that look on her face again, the stubborn one that says I’ll never win this argument. “If anyone can understand political maneuvering, it’s our mother. Give her the benefit of the doubt.”
I stare at her. I stare at her long enough that Persephone has the grace to blush and look guilty. “Give her the benefit of the doubt?” I repeat. “That’s quite the statement coming from you. You know what she did in an attempt to remove you from Hades’s grasp. Do you really think she’ll be any less ruthless when it comes to me?”
“That was a different situation.”
“You keep saying that. I keep not believing you.” I start to reach to twist my hair but stop before I make contact. “She was trying to introduce me to Zeus.”
“What?”
“Even if Mother can appreciate political maneuvering, she had plans for me.” Plans I wasn’t entirely opposed to, even if I wasn’t thrilled about them. “In her eyes, Eros is going to be a downgrade.” The words feel a little like a betrayal, but that doesn’t make sense. If I wasn’t forced into a choice between death and marriage to the man, I never would have consented to his ring on my finger.
Right?
“Psyche, I—”
A knock on the door interrupts us, and it’s just as well. I give her one last glare and turn in that direction. “Yes?”
“We need to talk.”
Eros.
Gods, I hate how my heartbeat picks up just hearing his voice. I move toward the door even as I tell myself to plant my feet. “It’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding.”
“Neither of us is the superstitious type.” He lowers his voice. “Open the door, Psyche.”
I ignore my sister’s huff of displeasure and do exactly that. For a moment, all I can do is stand there and stare like a fool. He’s wearing a tux that highlights his golden skin and blond hair.
I want to tear it off with my teeth.
Holy crap, where did that thought come from?
I’m so shocked at myself that I don’t tense as he steps into the room and slides his arms around my waist. “You look divine.”
“You too.” I sound distant and strange, but I’m fighting so hard to keep my grip on him light and not wrinkle the fabric of his shirt. “What’s going on?”
He smiles at Persephone. Even knowing it’s an act, I can’t help being drawn into his aww-shucks expression. “If I could have a moment alone with my wife?”
“She’s not your wife yet.”
Eros stares at my sister for a moment. “You’re protective of her. I understand, but—”
“Do you understand?” Persephone draws herself up. She’s never looked more like a queen than she does in this moment. More like our mother. “You don’t have siblings, Eros. I’m not even sure you have friends. Do you really understand what it’s like to care about someone so much, you’ll burn the city down if they’re hurt?”
“That’s enough.” They both look at me, and it’s everything I can do to keep my voice even. My sister isn’t wrong to be protective of me, but if this was a real relationship, I would never let her talk to my partner like that. “That’s enough,” I repeat.
“I just want you happy.”
“Then support me in this.”
She hesitates for so long, I think she might continue arguing, but finally Persephone squeezes my shoulder and moves past us out of the room.
Eros releases me once the door is shut, and even then it seems reluctant. At least he drops the happy groom act. “Your sister doesn’t like me.”
“Are you really surprised?”
“No.” He gives himself a little shake and refocuses. “I co-opted a room downstairs. It’s normally used for… Well, I honestly don’t know what it’s used for, but it’s ours for the wedding ceremony.”
“Okay.” He didn’t need to kick my sister out in order to tell me that. “What else?”
“My mother called.” He says it so neutrally, I half think I misheard.
I jerk back a step. “What? I thought you said she was still at the spa.”
“Apparently some well-meaning soul managed to get in contact with her. She’s too far away to stop it, but she knows.” His mouth twists. “She left a colorful voicemail.”
“Let me hear it.”
He shakes his head. “That’s not necessary.”
“I don’t care if it’s necessary or not, Eros. Either we’re full partners in this charade or we’re not and there’s no point in getting married.” I make myself hold his gaze. “Let me hear the voicemail.”
For a long moment, I think he’ll keep arguing, but he finally sighs and pulls out his phone. “It’s not pretty.”
I take his phone and pull up the voicemail. My hands are shaking as I push the Play button. Immediately Aphrodite’s voice permeates the room. For once, she doesn’t sound sweetly poisonous. She’s too furious.
“What part of ‘Bring me her heart’ did you not understand, Eros? Why am I hearing that you’re going to marry the woman?” She draws in a harsh breath. “I thought you could follow simple orders, but apparently even that’s beyond you. It must be that, because I know you’re not trying to play white knight to her damsel in distress. You’re not capable of it.”
I flick a look to Eros, but he’s got his face arranged in an unreadable mask.
On the phone, Aphrodite’s voice is vibrating with rage. “I was willing to do this the nice way, out of respect for you obviously having a soft spot for the girl, but you’ve spit in my face. She’ll pay the price. Your bluff about marrying her isn’t cute, and now she’s going to suffer for it. Before the end, she’ll be scared and alone and in pain, and it will be your fault.”
My chest is too tight. There isn’t enough air in the room. I march to the window, intent on wrestling it open, only to find that it doesn’t open at all. “What the fuck?”
“Psyche.” Eros takes the phone back and then catches my hands, bringing them to his chest. “I won’t let my mother harm you.”
I give a harsh laugh. It hurts my throat—or maybe that’s just the tightness there that isn’t dissipating. “I think we’ve more than established that you can’t control your mother.”
“She won’t harm you,” he repeats. “I promise. After tonight, it will be a moot point. You’ll be beyond her grasp.”
I shouldn’t believe him. All these years surviving in this cutthroat city, and I’ve never had an issue with keeping my emotions in check. The only time I let down my walls is around my sisters, and even then not always entirely. They’re dealing with their own stuff, after all. We’ve taken turns propping one another up when the situation gets tough.
Trusting someone outside that tiny circle is unthinkable.
Eros isn’t promising to prevent his mother from killing me out of the goodness of his heart. It wouldn’t further our mutual goals if she managed to do something to stop the wedding. He’s invested in marrying me, and if I don’t fully understand his reasoning, I can at least trust that it’s what he wants. That knowledge should comfort me, but it rings hollow.
“I believe you.” I clear my throat. “I suppose now’s a good time to tell you that Persephone told my mother about the wedding and she will be attending.”
Eros stares at me a long moment, and then he throws his head back and a laugh booms forth. The sound surprises me so much, I jump, but he’s too busy laughing his ass off to notice. He actually has to wrap an arm around his waist to maintain his upright position.
I cross my arms and wait him out. “By all means, get it out of your system now.”
To his credit, he doesn’t make me wait long. He straightens and shakes his head. “We’re going to have to up our game to stay one step ahead of our mothers. This should be interesting.”
“Interesting. That’s one way to put it.”
Eros moves to the door, but he stops before opening it. “Trust me.”
“In this, I do.” It’s almost the truth. I can’t afford to lean on Eros, can’t afford to assume our endgames match up. But I can trust that he is as invested in getting this marriage off the ground as I am, fake relationship or no.
He gives me a slow smile, heat slipping into his eyes. “And, Psyche? I meant it when I said you look divine. I want to eat you right up. Again.” He slips out the door before I can formulate a response.
What is there to say?
I’ve already established that Eros is a consummate liar and that’s he’s cold down to his very soul. It doesn’t matter how warm his eyes get when they look at me, how intoxicating his smile. I can’t trust it.
It didn’t feel fake when he had his mouth on me earlier, though. When his hands shook as he gripped my thighs and his voice went rough and low. In that moment, it felt like he wanted me just as much as I want him. More, even, because he didn’t seem to be fighting his reaction.
A lie. It has to be a lie. We needed to rip the bandage off, so that’s what we did. If I still desire him, there’s a logical conclusion as to why. Adrenaline and pheromones. A physical response is normal under these less-than-normal conditions. That’s all.
I’ve almost managed to convince myself that it’s the truth by the time I step into the elevator to take me down to the room Eros has claimed for the event. Persephone is at my side, and she’s doing the beaming-sunshine thing she does whenever we have to deal with the Thirteen. I try to draw myself in, to push everything that matters to me down deep and lock it away so that nothing that happens tonight can hurt me.
I try…and I fail.
How can I lock everything away when I’m one giant exposed nerve right now? I know I have to do this, but expectations about the wedding I always wanted are crashing against the reality of this moment, and it hurts so much more than I expected. It feels a whole lot like grief.
The elevator doors slide soundlessly open, revealing a long hallway that reeks of money for all that it’s gone the same minimalist route that Eros’s penthouse leans toward. Brushed concrete floors gleam in the bright light, and the walls are painted gunmetal gray. It might feel like walking through an expensive prison if not for the mirrors.
They line the hallway on either side, stretching nearly from the floor to the nine-foot ceiling. Wrought iron and shining silver create the frames, and I have the near-hysterical thought that if I pressed my hand against one, it would give way and I’d end up in another world entirely.
What is it with this building and mirrors?
Halfway down the hall, a door opens and my mother steps out. She’s dressed in an elegant gown that covers her slim body from neck to wrists to ankles, and the silver and structure in the bodice and hips give the impression of armor. She’s twisted her dark hair, so similar to mine, back from her face and her makeup is, as always, flawless.
It takes every ounce of courage I have to keep walking next to my sister until we stand before Demeter. She surveys me from head to toe and back up again. “If you wanted to make a statement, you’ve succeeded with that dress.”
Persephone gives my hand a squeeze. “I’ll see you inside.” She slips through the door, leaving me to face Demeter alone. Coward. But then, I was always going to face my mother alone in this. I chose this path, was forced to choose this path because I wasn’t good enough to outmaneuver Aphrodite.
This time.
“Mother—”
She lifts a hand and shakes her head. “We are due for a discussion, but not here. You’re set on marrying Eros?”
Something like relief courses through me. No matter what else is true of Demeter, she’s not one to waste a valuable asset. My marrying Eros gives her a direct line to Aphrodite, or, rather, a direct way to constantly needle and undermine the other woman. She might have learned her lesson about selling her daughters into marriage without their knowledge—and that’s a rather large might—but if one of us is foolish enough to stumble into a marriage with a powerful person, she’s hardly going to stop it. “Yes, I’m set on it.”
“Then let’s go.” She pivots to face the door and holds out her elbow. “I’ll be damned before any of my daughters walk down the aisle alone.”
We don’t really talk about my father—about any of our fathers. Three marriages resulting in four daughters, and every one of our fathers disappeared off the face of the earth within weeks of the divorce. Or, rather, they disappeared out of Olympus. If not for the rather active social media accounts of her ex-husbands, my mother might have a reputation as a black widow. As it is, my sisters and I are pretty damn certain she paid off our fathers and ensured they found a way out of Olympus.
I suppose I could blame her for my not having a father figure, but the truth is that my mother never goes with a stick when a carrot will work just fine. My father chose to take her money, take passage out of Olympus, and never look back. Why would I mourn the loss of such a selfish man in my life?
So, yes, it’s entirely apt that my mother be the one to walk me down the aisle and give me away to my new husband.
I slide my hand into the crook of her arm. “Thank you, Mother.”
“You are my daughter, Psyche. More than the others, you are the apple that doesn’t fall far from my tree. I trust that you have a reason for doing this.” She shoots me a severe look. “You should have told me. We could have negotiated for more favorable terms.”
Despite everything, I huff out a laugh. “Maybe on my next marriage.”
“That’s my girl.”
