Eros is dangerous in a thousand different ways, but never more so than when he smiles at me like he is now. Like we’re sharing secrets, like we’re sharing intimacy. It’s difficult to remind myself that it’s all pretend. Yes, the desire between us is real, but that’s just another tool to sell the story. It’s a side effect, not the main goal.
Have I ever been seduced?
I want to laugh in his face. Olympus would happily strike me down if I let myself be seduced in anything but secret. The rest of the world might have moved on from archaic views of a woman’s worth being linked to virginity, but Olympus hasn’t. At least not in the upper city. After my first disastrous dating experience, all the rest were done in secret. A mutually assured destruction, at least with my femme partners. When you’re spending so much time sneaking around to see each other, there’s not much room for seduction.
The thought of allowing Eros to seduce me feels a little like what it must be like to jump out of a plane. It might end with a soft touching down…or a devastating embrace from gravity. I can’t risk it.
I take too large a sip of my bourbon and have to twist away from Eros to cough as fire lances my throat and lungs. “Oh gods.”
“They have nothing to do with it.” His voice maintains that lower tone, the same one he uses when he’s inside me. “Psyche, look at me.”
Something uncomfortably like desperation lashes me. I grab on to the first subject that I can think of, one sure to distract me from the spell this man weaves around me with his very presence. “I’m surprised your mother hasn’t made her first move yet.”
His smile doesn’t dim, but the heat disappears from his eyes. He winds a strand of my hair around his finger, keeping his head close to mine. “I’ll see what I can find out tonight after we get home. There’s no way she hasn’t put something in motion; we just haven’t seen evidence of it yet.”
Home.
Now that’s a terrifying thought. My mother’s place has always been home to me. When I agreed to this marriage, it never occurred to me that I might start to consider Eros’s penthouse home, too. Let alone that it would begin to happen so quickly.
Focus on anything but that. “You must have some theories about her plans. You’ve helped her with this kind of thing before.” I need to remind myself why I must not, under any circumstances, fall for this man. No matter how much I enjoy what we do in bed. No matter how much I’m starting to appreciate his dry sense of humor and wit. No matter how drawn I am to the hints of vulnerability he shows me at the most unexpected of times. If anything, those traits just make him more of a threat, because I’m in danger of forgetting the path we took to get to this place.
He sighs. “I suspect she’ll try to pry you out of my life first. There will be some kind of rumors to undermine the love story we’re weaving, to suggest that you are in it for ulterior motives. Which, of course, makes me look like a fool, but I expect she’s furious enough that she doesn’t care.” I don’t know what expression my face makes, but he sighs again and elaborates. “She might be a temperamental monster, but she’s smart. She knows I wouldn’t have gone to these lengths unless I wanted to…unless I wanted you. She’ll try to poison our relationship first so that I’ll toss you out of my own volition. My mother doesn’t have much of a heart, but in the tiny sliver that still exists, she does care about me.”
Are you sure?
I don’t voice the question. It’s needlessly cruel, and he’s already experienced enough of that without me adding to it. A parent who cares for their child doesn’t use them as a fixer. Eros didn’t magically come by his expertise; someone had to teach him. I would bet a significant amount of money that Aphrodite facilitated that. I don’t know how early it started, but if he was ruining lives for her at seventeen, it began when he was young. While he was still impressionable and under her care. What kind of parent nurtures their ambition more than their child’s mental and emotional well-being?
I have my answer, don’t I?
The kind of parent Aphrodite is.
Probing into Eros’s childhood to dismantle what little faith he has in his mother isn’t on my agenda. It won’t change anything about our current situation…and I can’t shake the suspicion that it will hurt him. Instead, I focus on a different angle. “I have my own money. What other reason could I have for seducing sweet, innocent you into marrying me?”
“Revenge is the easiest to believe, even easier if word slips out that your mother commanded it.”
“The powerful Demeter sending her daughter to climb into bed with the enemy’s son in order to hurt Aphrodite.” It’s a reach, but if the story is compelling enough, Aphrodite might be onto something. In theory. I lift my brows. “Who is going to believe that you, playboy darling of Olympus, became so enamored with me that you threw caution to the wind and put a ring on my finger?” I know my strengths, but Olympus is all about the shiny surface. They’ll see what they want to see, especially if it reinforces their beliefs of what power and beauty look like.
He catches my chin in a light grip, tilting my face up to meet his. “I don’t know, Psyche. I’m feeling pretty fucking enamored right now.”
Real?
Fake?
I can’t tell, and that scares me. Almost as much as my desire for it to be real scares me. “You’re doing a grand job of selling our romance,” I finally manage.
He strokes his thumb over my cheekbone. “I gave you my word. No one will harm you while you’re mine. Not even your reputation.”
Silly to focus on that qualification. Didn’t I just tell him this morning that I belong to no one but myself? “I’m not yours.”
“That ring on your finger says otherwise.”
I’d almost forgotten about the ring. No, that’s a lie. I’ve felt its presence as if it weighs much more than it possibly could. Every time it shifts against my skin, every time the diamond catches the light, I’m reminded of what we’ve done.
The ring has nothing on Eros’s gorgeous face. I can’t look away from him. “By that logic, the ring on your finger makes you mine.”
“Yes.” He sounds far too satisfied with that. “I’m yours, Psyche. What will you do with me?”
The smart response would be to shut his question down. To remind him that we are not, in fact, jumping back into bed together at the first available opportunity. That this marriage is solely because my life is on the line and not for any other reason. It’s difficult to remember that here, in the intimacy of this booth, in a little bar that Eros took me to because he likes this place. Because he feels safe here. “Do you bring all your lovers here?” I throw the words like a javelin, desperate to put some kind of space between us, even if it’s emotional.
He doesn’t move back. “I don’t bring anyone here. Not like that. Sometimes Helen or Hermes will come drink with me, and Perseus used to tag along when we were younger, but like I said before, this is a…” Eros finally looks away, surveying the room with a strange expression on his face. “This is a safe space. As safe as one can get in Olympus.”
I follow his gaze, guilt closing clammy hands around my throat. I catch sight of three separate phones pointed in our direction. “I’m sorry.”
“Why?”
“I’ve never seen you photographed here and now you are, and it’s because you’re with me.”
His lips curve a little. “I knew that would happen when I chose this place. There’s nothing to apologize for.”
Instead of abating, my guilt only gets stronger. “Surely you don’t have so many safe places in this city that you can afford to lose one.”
His small smile disappears. He searches my face. “Are you worried? About me?”
“Yes.” I can’t look away, can’t break the growing intimacy of this moment. I thought I knew what was happening here, but now I’m not so sure. “I know how exhausting it can be to never let down your guard, and it’s a really special place that allows it outside your home. You shouldn’t have sacrificed that. Not for this. Not for me.”
He cups my jaw and drags his thumb over my cheekbone. “You really are worried about me.”
I don’t understand why he’s not. I can count on one hand how many public spaces are safe for me to be my true self at—and still have most of my fingers left over. Losing one would be devastating on a number of levels. “I’m sorry. If I’d realized—”
“Psyche.” He shifts his hand to the spot where my neck meets my shoulder. It’s a light touch but possessive all the same. “Being here doesn’t burn this bridge for me. You have nothing to feel guilty over.”
How can he not understand the implications? I wet my lips, trying to think of how to explain it. “The second those pictures go live, you’ll give the upper city something it loves above all else—novelty. People will flock to this bar, most of them hoping to get a chance to interact with you or your inner circle. It will become the new hot spot, which means it will change the fundamental nature of this place.” I’d seen it happen before. I’d been the cause of it happening before.
He shrugs. “It won’t last forever, and it will give the Bacchae a boost in income for the duration. In a few months, once they realize I don’t sit in this booth like a tiger in a cage, they’ll move on to the next big thing.” He leans closer, still looking at me like I’ve amused him. “That timeline will compress if we’re seen frequenting some other place.”
“But…”
“The next time we’re here after that, no one will pay us any attention.” He anticipates my argument. “I’m not the only one who views this place as a safe space. The actors and crews won’t like all the people effectively playing tourist, and they won’t share photos again. If anything, doing this makes it safer in the long run.”
I let the logic wash over me, let it reassure me. It actually makes a lot of sense when he puts it that way. Slowly, oh so slowly, the guilt fades. “I see.”
“I like that you’re worried about me.”
I’m in trouble. If I didn’t care about this man, I wouldn’t care that one of his safe spaces was compromised. He’s supposed to be the enemy, so it should be a good thing, not something to feel guilt over. I start to retreat, but he tightens his grip on me ever so slightly. I swallow hard, trying to tell myself that the fluttering of my pulse is fear, but I know the truth. It’s desire. Gods, everything Eros does seems to ramp up my desire for him. Of course this would, too.
I lick my lips, achingly aware of how he follows the movement. I have to put distance between us, and I have to do it now. If he won’t allow me to do it physically, then I have to use my words. “I’m not worried about you. I don’t care about you at all.”
“Liar.” He leans down until his lips brush against mine. “Now give your new husband a proper kiss. Since you don’t care about me at all, it shouldn’t be a problem to keep control of yourself.”
Oh, you bastard.
The challenge roars through me, drowning out the little voice whispering that this idea is even more ill-advised than marrying Eros in the first place. I grip his shirt and pull him the rest of the way to me, sealing our lips together. There’s no easing into it, no light brushing of his mouth to mine. The kiss is a battleground. He seeks to conquer, and I refuse to bend. Give and take and take and take. The sounds of the room fade beneath the buzzing in my body. The room itself seems to disappear. There’s only Eros and the taste of wine on his tongue and the feel of his body pressed against mine. Not enough. Not nearly enough.
A throat clearing has me jerking back. From the heat of my face, I must be crimson, but the flustered desire drains away when I realize who’s standing over our table.
Aphrodite.
She looks just as flawless as she always does, her sleek blond hair falling in a perfect wave around her shoulders, her makeup understated but expert. She smiles at us, a curving of her crimson lips that doesn’t reach her blue eyes. Funny how I never realized how similar Eros’s cold eyes are to hers. The only difference is that Aphrodite’s never warm.
What is she doing here?
And why come herself? She can hardly play the innocent party if she’s going to show up and make a production of things.
Eros shifts back from me, and I get the strangest feeling that he’s freeing up himself to move if he needs to. He does, however, take my hand, lacing his fingers through mine beneath the table. “Mother.”
“Son.” Her smile widens, a predator scenting prey. “You’ve been avoiding my calls.”
“I got married yesterday. I think I can be forgiven. You, of all people, know how a wedding can take over a person’s life.”
“Hmmm.” She leans forward and runs a critical eye over me. “I really don’t understand why you chose her. Literally any of the other Dimitriou daughters would be better, even the feral one. She’s…” She laughs, low and throaty. “Well, look at her.”
The insult slides right off me. I’ve been dealing with variations of it since we first arrived in Olympus. I don’t fit into their narrow definition of what acceptable beauty is, and there are plenty among the Thirteen’s inner circles who aim for the low-hanging fruit of attacking my size whenever we interact. I can count the people whose opinions I actually care about on one hand, and Aphrodite sure as fuck doesn’t number among them.
Eros, however, tenses and his tone goes positively frigid. “It’s time for you to leave, Mother.”
“Not until I’ve had my say.” She picks up his wineglass and takes an idle sip.
A laugh slips free despite my best efforts. She really is unimaginative, isn’t she? When she frowns at me, I feel compelled to explain, if only to see the look on her face. “Why not lift your skirt and pee on his foot? It will accomplish the same thing.”
“Crude thing, aren’t you?”
“I prefer honest.”
“I honestly don’t care what you prefer.” She sets down the glass with a clink, which is right about the moment I realize we have the undivided attention of everyone in the room. Wonderful.
I keep my smile in place, though it’s a challenge. I don’t want to smile at this woman. I want to throw my bourbon in her face and light a match. The sheer force of my violent thoughts nearly derails my concentration. I’m not one to let emotions get the best of me, but I’ve also never sat across the table from a person who wants my literal heart on a platter.
The blood would match her lipstick.
Aphrodite looks at Eros, who’s still so tense, it’s as if he’s carved from stone. She sighs. “I suppose every child must have a rebellious stage. You’ve simply come to yours late.”
“Don’t.”
She ignores him. “On occasion, it’s a mother’s role to save their children from themselves.” Aphrodite smooths down her dress. “I’ve been cleaning up Eros’s messes since he was a child. This is no different.”
Eros’s messes. As if he decided to wade into the muck of his own free will, rather than being shoved there by the one person in this godsdamned city who should have been protecting him. Now she’ll do it again and pretend she’s doing him a favor, rather than pursuing her own selfish agenda.
Fury unlike any I’ve ever known rages through me. “Aphrodite.” I don’t raise my voice, but I don’t have to. She stops and looks back at me. I don’t make her wait long. “It’s a mistake to ignore your son’s wishes. Attempting to ruin my reputation will splatter his as well.”
“Don’t make threats that you can’t follow through on, little girl. You’re swimming with the big fish now.” Her smile widens. “You should be worrying about more than my son’s reputation. A widower inspires all sorts of sympathy, especially if he was taken in by a little upstart slut.”
A widower.
My mask slips. “But we’re married.”
“I don’t see what that has to do with anything.” She looks between us and bursts out laughing. “Oh, you sweet, simple children. Did you really think that farce of a ceremony would be enough to change your fate? It’s barely a speed bump. Enjoy my son while you can, Psyche. This mistake will be rectified soon.” She turns and strides out of the bar, every eye following her.
Fuck.
Eros exhales slowly. “Godsdamn it.” He tenses. “We need to get out of here. Right now.”
I keep my smile in place because we’re back to being the center of everyone’s attention. “We can’t leave yet.”
“Psyche.”
“We are a happy couple.” I speak slowly, still smiling. “Your mother might not approve, but she’s not the one we’re trying to win over.”
“Win over? Who gives a fuck about winning anyone over? She just said—” He takes a breath, and then another. After a small eternity, when I’m sure I’ve lost him, his shoulders relax and he slouches back against the booth next to me. I don’t breathe a sigh of relief, but it’s a close thing. Eros lifts our interlaced fingers to kiss my knuckles. “I’ll keep you safe,” he murmurs against my skin.
Gods help me, but I almost believe it. I thought I felt fear sitting across from Eros in that seedy little bar while he casually threatened me. It’s nothing like I feel now. Aphrodite won’t stop. Maybe I am the sweet, simple child she accused me of being because I am legitimately shocked. I was prepared to step to the line and battle for my reputation.
I didn’t think she’d continue with her plan to kill me.
“The marriage was supposed to change things.”
“I thought it would.” The words are low and tight. “I thought it would be enough to deter her. It doesn’t matter. We’ll find a way forward. You have me now, and I’ll be damned before I let anyone lay a finger on you.”
I want to believe him. I want to so desperately, it makes me shake. Because of that desperation, I force myself to say, “You never told me what you get out of this.” When he just looks at me, I make a vague motion with my free hand. “The wedding, the deception.”
“I would think it’s obvious.” He brushes his lips to my knuckles again. “I get you.”
