It seems a particularly cruel twist of fate that gave Eros Ambrosia the face of a golden god and no heart to speak of. He sits there, somehow finding the single beam of light in this dark hole of a place, and looks at me with nothing in his pale-blue eyes. No guilt. No sympathy. Not even anticipation for what comes next. There’s no bloodlust there, either—just a certain sort of weariness as if he’s already tired of this song and dance and just wants to get the whole thing over with so he can go home and go to bed.
He’s wearing nearly the same expression he was when he thanked me for helping him.
I refuse to hope he’s actually offering me a way out, but I’m approaching a desperation that makes me foolish. I thought I was so incredibly clever, creating that false timeline with Hermes so that Eros and I could plot together. What was I thinking? The first thing I should have done was go to Persephone. Just because Eros wasn’t a total monster to me two weeks ago doesn’t mean he’s safe.
If I had known I was in danger, I would have fled to the lower city and taken what protection Hades and Persephone have to offer. It would only be a temporary solution, but at least my life would be extended past tonight. That extra time would have given me the opportunity to think my way out of this mess, preferably without getting my mother involved.
If she finds out that Aphrodite essentially took a hit out on me, she’ll go after the woman with everything in her arsenal. And my mother has many things in her arsenal. She might not have killed the old Zeus herself, but she certainly set up the sequence of events that ended in his death. She’s also the sole reason that his death was ruled an accident instead of murder. She helped pave the way for Hades himself to reenter society. She has some kind of dirt on Poseidon that ensures he backs her at least half of the time. But even with all that power at her disposal, she will throw caution to the wind and might do something truly foolish like trying to run Aphrodite over with her car. Something with no plausible deniability.
If I had known…
But then, it doesn’t matter. Playing what-if is a recipe for disaster. I made a mistake. Just because I didn’t know the cost doesn’t mean I’m exempt from paying it.
Eros is watching me so closely, I almost forget myself and take a sip of the drink that was waiting for me when I got to the table. Knowing what I do now, it’s definitely poisoned, though whether it’s a lethal dose or just something meant to incapacitate is up for debate.
“There might be another way,” he says again, as if reassuring both of us.
After everything he’s said, suddenly he’s offering me an alternate option. Why? Is this another way to torment me? I want to scream in his face, to throw this poisoned drink at him and watch it drip down his perfect features. Maybe I’ll get lucky and it will burn his skin, distracting him long enough for me to run.
I glance around the bar. It’s even dimmer than when I arrived, and people have begun to filter in. This place is as far from the shining streets around Dodona Tower as a person can get and stay in the upper city. It’s also in an area I’m not overly familiar with. It’s entirely possible that all of these people are on Eros’s payroll—Aphrodite’s payroll—and the moment I try to flee, they’ll catch me and haul me back to him.
No, I am out of options and we both know it. I try to swallow down the panic making it difficult to think. “What other way?”
“You’re not going to like it.”
He says it so flatly that I have to laugh. “Right. Because I like the idea of being murdered so much more.”
Finally, he seems to steel himself and says, “Marry me.”
I blink. The two soft words don’t morph into a sentence that makes sense. If anything, the longer they stand between us, the less comprehensible they are. “I’m sorry, I misheard you. I could have sworn you just said ‘marry me.’”
“Because I did.” There’s still no emotion in his eyes, no reaction to indicate what he’s thinking. I’m used to being able to at least pick up something from the people around me. Even the best liars have tells, and I’ve spent enough time drifting through Olympian parties to pick up on most of the major players’ over the years. It’s a matter of survival and I’m very good at it. I know that Ares scratches at his beard when he wants to throttle someone. I know that Perseus—Zeus—gets colder when he’s buying time to respond. Even the last Zeus, while not transparent, got louder and more boisterously happy when he was furious.
Eros gives me nothing.
I catch myself reaching for the drink out of instinct and push the glass to the far side of the table. “That’s not funny.”
“Who’s laughing?” He sighs as if already tired of this conversation. “There are consequences for failing my mother, and I’m not willing to bear them. I can’t walk away without either killing you or marrying you.”
A hysterical giggle escapes, and I grab his drink and down it. Vodka tonic. Of course it is. I shudder. “That’s ridiculous. Why are those the only two options? If you don’t want to kill me, surely there’s something else you can do.”
“There’s not.” When I just stare at him, he rolls his shoulders a little. “Look, if I marry you, that ties me to Demeter as much as it ties you to Aphrodite. She won’t be able to exile me without causing a stir, and if you suddenly turn up dead, there’s no plausible deniability there. If we make it believable, everyone will assume that it’s a love match between two rivals’ children. As the last two weeks have more than proven, the media loves that Romeo and Juliet shit.”
“You’re not exactly convincing me with that comparison. Romeo and Juliet both died.”
“Semantics. You know I’m right.”
I rub my throat where I can still feel the burn of the alcohol and try to think my way through this. Marriages of convenience are hardly unknown in Olympus, especially among the families of the Thirteen. Everyone is constantly jockeying for power, often in the form of alliances, and using a marriage to seal an alliance is an ancient practice. It’s just… Even with my mother’s obvious machinations, I honestly thought I would avoid being married to someone who actively wants to harm me. It’s the lowest bar possible, but here we are.
“You’re serious?” I finally ask.
“Yes.”
There’s no reason for this to be an elaborate trap. He already has me in the upper warehouse district, and from the look of the streets around here, there are plenty of alleys for him to drop my dead body in with no one the wiser. I paved the way for that to happen without consequences, and I have no one to blame for my naivety but myself.
No, the only thing that makes sense is that Eros is actually offering to marry me. He’s right, in a way; if we played things correctly, we’d be untouchable. There’s little Olympus loves more than gossip. A secret marriage between Eros and me would send them into a frenzy, practically crawling over one another to ensure they’re the first to get an exclusive scoop. The buzz still going on about that single photo is more than proof of that. From there, it’s child’s play to get people on our side, rooting for us to go the distance. If someone harmed either of us at that point, Olympus would have a riot on its hands and not even the Thirteen could quell it. They’d be forced to answer some uncomfortable questions about what happens out of the sight of the public, and no one wants that.
Even Aphrodite.
So, yes, the plan might work. There’s just one glaring issue. I press my lips together and consider Eros. He’s attractive, yes, but there’s an aura of danger that even his flawless looks can’t dispel. “No one would believe that you’ve lost your head and married anyone in a whirlwind affair. You’re too cold. You don’t play the game with the media, and they resent you for it.”
“I don’t play the game because it bores me, not because I’m incapable.”
He’s confident enough that I almost believe him, but this could backfire half a dozen ways, and that’s just off the top of my head. I know I can fake it; it’s what I’ve been doing since my mother became Demeter and dragged our family out of its idyllic country life and into the snake pit that is Olympus. “Prove it.”
The change is almost instantaneous. Eros smiles at me, and it’s as if the sun just came out from behind a cloud. It warms his eyes and lights up his face. He leans across the table and takes my hands. “I love you, Psyche. Let’s get married.”
I break out in goose bumps and my heartbeat picks up until I can hear it in my ears. Even knowing this is fake, I can’t help reacting. “That’ll do, I guess,” I say faintly.
Just like that, he flips a switch and the coldness creeps back over his face and eyes. “Like I said, I can fake it.”
I don’t want to do this, but my options are between bad and worse. Which means I don’t actually have a choice. Still, I can’t help pressing him. “Why would you do this? Why not just do what your mother wants?”
“Unlike my mother, I am capable of putting my emotions aside and thinking logically.” I almost snort at that; I can’t imagine Eros having emotions in the first place. He continues, watching me closely. “Your mother will go off the deep end if something happens to you, and she’ll turn the city upside down until she finds the culprit. There’s the smallest chance she might actually figure out the trail leads back to me. That’s not my idea of a good time.”
When he puts it like that, it does makes sense. He might not be able to stop his mother, but he’s aware enough to realize that he’ll be the one paying the consequences if he goes through with this. “That’s the only reason?”
He looks away, the first sign that he might be in anything other than perfect control. “I don’t have a conscience, so don’t get any funny ideas.”
“Of course not,” I murmur.
“It feels shitty to do this after you helped me.” He speaks so softly, the words are almost lost in the general murmur of the bar around us.
I can’t decide if him acknowledging that makes this situation better or worse. It’s obviously not something I can try to use as leverage, not when he’s been very clear about his intentions. It doesn’t matter if he thinks it’s shitty; he’ll still do it. I sigh. “I’ll agree on one condition.”
“You seem to be under the mistaken impression that you have anything to negotiate with.”
Fear tries to clamp around my throat, but I muscle past the instinctive response trying to stifle my words. I can’t afford to let fear rule me right now. I only have one chance to pull this off, and I have to get whatever promises from him that I can. “We both know I do.”
After a long moment, he looks at me and inclines his head. “What’s your condition?”
“You won’t harm my family. Not my sisters. Not my mother. I’m not dodging this bullet only for one of them to take the hit.”
He hesitates but finally nods again. “You have my word.”
I don’t know if that’s enough, but it’s not like I can have a contract drawn up and… Speaking of contracts. Fuck. “I also need a prenup.”
“No.”
I have two years before I turn twenty-five and gain access to the trust fund my grandmother set up for me. It’s not an insignificant amount of money; people have been killed for less. Then again, I suppose Eros has something similar in his name. No matter what else is true about Aphrodite, it’s common knowledge that her fortune rivals even Poseidon’s. One of the perks of that particular title is the money is attached to Aphrodite, not to the person who holds it. But the last three people to be Aphrodite ensured that their children were well taken care of, so there’s no reason to believe this one has done any differently. “Why not?”
“Because this is a whirlwind romance and people deeply enough in love to sprint to the altar aren’t smart enough to write up prenups beforehand.”
Damn it. He’s right. “Fine.”
“If that’s settled, let’s go.” Eros rises from the table and holds out a hand. “My car is around back.”
I cautiously slip my hand into his and allow him to tug me out of the booth and to my feet. I half expect him to release me, but he simply laces our fingers together and heads for the dark rectangle of shadows in the back of the room. As we get closer, it resolves into an exit. It’s not until we’re walking down the dim, narrow hallway and through the grimy back door that I realize this could all be a trap.
I dig in my heels, but Eros easily hauls me along behind him without missing a step. He’s stronger than he looks. Panic rears its ugly head and I try to regulate my breathing. “Eros—”
“I gave my word, Psyche.” He pulls me out into the freezing night air. The ground is slick beneath my boots, but he doesn’t seem to have any trouble with it. “I know that doesn’t mean shit to most people, but it does to me.”
I obviously haven’t learned my lesson, because I honestly believe him. Even knowing he can lie so effectively, the strange look on his face when I said I’d take his word as truth is enough to convince me he means it.
I’ve made my choice. It wasn’t much of a choice, but I’ll stand by it. It’s not until I’m climbing into the passenger seat of his fancy sports car that the implications of what I’ve agreed to really sink in.
Eros starts the engine, and I look at him. “We can’t tell anyone the truth.”
“Who would I tell?” He says it so casually, as if it’s obvious that he has no one close enough to want to trust with what’s really going on. I know he doesn’t have siblings, but surely he has friends? I’ve seen him with the Kasios siblings regularly, but friendships in the upper crust of Olympus are often more political alliances than anything else.
Eros pulls out from behind the bar and onto the street. “That means no telling your sisters.”
“It’s a little more complicated than that. My sisters aren’t going to believe I had a secret whirlwind romance. We tell each other everything.”
“Everything?” He pulls up to an intersection and looks at me. The red from the stoplight plays over his cheekbones and jaw, highlighting his sensually curved lips.
Gods, the man is beautiful. I keep expecting to get used to it, but every time I look at him, it’s a shock to my system. That will wear off. It has to. I can’t imagine being in close contact with him for a prolonged period of time and still being affected on this level. There are plenty of beautiful people in this city who I don’t lose my head around. He’ll number among them within a week. I hope.
Did he say something?
I give myself a shake. “Yes, everything. They won’t believe a secret relationship.”
“Make them believe, Psyche. If word gets out that this is anything but genuine, we’ll both pay the price.”
The sheer weight of what we’re doing has me slumping back in the uncomfortable seat. I shift, but it doesn’t get better. “How long?”
“How long what?”
“How long are we doing this?”
“As long as it takes.”
I stare at him. “That is nowhere near specific enough.”
“Fine.” He shrugs. “Until my mother is no longer Aphrodite.”
That seems more reasonable, but it could still potentially be a long time. There are only three ways for one of the Thirteen to stop holding their title—death, exile, or retirement. I can count on one hand how many have chosen the latter option in the entire history of Olympus. A scattering more have had that option forced on them because health or mental deterioration made it impossible to do their duties. The odds still aren’t in our favor. Aphrodite won’t step down voluntarily, and she’s in her fifties. If left unchecked, she might be around for decades.
I can’t be in a fake marriage for decades. I can’t. I’ve barely let myself dream of love and a family and everything that entails. If I spend twenty years married to Eros, that will nuke those dreams. The knowledge leaves a weight in my chest that is difficult to speak past. “You won’t kill Aphrodite.”
“She’s a monster, but she’s my mother.” He takes another turn, guiding the car north. “I won’t allow you to do something to put her in danger, either.”
That limits our options considerably. I turn and stare out the window. The farther from the warehouse district we get, the more the buildings lining the street change. The bars disappear from the windows. The streets become more pristine and look less grimy. As we enter the blocks around Dodona Tower—Zeus’s seat of power—the storefronts take on a uniform look that’s as soulless as it is flawless.
Several blocks northwest of the tower, Eros turns into an underground parking garage. I manage to stay silent until he parks and turns off the car. We sit there for a moment, the air seeming to gain weight between us. I can’t look at him. This is too dangerous, too volatile. Words bubble up, escaping before I can think better of them. “You know, it strikes me that I’ve already broken the rule about going to a secondary location with someone who means me harm.”
He gives me a strange look. “Do you always make bad jokes when you’re nervous?”
“No. Never. But then, I’ve never been threatened with actual death before, so there’s a first time for everything.”
“We’ll talk inside.”
I follow him out of the car and look at the space around me. My mother’s building is quite a bit farther from the city center, and although it’s nice, it’s very clear that our neighborhood isn’t as interested in keeping up with the Thirteen’s idea of what beauty entails. Mother likes to stay close to the agriculture district so when there are inevitable issues, she’s a short drive away. Our neighborhood and home are expensive but understated.
There is nothing understated about this place. Even the parking garage reeks of wealth, from the line of hideously expensive cars, to the bright lights displaying everything, to the glassed-in elevator area. There is even a security guard in a glassed-in booth, a white man in a nondescript black uniform. I glance at Eros. “Is this security really necessary?”
“Depends on who you ask.” Eros opens the glass door to the interior room that houses the elevator and steps back, allowing me to precede him into the space. He slides an arm around my waist, and I nearly levitate right out of my skin. It takes everything I have not to shove him away, to relax against him as if touching Eros is something that I do all the time.
We step onto the elevator and I barely wait for the doors to close before I try to move away. Eros only tightens his hold on me. “There are cameras.”
Right. I should have thought of that. Of course there are cameras covering every inch of the public space in this building. I speak through gritted teeth that I hope look like a grin. “We haven’t started this yet.”
“We started it the second you said yes. Relax and stop grinding your teeth.” He smiles down at me—his liar’s smile with warm eyes and sweetly curved lips. “We’re in love, after all.”
