Electric idol, p.15
Electric Idol, page 15
Persephone and Hades are next, though he stands a few feet back and glares at me while she gives her sister a hug. “Call if you need anything.” Persephone looks at me. “If you fuck with my sister, my mother’s pigs will be the least of your worries.”
We watch them leave the room and I chuckle. “Charming family you have.”
“You’re lucky Callisto didn’t show up. She probably would have beaten you over the head with the closest blunt instrument.”
I glance at her. “Everyone in Olympus thinks you’re such nice girls.”
“Everyone in Olympus sees what they want to see.” She narrows her gaze as Helen and Eris approach. “Case in point.”
Both women have the Kasios family features. High cheekbones, Roman noses, full lips. Helen is built a little more petite than Eris, and her hair is a lighter brown with red undertones, but no one would look at these two and assume they’re anything but related. Eris is gorgeous, but Helen is… There are no words for what Helen is. She’s got the kind of flawless beauty that brings cities to their knees and sends entire armies to war. She doesn’t play it up—if anything, she downplays it—but she still commands the attention of any room she walks into.
Eris raises a dark brow. “Congrats, I guess. Though, since Aphrodite was conspicuously absent, I don’t like your odds at experiencing a blissful honeymoon period. She’ll be meddling the first chance she gets, and she plays dirty.” She gives a wicked grin. “How long do you give them, Helen?”
Helen smacks her sister on the shoulder, her smile strained. “Can you save the doomsday talk for the day after the wedding, at least?”
“Where would be the fun in that? Things are finally getting interesting.”
I open my mouth, but Psyche beats me to the punch. She leans against me and smiles at the two Kasios sisters. “You’re underestimating Eros if you think Aphrodite can get the best of him.”
Eris opens her mouth, but Helen elbows her and glares. “That’s enough.” She turns a brighter smile on Psyche. “We haven’t gotten to know each other, and I’d like to. I’m having a party next Friday. Both of you should be there.”
“A party.” I feel the way Psyche tenses, but she doesn’t show it outwardly. Still, I can’t help giving her a little squeeze as I say, “I was under the impression you’re under house arrest.”
“And yet I’m standing right here, my house nowhere in sight.” Helen’s smile takes on a mean edge, her amber eyes lighting up. “My brother is getting a little too high and mighty since he became Zeus. We might be related, but he doesn’t own me. If I want to have a reasonable sized group of friends over for some light revelry, I’m going to do it.”
Eris laughs, the sound promising all sorts of trouble. “If it pisses him off, all the better.”
“Don’t act like you’re above doing exactly that!” Helen nudges her sister. “He told you to behave, too, and you spent all yesterday day drinking with Dionysus.”
“I like Dionysus.” Eris shrugs. “He knows how to have a good time, he keeps his hands to himself, and he has the sexiest friends. It’s a win-win.”
As much as I normally enjoy their bickering, I am ready for this part of the event to be over. “We’ll see you next Friday.”
“Good.” Helen loops her arm through Eris’s and tows her sister down the aisle and out the door.
Now all that’s left is the photographer.
Psyche smiles at him, some of the tension bleeding out of her body. Here, she’s in her element. “Thank you so much for attending. I’d like a few staged shots in addition to what you already have.”
He smiles. “Sure.”
I zone out a little as they discuss options. It takes ten minutes before they settle on four shots and then another thirty to get pictures both Psyche and the photographer are satisfied with. He looks up from his camera. “These are great. I can have them cleaned up and to you by tomorrow.”
“Thanks.” I’m already eyeing the exit. How fast can I get my new wife out of here?
Psyche puts her hand on his arm. “It wouldn’t be amiss if you used this moment to your advantage, Claude.” She leans in, smiling sweetly. “If you’re going to sell off one of these photos, use the one at the altar, please.”
He goes a little green around the edges. “I wouldn’t… I didn’t…”
“We know how Olympus works.” She pats his shoulder. It’s a light touch, but he weaves unsteadily on his feet as if it were a right hook. “Just ensure it’s that picture or I’ll be rather upset with you.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he whispers.
“You may go now.”
We watch him practically sprint from the room. I barely wait for the door to close to start laughing. “You’re terrifying.”
“Oh, hush.”
“Truly. You fit right in with your vicious mother and your violent sisters.”
Psyche smacks my shoulder. “I am not terrifying. And let’s not throw stones when your mother took a freaking hit out on me.”
I drape an arm around her shoulders. Not because anyone is watching; simply because I want to. This easy banter between us feels good after the tension of getting all the pieces in place for the wedding. “Can you honestly tell me that your mother has never had anyone killed?”
“I—”
“Honestly, Psyche.”
She glares. “Unconfirmed.”
“Exactly. You have to be at least a little bit of a monster to survive and thrive in Olympus. That goes triply for members of the Thirteen themselves.”
“You’re not wrong, but it’s irritating all the same.” She gives the door a long look. “The upper crust of the city likes to pretend we’re more cultured or refined than anywhere else in the world, but the opposite is true. I mean, look at us. We just got married so your mother will stop trying to have me killed.”
There’s not much to say to that. She’s right. “I know.”
“So, yes, maybe we all have to be a little bit monster to survive this city.” Her eyes dim, a frown pulling at her lips. “Even more than a little bit if I’m going to be perfectly honest.”
“There’s no shame in it.” I stroke my thumb over her bare shoulder. Gods, why is she so soft? Ten years in Olympus, and she still has most of her heart intact. She’s able to mourn the small parts of herself she’s sacrificed to thrive, but the city hasn’t worn her down until she barely recognizes herself. I envy her in that. Maybe I do have some soul left, because I can’t stop myself from trying to chase away the sorrow written across her features. “You’re not one, you know.”
“Not what?”
“A monster.” I smile a little. “I would know, being a monster myself. You might move among us, but you aren’t like us at all.”
She narrows her eyes. “I can’t tell if that’s a compliment or an insult.”
“It’s a compliment. It takes someone special to live among monsters and not become one.” We’re veering into conversational depths I don’t know how to navigate. I need to get us back on safer ground. “Hungry?”
She hesitates but finally says, “Yes. I was too nervous to eat before.”
Truth be told, I was, too. It seems silly to get nerves before a real wedding for a fake relationship, but nothing about this situation is as expected. I’m not supposed to want my new wife so much that I’m practically shaking with the restraint required to keep from kissing her again.
Or, if nothing else, it should only be lust coursing through me when I think of her. I sure as fuck shouldn’t be wanting to put myself between her and anything that would put that sad look in her pretty hazel eyes.
I clear my throat. “Let’s go back up to the penthouse. I’m reasonably sure that no one will fuck with us tonight, so we might as well enjoy ourselves.”
Psyche allows me to guide her to the door and down the hallway to the elevator. “They’re not supposed to fuck with us at all, not now that we’re married.”
I didn’t want to talk about this until later, especially after I just got done trying to reassure her, but Psyche is too savvy not to notice an awkward change of subject. I already know this woman well enough to know that she won’t let me distract her. She’d rather have the full truth out in the open so we can deal with it accordingly.
It still takes far too much effort to answer honestly. “This marriage means my mother won’t be able to follow through on the threats on your life. It won’t stop her from attempting character assassination.”
Psyche gives me a slow smile. “Let her do her worst. I can more than handle her in that field.”
I hope she’s right.
16
Psyche
Today has been filled with emotional extremes. I feel like I’m flying apart into a million pieces, and not necessarily in a good way. From those forty minutes in Eros’s bed to walking into the room that he thoughtfully pulled together into something resembling a real wedding. He’d themed the colors to my dress, for gods’ sake. That kind of attention to detail might only be so that we can sell this fully to everyone in the city, but I can’t help thinking that he did it in part for me.
I’m a fool.
To go from that to him casually mentioning that it’s likely his mother will continue with her vendetta, at least when it comes to my reputation…
Whiplash doesn’t begin to cover it.
Of course I expected this. We’ve talked about it, at least in passing. But a small part of me had held out hope that Aphrodite would turn away from this path once we were married. I really know better than to believe such a fantasy, but hope springs eternal. It seems rather naive to assume that, thwarted, Aphrodite would move on with her life and focus on some other potential victim.
Naive and selfish.
At least if she’s focused on me, Eros isn’t having to hurt other people. Now that the worst of the threat is removed, I can handle Aphrodite. I hope. In the arena of public opinion, I’m nearly as capable as she is. I have to believe that. I’m just so godsdamned tired.
I don’t manage to speak until we’re tucked safely back into Eros’s penthouse. “I suppose it was naive of me to think that this would be enough to dissuade her.”
He keeps his arm around me as we head into the kitchen. There’s a bottle sitting on the counter, and I pick it up, mostly to give my hands something to do. A pretty silver ribbon is tied around its neck, the tag simply saying From Hermes.
I examine the label. “She’s got expensive taste.”
Eros reaches around me and flips the tag over. The back reads: Totally stole this from Hades’s wine cellar. So, really, it’s from me, Hades, and Persephone.
That draws a tired little laugh from my lips. “Hermes is a menace.”
“She’s chaotic neutral personified. She’s pretty okay, though.” Eros takes the bottle from my hands and sets it back on the counter. “I won’t let anyone hurt you, Psyche.”
“That’s rich coming from you, someone who intended to hurt me twenty-four hours ago.” Maybe that’s fair, maybe it’s not, but I don’t care either way. The events of the last two days are rapidly catching up with me. Too much has happened in too short a time. “If this was the plan all along, it’s not a half bad one. One cut for marrying Demeter’s daughter. A finishing move by killing her.”
“Stop it.” He takes my hands, his grip light but unavoidable. “Look at me.”
I don’t want to. I know how well Eros lies when he’s motivated. I can’t trust a single word, look, or gesture. But when I gaze up at him, he looks terrifyingly serious.
“Psyche, my mother might still be furious, but our reasons for getting married remain the same. She can spit her poison and try her manipulations, but she can’t harm you. I will not let anyone harm you. You’re mine now, and I protect what’s mine.”
“That’s very patriarchal of you.” I have no business believing him. None at all. Just because we’re married doesn’t mean he’s anything other than an enemy. He was going to kill me. I try to maintain my grasp on that truth, but it keeps bumping up against other truths.
How angry he was about the negative comments on my social media.
His insistence that I have a wedding dress that I’d be proud of.
The fact that he took the swatch and organized the entire wedding, guests and all, around my chosen color palette.
So many tiny, thoughtful things. Things an enemy wouldn’t do, even if they were trying to butter up their victim. Now he’s telling me he will stand between me and any threat to my safety and I…believe him.
He shakes his head. “I don’t really give a fuck if it’s patriarchal or not. It’s the truth. You’re safe with me. I promise.”
I don’t mean to touch him. Touching Eros is the very definition of a poor choice, but my hands find their way inside his tux jacket all the same. The fabric of his deep-gray shirt is softer than I expect, but that’s not what has my legs already shaking. It’s the curves and divots of his muscles beneath. He was shirtless in bed with me last night, but the circumstances made it impossible to enjoy the view without restriction.
I can enjoy it now. It’s my wedding night, after all.
“Eros.”
He holds perfectly still, watching me closely. “Yes?”
“I said only once.” My fingers find the buttons in the center of his chest. “What if that once doesn’t end until sunrise?”
His eyes flare hot, but he doesn’t reach for me the way I suddenly crave. “I want no misunderstandings between us, Psyche. You need something? Use your words and be explicit.”
I should have known he wouldn’t make this easy on me. Nothing up to this point has been easy; why would this be? I lick my lips and strive for an even tone. “I would very much like to have sex with you tonight.”
His slow smile has something more violent than butterflies erupting in my stomach. “One condition.”
“I’m not interested in bargaining.”
“And yet here we are—bargaining.” His grin widens, and I’m startled to realize it’s a little crooked. The tiniest of imperfections that somehow makes him even more attractive, something I thought impossible. He leans into my touch the slightest bit. “We’ll have sex tonight, and in return, for as long as we’re married, you’ll give me the opportunity to seduce you properly.”
“No.” The word slams through my lips before I can call it back. “I already told you why that was impossible.”
“Psyche.” He practically purrs my name, and I have to fight down a shiver. How can this man do so much with one word? “I’m never going to pressure you to do something you don’t want.”
Danger. That way lie dragons.
The idea of being seduced by Eros is almost intoxicating enough to have me throwing caution to the wind. Almost. I draw in a ragged breath. “I’d be a fool to agree to that, and you’re ridiculous for demanding it. Everyone knows that you don’t stay with one partner for more than long enough to quench your curiosity. The only reason you want me so much is because I told you no.” If we go further down this path, eventually he’ll get bored with me. I know myself well enough to recognize how much that will hurt when he finally fucks his fill and decides he isn’t interested in continuing the seduction.
“Is it?” He takes a slow step closer, and I do nothing to stop him. Eros strokes the tips of his fingers over the backs of my hands. “Everyone seems to know a lot about us, all of it projection and carefully concealed lies. Everyone knows I’m allergic to monogamy. Just like everyone knows that you’re a sweet influencer who doesn’t make waves—or have a mean bone in her body.”
The point lands just as he intends it to. Olympian gossip might be an elite event, but most people involved play the game and massage their image as needed. I do. Of course Eros does the same; he’s already admitted as much. So why is it so shocking that this isn’t true? “I’ve never seen you with the same date at two events.”
“My reasons are my own, and my past partners have nothing to do with us. You know that, but you’re being stubborn.”
I search his face, understanding dawning. “Aphrodite is a jealous creature. She wouldn’t like sharing your allegiance with anyone, especially a romantic partner.”
“Clever girl.” His lips curve in a bitter smile. “I don’t have to worry about that with you, since my mother already hates you and you’re more than capable of handling her going forward.”
He says it so confidently, as if it’s truth and not just wishing on a star. I am good at what I do. I know that. I’ve had ten years of practice and it comes naturally to me. But so much of my strength lies in people underestimating me. Even my sisters do it; sometimes they forget I’m playing the same games they are. If I told them I was going toe-to-toe with Aphrodite, they would be terrified on my behalf.
Eros simply believes I can hold my own. There’s no hesitation, no doubt. His confidence is headier than any alcohol. It makes me feel bold and reckless and more than a little wild.
Which is exactly why I need to restrict sex between us. “Eros, please,” I whisper. If he’s able to make me feel so off-center in a single day, a few weeks of sleeping next to each other—of sleeping with each other—and I’ll be in serious trouble.
“You’re the one who opened up negotiations.” He keeps up that featherlight touch, tracing over my wrists. “To be honest, though, you have me over a barrel. I want you too badly not to take you up on this.”
It’s a terrible idea to give him the green light to attempt to seduce me, especially when he’s already backed down. If I were smart, I’d capitalize on this, take my pleasure for tonight, and go back to keeping a careful distance between us tomorrow.
I don’t know what I want.
Liar.
