Chapter IX
Roman
I paced around the “Blueprint Room,” where we did the interviews. “Blueprint” was a nod to my being the Architect of Love. Was it cheesy? Yes. But it worked. What wasn’t working was having Demi there. Between Junie’s fascination with her—and apparently mine—this was shaping up to be a disaster.
Not only had I made the asinine comment about her glasses, but I found myself mulling around the wardrobe room unseen, listening to Marcie and Demi discuss her wardrobe for this season. Marcie was convinced Demi was soft and gooey on the inside after witnessing her interaction with Junie.
Admittedly, that had caught me off guard too.
In that moment, I’d seen a glimpse of the girl of my dreams. The girl I was sure had only been a figment of my imagination.
I’d wanted that girl to exist for a long time, but not now.
Not when I couldn’t stand the woman she’d become—the woman who had almost destroyed my career.
And not when I was tasked with helping her find love.
Marcie thought Demi’s style should reflect her contradictions—leather and lace, steel jewelry and silk. She said the audience would eat it up.
I don’t need the audience to love me. Only the right person, Demi had commented.
So maybe she wasn’t going to sabotage my show. Was she truly looking for love? Not that she had a choice. This was a quest. Perhaps one she was taking seriously.
Which meant I needed to take my job seriously.
Eros had promised me I would have what I desired if I helped his daughter.
For that reason, I needed to think of her only as a cast member.
I couldn’t think about her mesmerizing eyes or her silky, fiery hair that looked made for fingers to get knotted in.
Damn it. What was I even thinking? This woman and I were enemies for all intents and purposes. And all cast members were off-limits to the crew.
I threw myself into one of the sapphire-blue velvet armchairs in the room.
Soon Demi would join me and occupy the one across the “blueprint table.” There, in the glow of the Edison lights, I would ask her personal questions.
Invasive questions. She was going to hate me even more than she already did.
And I hated myself for being so curious about how she would answer.
Thankfully, the tech team entered and saved me from myself. They moved with quiet efficiency—adjusting lights, checking mics, calibrating the cameras. One of them handed me a mic pack. Without even thinking, I clipped it to my waistband.
I nodded at one of the camera operators—Jules—who gave me a thumbs-up.
The lighting crew dimmed the overheads and warmed the Edison bulbs. A soft, intimate glow filled the room. I leaned back in the velvet chair, trying to look composed. Trying not to think about how Demi would look under this lighting. How her eyes would catch the gold.
I’d never had a cast member affect me like this. And I sure as hell never thought it would be Demi who did. What was Zeus doing to me? The bastard. Had he done something to my daughter too?
I rubbed my jaw, trying to shake the thought. Surely Eros wouldn’t let his grandfather mess with my daughter. All I knew was the Blueprint Room felt different. Charged, even. Something or someone was at work here.
It didn’t help when Jazzy ushered in Demi, who looked too much like a goddess in a black silk slip of a dress, a steel choker around her elegant neck.
Her incredible hair swept up sexily. While she didn’t have the muscular body of a gymnast anymore, she obviously kept in shape and was toned in all the right places.
My only saving grace was that her unnecessary sleek glasses were back on. They were doing a poor job of hiding her intoxicating eyes, but at least her gaze wasn’t hitting me full force like it had in the lobby. I’d seen things in her eyes that I refused to name. Things that confused me.
“Your first victim is here,” Jazzy teased.
Demi swallowed hard, taking Jazzy’s words to heart. Her eyes darted everywhere but at me.
I stood and held out my hand, playing my part in this charade. “I apologize that I didn’t properly introduce myself earlier.” I was too damn stunned by you. Even more so now. Where was her black sack of a dress when I needed it? “I’m Roman Archer, Architect of Love.”
Demi pressed her lips together, trying to hold back a laugh, but she failed and it burst forth mockingly. “I’m so sorry. That just sounded way cheesier in real life than I thought it would.”
Jazzy laughed hysterically. “Oh, this is going to be so much fun. I hope you all got that on camera.”
The crew nodded, to my chagrin.
Part of me wanted to tell Demi we would see who would have the last laugh after I was done with my line of questioning, but then she placed her hand in mine.
I’d forgotten I’d even offered it to her.
But there was no forgetting the jolt of electricity that shot up my arm.
It felt almost like a love pulse, but this wasn’t as subtle.
It didn’t prick the heart. Whatever it was, it went much deeper. To a place I couldn’t name.
I realized it was the first time we had ever touched.
“I’m Demi,” she stuttered as if she, too, felt the currents between us. As if parts of ourselves were converging without our permission.
And then the Cupid in me went straight to her heart.
It wasn’t intentional. It definitely wasn’t what I expected.
What the hell? She’d . . . she’d done the unthinkable.
It wasn’t supposed to be possible. Or at least I’d never known any other god or goddess who had been successful at such a drastic and inadvisable piece of magic. No wonder she came off as an ice queen.
Demi knew immediately what had happened. That I knew her secret. She pulled away, blinking, dazed, furious, scared.
She’d locked her heart.
Did her father know? If so, did he know the impossible task he’d given me? Her? Demi didn’t need only to find love. It had to be true love.
I cleared my throat and looked around us, wondering if anyone else had noticed what had happened between Demi and me. No one seemed the wiser. They were all still smirking as if waiting for a showdown between us.
Jazzy gave me a nod, telling me to proceed, before she stood in the corner to watch the fireworks.
“Please have a seat.” I waved to the velvet chair across from mine.
Demi walked over slowly and lowered herself carefully into the chair, as if bracing for impact.
She had to know the uncomfortable questions about her past were coming and that this would be more of a reckoning than an interview.
I had to know that she wasn’t just here to make me look like a fool or to sabotage my show.
But what I really wanted to know was why she’d locked her heart. Did she know what she’d done to herself?
Frederick immediately zoomed her way with a mic pack. He blushed like a schoolboy. “Um, I need to, uh. Well, place this—”
“Here, let me help you.” Demi smiled, immediately putting him at ease. She took the mic and clipped it like a pro to one of the tiny straps holding up her dress.
Who was this woman?
One minute she made me feel like an idiot. The next, like I was being woven into the makings of a Greek tragedy (this quest of hers was going to be damn near impossible to complete). And then, in the following breath, she was charming my crew like she’d been born for this.
Once Demi was situated, the segment producer gave me the go-ahead. I sat up tall and made eye contact with the beauty and the beast across from me.
“Welcome to Love Unscripted, Demi. I’m Roman Archer, Architect of Love.” I introduced myself as I had at least a hundred times before on the show, hoping she’d gotten the snickering out of her system earlier.
No such luck.
Demi pressed her lips together, holding back a laugh, judging by how red in the face she turned. Unfortunately, she couldn’t keep her derision in, and a giggle leaked out of her pink-painted lips. They added a softness to her that I couldn’t help but recognize.
“I’m sorry, I just can’t get over a grown man calling himself that.”
I didn’t flinch even though I could see Jazzy in the background ready to lose her composure. Obviously entertained.
“I assure you, I’ve more than earned the title.”
“If you say so,” Demi zinged back.
I was ready to fire back, to remind her who ran this show. She no longer had the backing of the Bureau she’d so carelessly run. But just as I was ready to lambast her, this thought popped into my mind: Protect her. That thought didn’t come from either side of myself. The gods were meddling.
As far as I could tell, Demi didn’t need me to protect her. She was doing fine on her own. So I opened my mouth to ask her why she had come out of seclusion to join this season’s cast. Was it for attention? The need to be back in the spotlight? The words were forming. I was going to say them.
Then . . . her glasses slipped down her nose, and her kaleidoscope eyes caught hold of me. A flicker of defiance flashed in them, almost begging me to let her have it, but in the next breath I saw the fear, the uncertainty. Worse, the girl I used to watch on TV.
That’s when these words fell out of my mouth:
“Demi, I think all your fans and admirers want to know how you’ve been. Where have you been?”
Demi pushed her glasses up and blinked several times. From the corner of my eye, I could see Jazzy tilting her head, questioning why I hadn’t let the sparks fly.
As Demi sat there planning her response, more words came. It was my voice, but definitely not me.
“You know, I was a fan. I even had a poster of you on my wall.”
What the hell was I saying?
Demi wrinkled her perfect button nose, obviously not buying it, although it was true.
The crew and Jazzy were all dumbfounded as well. I couldn’t tell by Jazzy’s expression whether she thought this was going to be a disaster or if she could work with this.