Chapter XIV
Demi
“This smells delicious. Thank you again for inviting me.”
I focused nervously on Melissa Archer, Roman’s mom, sitting across the table full of an Italian feast. I still couldn’t believe I’d said yes. But when I’d met her that afternoon and she told me she’d been friends with my mother, curiosity got the better of me.
My mom had never mentioned her. Then again, she’d never mentioned who my father really was either. So there was that.
All I knew about Melissa Archer came from overheard conversations—whispers between my father and Cupid.
From what I gathered, Cupid had actually been married to Melissa.
He’d divorced her only because she didn’t want him to give up his life as a god.
But I was pretty sure Cupid was still madly in love with her.
And he’d always been part of Roman’s life.
I envied Roman for that.
Why hadn’t my father done the same for me?
He didn’t even marry my mom—his supposed true love.
Technically, he was already married to someone else, so I guess that would’ve made him a bigamist. Honestly, it kind of made him a pig.
Not that he and Psyche were married in any mortal sense.
But still, for all intents and purposes, my father was a cheater.
And I was a love child.
I tried not to think about it too much.
One day, I’d probably have to unpack it all in therapy with Hestia—assuming this quest thing actually worked out and I got to return home.
If not, I was going to need more than therapy when my past got stripped from me.
“We are so happy you accepted.” Melissa gave her son a meaningful look.
I was pretty sure there was no “we” in that equation.
Melissa nudged him when he didn’t say anything.
“Yeah, thanks for coming,” Roman mumbled, eyes fixed on anything but me.
Melissa grimaced, then flashed me a mom smile—the kind that warms you from the inside out and makes the world feel a little less cruel.
I missed those kinds of smiles.
I missed my mom.
“Please help yourself.”
I reached for a warm breadstick dripping with butter and garlic. The scent alone was enough to make me swoon.
“This looks amazing. If I had a love language, bread might be it.”
Maybe that was the solution to my problem. I’d fall madly in love with bread. What love was truer than that? If only it could reciprocate.
Melissa laughed.
“You’re silly.” Junie giggled next to me and grabbed her own breadstick. “Cheers, Daddy,” she said, tapping her breadstick against his. “Do the funny thing where you make the breadstick your mustache.”
This I had to see. I peeked at Roman. His ears were turning red. He looked torn—caught between dignity and daughterly devotion.
Was he embarrassed? I hadn’t thought his ego would allow for that emotion.
“I don’t think our guest needs to see that,” he coughed out.
“Oh, she does,” I assured him.
“Come on, Daddy,” Junie egged him on.
“All right,” he sighed, but he smiled at Junie all the same.
Admittedly, it was adorable to watch this man, whom I’d pegged as arrogant, crumble to the wishes of his daughter.
Roman stared at me as if daring me to mock him while he placed his breadstick between his upper lip and nose.
“Do you love my mustache?” he asked Junie. “It’s all the rage in Italy,” he teased her.
There, the boy I’d admired from afar showed up again, and my heart took hope. Probably because my annoying divine half was screaming, I told you so.
Still not buying her lies. But I was at least glad I could feel an inkling of attraction.
A flicker of possibility. Even though he was the last person I should feel that for.
I was about ready to be on his absurd show, where he was going to set me up with other men.
For all I knew, my true love was already on the property in his isolation cabin. Doubtful, but I had to hope. Right?
“I love it, Daddy,” Junie gushed, then turned toward me.
“Do you love it, Demi?”
“Uh, yeah,” I blurted without thinking.
Dang it.
Worse, I followed up with this gem: “It’s the yummiest mustache I’ve ever seen.”
Oh. My. Titans.
What was that? Why did my mouth betray me like that?
Melissa snickered, clearly catching the subtext. She knew exactly how that could be taken—me calling her son “yummy.”
Roman dropped the breadstick, and his mouth hung open.
Did my goddess side have thoughts of tasting the butter that had dripped onto his lips? Sure. But that wasn’t the point. The point was, well . . . umm . . . All I knew was I needed a change of subject, stat.
I whipped my head in Melissa’s direction. She was grinning way too wide.
“Uh . . . you said you knew my mom. I’d love to know how you met and, well .
. . some other things.” Things like why my dad had left us.
And why my mom hadn’t told me who I really was.
I didn’t know whether Melissa knew any of that.
And I wasn’t about to ask outright—not with Junie sitting beside me, dipping her breadstick into marinara sauce like it was a sport.
Melissa set her fork down. A contemplative expression washed over her, as if she knew exactly what I was asking.
“I met your mother at a Lakers game, of all places, on a double date. It was just after I found out I was pregnant with Roman.”
She smiled proudly at her son, who was mid-wipe, trying to rid himself of the last remnants of his breadstick mustache.
The part of me I tried to ignore was all for asking if he wanted help.
She seriously wanted to lick his face. I would have none of that.
I’d come here for answers. Not to let her ogle Roman.
Not to wonder what butter off his lips might taste like.
Except that was all I could think about now when I should have been thinking about my mom and dad on a double date with Roman’s parents.
I had to internally yell at her to keep her thoughts to herself so I could pay attention to Melissa.
“Your mom was so sweet. Every time I saw her, she brought me a baby gift. You know, she’s the one who suggested Roman’s name. She thought it would be a cute nod to his god side.”
Whoa. I wasn’t expecting that. I don’t think Roman was either, given the way his eyebrows shot up. Weird that my mom had basically named him.
“She was fun like that,” I said. “Obviously, that’s why she named me Demi. I guess I should be glad she didn’t name me Greece.”
Melissa laughed. Even Roman chuckled.
“She was one of a kind,” Melissa said, her smile fading into something wistful. “I regret that we lost touch.”
I tilted my head. “Why did you?”
Melissa shifted in her chair, uncomfortable now. “Cupid thought it was for the best after your father left.”
“Do you know why he did?” I couldn’t help the way my voice cracked.
Junie reached for my hand under the table, her tiny fingers curling around mine. I squeezed her hand back, feeling guilty for the serious shift in dinner conversation and that I needed comfort from a five-year-old.
Melissa shook her head. “I only know that it devastated him. Especially because your mother had just found out she was pregnant with you. And they were thrilled.”
He obviously hadn’t been that thrilled.
“Hmm” was all I could manage, trying to suppress the hurt.
“Demi, I don’t know what happened. All I know is that whatever took him away from you and your mother, it had to have been significantly consequential. I’d never known a happier couple than your parents.”
I had no idea what would be so important that would make him have to leave my mother and me. But I had to know . . . “Was my mom truly happy with him? Did she love him?”
I knew my dad said she’d unlocked his heart, but I wanted an unbiased eyewitness account. I needed to know that my mom’s stories were true—that my parents truly loved each other.
Melissa didn’t hesitate. “Very much so.”
“Don’t be sad, Demi. You’re going to be so happy,” Junie said, so self-assured. “I’ve seen it all in my dreams.”
Roman cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable with the direction this was going. It seemed he didn’t want me to know what Junie was dreaming about.
And honestly?
I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. Especially if that meant being more involved with Roman’s family.
That possibility not only confused me but scared me.
To be close to the family of the man not only my goddess had pegged as hers, but the man I’d locked my heart because of .
. . It was a Greek tragedy in the making.
And I’d already had one of those. Or maybe I was still in the middle of it.
“I hope you’re right, Junie,” I responded, squeezing her little hand.
But I had to wonder . . . Was her goddess a liar like mine?