Chapter XV
Roman
“Are you serious?” Demi groaned as she stepped out of her cabin, wearing a pair of tiny dark athletic shorts that showed off the best pair of legs I’d ever seen. Legs that were no longer scraped or bruised. Cassie had clearly worked her healing magic.
Believe me, running with her hadn’t been on my to-do list for the day either.
Her golden eagle had dive-bombed my balcony before sunrise, screeching like a mythical alarm clock. Message received: Run with Demi.
“You can blame Lady Goldy,” I muttered. More like Zeus. Seriously—what was his deal?
As if summoned by name, Demi’s annoying pet swooped in and landed on my shoulder. I startled. Not my finest moment.
Demi jogged down the porch steps, eyes narrowed at the bird. “Traitor,” she muttered. “I don’t need a bodyguard.”
“I don’t think that’s what this is about.”
I thought back to the last couple of days—Junie’s dreams, her fascination with Demi, my on-camera confession, the tree incident.
It was clear something—someone—was pulling us together.
For what, I wasn’t sure. But I’d been around the block enough to know: you don’t win against a god. You just try not to lose too badly.
Demi tilted her head, and I did my best not to drown in her eyes.
I’d already gotten lost in them last night—watching her laugh with my mom and read to Junie. She’d been soft in ways I hadn’t expected.
I’d seen glimpses of the girl I used to imagine when I was a teenager. The one I’d fantasized about.
But even that softer side felt . . . incomplete. Like something essential was missing. Maybe locking her heart had consequences that went beyond love.
Maybe it kept her from being herself.
“What else would it be?” she asked.
I let out a long, slow breath into the cool morning air, contemplating what to say. Eros’s words kept coming to me—Get to know her.
Lady Goldy nudged my cheek with her beak, impatient. Spit it out, she seemed to say.
“I think we need to get to know each other.”
I waited for Demi to laugh, to jog off and dismiss me per usual, but she surprised me when she stood silent, tugging on her braid as if she’d been thinking along the same lines.
“It’s obviously important that you complete this quest,” I continued. “And it’s apparent I’m supposed to help you find true love. And since my Cupid can’t read your heart, we are going to have to do this the mortal way—become friends.”
Demi’s eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. “You and me. Friends,” she whispered as she walked off in a daze.
I followed her like a puppy hoping for some scraps of attention while Lady Goldy took off, hovering just above. It seemed in part to protect, but also to make sure we stayed together.
Demi glanced over at me and laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“If you only knew.”
“Knew what?” I was more than curious.
“Nothing.” She shook her head and picked up her pace, slipping into a light jog.
Feeling foolish and more vulnerable than I cared to admit, I called out to her, “Can we be friends?”
You would have thought I was a teenage boy asking a girl to the prom, judging by how sweaty my palms were.
She stopped and turned. The early-morning rays caught her just right, illuminating her like the goddess she was. She quite honestly took my breath away.
“It’s a complicated proposition, Roman. And . . . didn’t you just tell me last night that you didn’t want anyone to know about us?” She used air quotes.
“Yes,” I breathed out. “This entire thing is fraught with peril.”
“Fraught with peril?” she laughed. “That escalated quickly.”
I rubbed my temples. It was too early for this. “You really know how to emasculate a guy.”
Her smile faded. “I apologize. That wasn’t my intention. It’s just . . . this is . . .”
“Weird.”
“Very.” She hesitated, then added, “And I don’t want to like you.” The corners of her lips ticked into an almost smile. “It’s easier for me to be wrong about you.”
“I don’t want to like you either,” I half teased. “But maybe we were both wrong about each other?”
“Perhaps,” she conceded. “Mr. Breadstick Mustache Man.”
“A guy does what he can for his daughter.” I made no bones about it. Undoubtedly, I had looked ridiculous last night in front of Demi, but I never regretted making Junie smile.
“Not all guys,” she said with meaning. “Junie is lucky to have you. You seem like a good dad.”
“This surprises you?”
“Honestly, no, but seeing it for myself really puts a damper on my hating you.” She laughed, but as always it didn’t reach her eyes.
I was beginning to think it couldn’t. It was probably for the best. I had a feeling that if I ever got to witness the “real” Demi, it would be dangerous to me, to my show.
“I feel the same way watching you with Junie. Hell, watching you with anyone besides me.”
I wanted to ask what I’d done to her to make her hate me, but I didn’t want her to return the favor. How could I ever explain that I blamed her for the void in my seemingly perfect life?
She shuffled her feet, avoiding my gaze. “I’m not so sure this is a ringing endorsement for us to become friends.”
“Probably not, but the fact remains that the gods wish it.”
She bit her lip, squinting as she breathed out. Adorably conflicted. Fighting an internal battle I knew all too well.
Finally, she let out a long sigh. “Well . . . I suppose we had better try. I don’t need another tree almost falling on me.”
I silently breathed a sigh of relief, which was ludicrous. But her acceptance calmed my Cupid.
“Great,” I said lamely, not knowing where else to go with this.
“Yeah, great.” She took off running into the forest.
I followed, keeping pace with her.
For a long stretch, we said nothing. Just the rhythmic thud of our shoes on dew-damp ground and our controlled breathing.
Eventually, the silence got to me.
I blurted out the gem of the century: “I think friends talk.” I sounded like a guy who’d never had a real conversation in his life.
“That’s an astute observation,” she said, grinning. Not helping me feel better about myself.
“I’m trying here. This is awkward, to say the least.”
“You’re right. Fine. But I haven’t been good at the friend thing in a long time.”
“Since you locked your heart?” I asked gently, trying to confirm what I’d suspected—that locking her heart had consequences beyond romance.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“But you and Cassie seem like good friends,” I offered, treading carefully.
“That’s because Cassie is a force of nature. She pushed herself on me—thankfully.”
“So I need to push myself on you?”
Her brow quirked. “Once again, that escalated quickly.”
Oh, hell. “That came out wrong.”
“I would say so,” she giggled. “Maybe we should try some innocuous topics first.”
“Good idea,” I muttered, feeling more and more like an inept idiot. I used to think of myself as suave.
“So . . . what’s your favorite show?” she asked, clearly holding back a laugh.
Admittedly, this was ridiculous. But I felt like it was too late to back down now.
“Uh, I don’t know if you’ve heard of it. It’s on the Roman god streaming channels. It’s called Game of Altars.”
“I actually have heard of it. I have a friend who’s Roman and we watched it a couple of times. It’s a pretty brutal show.”
“I thought you said you weren’t good at the friend thing.”
“Well, like Cassie, this is another case of someone seeing past this version of me. Or maybe they just know there’s more to me but they like me where I’m at.”
Those words made me feel like a prick. Like I should have looked past my expectations and seen a girl in mourning.
It made me wonder whether my life would have turned out any differently.
Maybe then the Cupid inside me would have known her heart like he so desperately wanted to at this moment.
In fact, he was berating me for being such a jerk.
You know, maybe he should have chimed in thirteen years before when I met Demi.
That was, assuming she hadn’t already locked her heart by then.
But I couldn’t imagine her doing it at such a young age.
And surely she hadn’t fallen in love by then either.
“Who is this Roman friend? Maybe I know her.” I glossed over admitting that I should have been a better person and seen past the baggy clothes and big glasses.
“Oh, it’s not a she; it’s a he.”
We rounded a bend and I noticed the tree that Zeus had knocked down was standing tall again. I didn’t make mention of it. Were yesterday’s theatrics really necessary?
“Does this ‘he’ have a name?”
Demi glanced at the resurrected tree and rolled her eyes like she was just as annoyed as I was at Zeus’s antics.
“Of course he does.”
“And what is it?” I tried to coax it out of her, confused by her hesitation.
“It’s Jonas Foster,” she mumbled, barely loud enough for me to hear.
“The Jonas Foster? As in the Pantheon Confidential Jonas Foster?”
“Yeah, that’s him.” She picked up her pace, apparently hoping to outrun the conversation.
I matched her stride, intrigued. “Jonas is pretty hardcore,” I said casually. “The guy wrecked his own mom in one of his episodes.”
“Yeah, well, she deserved it—after what she did to his dad.”
“Allegedly did,” I offered, playing devil’s advocate.
She threw me a scathing glance. “Let me guess—you’re a fan of Discordia?”
“I wouldn’t say that. But Jonas strikes me as someone who thrives on discord almost as much as his mom.”
“He’s just trying to tell the truth,” she said, defending him with more heat than I’d expected.
And that’s when it hit me. Jonas was more than a friend. Or had been. I decided to press my luck. Probably not the best choice—but I went for it anyway.
“Were you or are you in love with Jonas?”
“Would I be here if that were the case?” she snapped.
“Fair point. But I’m getting more than friendly vibes here.”
I couldn’t help but goad her. Besides, I needed this kind of information for the show.
Maybe Jonas was the man she’d said she’d fallen in love with but refused to talk about.
“Well, you can keep your vibes to yourself.”
I’d definitely hit a nerve. And I’d keep that information in my back pocket—just in case.
“All right.” I backed off. My divine half warned me not to scare her off. He was desperate to know her. “So, what’s your favorite movie? Wait, let me guess. Is it 10 Things I Hate About You? Or ten things you hate about me?” I pointed at my chest.
She cracked a smile. “Ha ha. You’re hilarious. I can think of more than ten things.”
She playfully nudged me with her shoulder. That quick touch had my Cupid coming to life and yearning for another touch from her. His longing almost had me forgetting she’d just admitted to hating more than ten things about me. The urge to take her in my arms was palpable.
I had to remind myself that all Demi and I could have was friendship.
And even that was a dangerous proposition, given the risk it posed to my show.
And maybe to me personally. The boy inside me still wanted the girl I kept catching glimpses of.
And he was kicking himself for not having gotten to know her when he had the chance.
Which was probably why this fell out of my mouth: “I hope to change your mind about me. Maybe you’ll find some things you even like about me.”
Her smooth cheeks pinked. “Maybe. And by the way, I love to watch All My Immortal Children. But if you ever tell anyone about that, I’ll have Cassie hex you.”
“Duly noted.” I grinned, happier than I should have been about the prospect of Cassie hexing me. But Demi had just shared a secret with me. She loved steamy soap operas. Who would have ever guessed?
It, along with her reluctance to talk about Jonas, told me something important—she hadn’t written off love. Not completely.
Maybe Eros was right. His daughter wasn’t immune to love. She was afraid of it.
The question was . . . why?