Chapter XVI
Demi
I stood, waiting in what could only be considered my own personal hell—otherwise known as the dressing room, a.k.a.
one of the lodge suites—suffocating in a full-length black gown that looked like it had been designed by a committee of vengeful fairies.
Marcie and her evil glam squad had shoved me into it like I was a sacrificial offering to the gods of tulle.
I looked like a goth queen who’d lost a bet with Barbie.
Marcie claimed it suited my “contradicting personality”—dark with light begging to shine through. Tough on the outside, ooey gooey on the inside. It disturbed me how right she was. Or at least I hoped she was. There was still light in me, right?
More disturbing?
I was about to meet all the women cast members, and we were going to do a photo shoot together.
Judging by the equipment I’d seen wheeled through the lobby when Jazzy ushered me in—fog machines, wind fans, and enough lighting to summon Apollo—it was going to be a nightmarish montage of fake smoke and cheesy music.
Most disturbing of all? Roman wanted to be friends. It felt like I was being punked. The man I’d once thought was my soulmate—the one I’d locked my heart because of, the one I’d mentally filed under “nemesis”—now wanted to be my buddy.
And the worst part?
Apparently, that’s what the quest required.
No mishaps on the trail today. No divine sabotage.
It was like I’d satisfied some unwritten rule by agreeing to friendship.
As if being on a reality show wasn’t torture enough—I also had to emotionally entangle myself with the man who’d shattered my young heart.
Not that it was his fault. It was false advertising on my goddess’s part. Mix in unmet expectations and my already-fragile state, and boom—disaster.
Then there was Junie. Her dreams and predictions. And the strange connection I felt to her.
I didn’t know what any of it meant.
And honestly? I was afraid to find out. Especially because, come August . . . it might all be for nothing.
Cassie was trying to dig up any intel she could on the male cast members. I just hoped a couple of them were demigods and at least one of them was my true love. Could you have more than one true love? You would think, as a goddess of love, I would know the answer.
Not that my true love had to be a demigod . . . but it would make life a lot easier if the guy I was meant to fall for could actually know everything about me.
No secrets. No divine red tape.
Would my father and Zeus even allow him access to our world? That was assuming that one of these men was destined to unlock my heart.
Of course, whoever he was, he’d have to sign a divine NDA—with a clause that sentenced him to Tartarus for eternity if he ever spilled the godly beans.
How was that going to go over?
“Here, honey, could you sign this in your blood? And don’t worry about the part where you’ll be banished to the deepest, darkest abyss with monsters and the worst of the worst sinners if you ever tell anyone about my world.”
Romantic, right?
Weird to think my mom—and Roman’s mom—had signed that same NDA.
Speaking of Roman’s mom . . . I really liked her. Which wasn’t helping matters. Why did I feel so drawn to these people? Even Roman?
I still couldn’t believe I’d confessed my torrid soap opera obsession to him. Like, why? Probably because I could tell how attracted he was to me.
And that?
Definitely wasn’t helping matters.
Jazzy barged into the dressing room.
“Oh. My. Gosh! Look at you. The audience is going to eat you up.”
I feared they would eat me up and spit me out. It made me wish I’d brought a pair of glasses to wear and hide behind, but ever since I’d arrived, I kept forgetting to wear them. Or was something—or someone—else making me forget them? It was hard to tell.
“It’s showtime,” she sang. “Are you ready to meet your friends for the next six weeks? ‘Friends’ being a relative term. We tend to get a lot of catfights on this show.”
Oh, I knew.
Cassie and I had watched several clips of them on YouTube during the trip out here. Cassie had watched them to take notes on the fights—like she was prepping for a gladiator match. I, on the other hand, had viewed them hoping to avoid any.
The last thing I needed was someone slapping me and accusing me of being a man stealer. Which I would never be. It wouldn’t go over well for them. Cassie would hex whoever dared into oblivion.
Besides, if I wanted to, I had the power to make any of these cast members fall in love—or prevent it. I’d learned that the hard way. On my own heart. I’d never used either power on anyone else. Though the part of me I usually tried to ignore was practically begging me to give Jazzy a love pulse.
I kept resisting.
Workplace romance? Seriously, not advisable.
Sure, the movies made it look sexy. And I’m sure some parts were. Until the first fight. Or when the new love haze wore off and you realized he chews like a goat, sneezes loud enough to wake the dead, and leaves the toilet seat up.
Then, when those minor irritations spill over into the professional realm, suddenly everyone at the office is whispering about you.
And HR gets involved. And you’re googling “how to hex a coworker without getting fired.” Or “how to break up with my coworker and not make it awkward.” P.S.
It will always be awkward. And not just for the couple. For everyone.
Believe me, I’d done the research.
Of course, my father would disagree with me and say love wasn’t about rules or even the odds.
Then he’d point to Ryan Gosling and Eva Mendes, who met at work.
Sure, Ryan was a dream, and he treated Eva like a queen.
But it was an isolated case. Really, how many Ryan Goslings were there in the world? I’ll tell you, not many.
“I don’t plan on fighting anyone,” I assured Jazzy. “No man is worth that humiliation.”
Jazzy laughed. “I love your snark. This season is going to be our best yet. Let’s go.”
I followed her out into the hall, dreading every step.
This was even worse than meeting with the show’s team of lawyers earlier that day, as they basically spelled out that they owned my life not only for the summer but for the foreseeable future.
I was part of their brand now. A hostage in contractual bondage, wrapped in tulle.
As we walked toward the lobby where I’d meet my supposed “friends,” I heard squealing.
Lots of it.
Once upon a time, I had been a squealer. But I hadn’t had anything to fuss about in a long time. And this dress was compacting my rib cage, so I wasn’t sure I could squeal even if I wanted to.
I turned the corner, and it was just as I feared: the grand staircase had been turned into the runway from hell—a fever dream of roses and artificial mist. It looked like someone had asked Flora, goddess of flowers, to decorate it, and she’d decided to channel prom night in the eighties.
I caught Cassie’s eye.
She was standing in the middle of all the squealing women dressed in bright colors, looking like a boss babe in a violet gown that matched her eyes—sleek, asymmetrical, and just edgy enough to say, I could rebuild a transmission in this.
The bodice shimmered like fresh paint on a vintage Mustang, and the slit up one side revealed her signature combat boots, scuffed and unapologetic.
I adored her. Well, as much as I could adore anyone right now. Maybe ever.
Everyone turned in my direction. Including Roman, in a sharp, dark suit looking like he was our collective prom date.
He stood off to the side talking to the director, Miles.
Both men’s feelings hit me all at once. It overwhelmed me so much that I had to stop walking.
Wow, Miles had it bad for Jazzy. Like, wanted-to-write-her-name-in-the-stars bad.
And . . . let’s just say Roman liked the monstrosity of tulle I was drowning in.
A lot. But he fought those feelings with all he had.
Meanwhile, my getting-louder-by-the-minute other half took pleasure in Roman’s desire.
She purred at the attention all while begging me to use my powers to bring Miles and Jazzy together and to take a taste of Roman.
Oh. My. Titans. That was the last thing I needed to do.
Not to say I wasn’t attracted to him. Unfortunately, I was.
If that weren’t enough, I started getting hit with the women’s feelings. A tidal wave of insecurity, curiosity, and thinly veiled jealousy. All except Cassie saw me as competition. One of them even thought this was an act—America’s sweetheart turned goth queen for ratings.
Yeah, cute theory.
Then it hit me why I was last to the party. The cameras wanted to capture this moment. The moment when all the women except Cassie decided they hated me and made me this season’s villain. It made sense now why I was in black and everyone else wore bright colors.
No. No. No.
I didn’t sign up for this part—or any part, for that matter.
My stomach tossed and turned while I tried not to hyperventilate.
Roman and I locked eyes, and I glared at him. The deepest sense of loathing filled me. He had to have known this was the plan all along. Maybe he was the architect of it.
Roman’s brows furrowed, confused by my reaction.
How could he be? Then again, he probably thought I wanted this role. He knew my secret, after all, and he’d once accused me of knowing nothing of love. I felt so foolish for believing all his friendship garbage that morning.
To be fair, I was the villain in my own story.
The goddess of love who’d locked her own heart.
But I had my reasons, and I wished I had remembered them and not let Roman fool me again.
I didn’t care if Zeus wanted us to be friends.
I’d rather have a tree fall on me at this rate.
Or even be cast out of the realm of the gods. Maybe then I could forget all of this.