Chapter Three
This isn’t coercion…it’s manipulation.
Mars
“No, thank you.” Ceres crosses her ankles as she politely declines my proposition. “It’s very…” Her gaze lifts to her ceiling and trails there a moment, searching. “… kind of you to think of me, but I’m not interested.”
Oh, this beautiful fool…
Smiling into my glass of lemonade, I say, “I wasn’t exactly asking.”
Her attention floats on down from her ceiling to land delicately upon me. She blinks her beautiful hazel eyes. Then awareness widens them. Her lashes flutter. “ Oh . You’re threatening me.”
“Am I?” I provide, conversationally. It’s not healthy to start a real-world relationship with threats. So I am absolutely, one hundred percent not threatening anyone.
Ceres hums. “I suppose you haven’t yet, but if you’re not asking for my help, then that means you’re demanding it. And if you’re demanding it, surely you have a means with which to assure my compliance.”
“Coercion is wrong,” I educate my pretty neighbor, and friend of five years, although she doesn’t need to know that yet. Also of note, were I having this conversation with her alter ego Sara, she wouldn’t agree with me.
If there’s one thing my editor loves, it’s coercion.
Ceres threads her fingers together atop her lap. “Mr. Rogue —”
“Please don’t call me that.”
“What should I call you?”
Sweetheart, dearest, darling, beloved… I’m not picky. “Mars?” Because that is my name, and therefore a perfectly reasonable request to have made. Look at me, healthy relationship icon.
For unknown reasons, Ceres’s nose scrunches, pulling at a tiny birthmark on her right cheek.
Huh.
I had not known my name was quite that offensive. One thing I’ve always loved about Ceres is how painfully expressive she is. There is nothing more spectacular than watching her read a book. She’s never met the term “inside thought.” I can tell exactly what is happening with every turn of a page.
Unfortunately, right now, I wish she’d control her volume.
“What’s wrong with my name?” I ask.
Her scrunched nose force relaxes, and she fiddles with her fingers as she refuses to meet my eyes. “Nothing.”
“It’s very clear you hate it. Why?”
“I don’t hate it. It’s a lovely name. Roman god of war.
Roman god of agriculture. Roman god of thunder.
Quite the group on this side of the street.
Almost like there was a prerequisite to moving in.
Must have Roman mythology name was in the fine print.
I’d blame an HOA’s outlandish rules, except we don’t have one. ”
Back up. How did Jovey get a seat in this conversation?
Ceres continues, lip puckering, “Not weird at all that, according to the myths, you’re your brother’s son .”
I have never once thought of that. I’d like to never think of it again.
Leave it to Sara to be annoyed by such a minute detail.
Very logical, my Sara. She likes when things make sense.
And it really doesn’t make sense that our parents named us like this.
Except, of course: “I think we’re named after the planets, not the gods.
” We will ignore the fact my mother’s name was Cybele .
A goddess. And not a planet. There’s no connection.
…it is possible I’m the one who decided I was named after the planet, not the god of war.
Ceres, my goddess, says, “So you’re named after the planets, which were named after the gods?”
My mouth opens. I close it.
Ceres frees a breath. “Exactly.”
Exactly indeed…
I prompt, “You’re awfully calm, given the circumstances.
A random man shows up in your house unannounced, and you make him lemonade before telling him that you think you’re going to call the police, then you drop the matter upon request.” I set my glass down beside a slew of potted plants arranged with precision on the coffee table between us.
“Your self-preservation instincts seem, how do you say…? Lacking.”
Unperturbed, she rises, retrieves a crocheted coaster from an end table also overflowing with indoor plants, and puts my glass of leftover ice upon it. “I don’t normally have company. How am I supposed to know how to behave in this situation?”
“Suffice to say, I am not company. I’m a trespasser.”
She settles back into her chair, watching me. “Should I call the police, then?”
“No, see. You absolutely should have already called the police.”
A divot forms beneath her bottom lip when she pouts. “You’re making no sense, Mars, and I really do have quite a bit of work to do…so if you’re done saying what you came to and you’ve finished your lemonade, I hope it’s an appropriate time to ask you to leave.”
My stomach flutters . Breath hitching, I swallow the unique sensations. Mars . She did it. She used my name. And she didn’t even sound disgusted.
While I’m caught within torrents of adoration, she lifts her phone from her flowy skirt pocket.
She begins to type something in.
“Are you texting 911?” I ask.
“I’m contacting your brother. So he can come get you.”
I blink. “You…have Jovey’s phone number?” I don’t remember them meeting. Ever. And I would. I would know and remember if they have ever once crossed paths.
Her attention rises, slowly, to me. “Is…that not normal? I know your full names and address. It’s not hard to find a phone number with that information in an online directory, and it’s not weird to look it up.
Phonebooks used to be delivered yearly everywhere.
In the case of an emergency, you two are the closest people who could help.
Seems perfectly logical to have both your numbers in my phone. ”
I thoroughly agree. Hunting down someone’s personal information as a precaution for emergencies is perfectly logical and not weird at all.
I am in love.
I’m in love.
Marry me, Ceres. Right now.
I retrieve my phone from beside the deck of cards in my pocket. Currently, I have three decks on me—including one tucked in each of my boots. “Text me.”
She does. She texts me a thrilling period.
A full stop. The end of a sentence. A perfectly subtle we’re done here, right?
No, we are not.
In fact, I am just getting started…
Speaking of just getting started , I was in the middle of a proposition.
Which is actually quite important, all things considered.
Jove is late on getting me his next draft because he’s trying to do better about leaving me with fewer insert romance here, Mars comments.
Earlier today, I sprung a surprise meeting on him, even though it’s not Tuesday, which is when we normally have our incredibly rare weekly catch up.
He asked me how to fall in love.
As though he isn’t already head over heels for his childhood friend and pen pal, Lyra Gold. Conclusion? I create an opportunity where his already rampant feelings might appear in HD…while possibly providing mine with a chance, too. Win, win. “Circling back to my offer…” I say.
“Offer?” She lowers her phone. “I thought you were threatening me.”
“No, no. No threats here. It’s merely an offer you can’t refuse.”
Air leaves her, steady, a sigh. “Mars…”
Mars . Again. Blessings never cease.
Weary, she continues, “What are we doing here?”
I beam. “Quelling my boredom.”
“Right.” She lifts her phone to her ear.
I bristle. “Who are you calling?”
“Jupiter.”
I would relax, considering Jupiter does not even have his phone set to ring unless I’m calling, but she just called him Jupiter . And I hate that. Viscerally. “No one calls him Jupiter . He’s Jove.”
“Well, Jove is not picking up.” Distress creases her brow.
“Yeah, he does that.” Not for me, of course, but for absolutely everyone else in the world. He’s a real wonderful hates everyone but you sort of creature. Smiling, I lace my fingers in my lap. “So, about my offer.”
The distress on Ceres’s face heightens, which is probably not the best for my schemes of matrimonial bliss. Pull it together, me.
Deeply put upon, Ceres murmurs, “I’m very disinterested in assisting you in…” Her eyes close, brows all kinds of knitted. “…throwing a town-wide festival for Flag Day? I just… Who does that?”
People who aren’t resorting to coercion, or blackmail. “People who are trying to help their brothers.”
“Why does Jupiter need a Flag Day festival?”
My eye twitches. “ Jove needs a Flag Day festival, for reasons.”
“Not exactly forthcoming with information, are you?”
“You don’t want to help a little brother do something nice for his big brother?” Surely this statement isn’t coercion. It’s manipulation, definitely, but it’s not coercion , right?
Unfazed, Ceres says, “Not even a little bit.”
Ah, well.
“Why do you even need my help?” she asks.
“I need a face for the project. People don’t trust me, or like me.”
“For somewhat valid reasons, I hear.”
I straighten, insecurities prickling. “The reasons aren’t valid.” And what’s she doing listening to hearsay, anyway? That, right there, is rude.
“Anyone who slights you gets their tires slashed, or their car keyed, or a tree on their house.”
I scoff. Jovey’s never dropped a tree on anyone’s house .
Usually, it’s just the sheds. But that’s not the point.
“If you behave poorly, there is karma.” I clear my throat.
“For unrelated reasons—that don’t validate these reasons you speak of at all—this is kind of exactly why I need your help.
If I approach a florist, and they’re rude, they could lose their business.
If you approach a florist on my behalf, they won’t even be rude, because you’re a little goddess, and everyone loves you. ”
I am flirting.
Ceres grimaces.
I am flirting…unsuccessfully.
Heaving another breath, she crosses her arms. “I don’t like talking to people.”