14 #2
“I don’t care if it’s necessary or not, Eros. Either we’re full partners in this charade or we’re not and there’s no point in getting married.” I make myself hold his gaze. “Let me hear the voicemail.”
For a long moment, I think he’ll keep arguing, but he finally sighs and pulls out his phone. “It’s not pretty.”
I take his phone and pull up the voicemail. My hands are shaking as I push the Play button. Immediately Aphrodite’s voice permeates the room. For once, she doesn’t sound sweetly poisonous. She’s too furious.
“What part of ‘Bring me her heart’ did you not understand, Eros? Why am I hearing that you’re going to marry the woman?
” She draws in a harsh breath. “I thought you could follow simple orders, but apparently even that’s beyond you.
It must be that, because I know you’re not trying to play white knight to her damsel in distress. You’re not capable of it.”
I flick a look to Eros, but he’s got his face arranged in an unreadable mask.
On the phone, Aphrodite’s voice is vibrating with rage.
“I was willing to do this the nice way, out of respect for you obviously having a soft spot for the girl, but you’ve spit in my face.
She’ll pay the price. Your bluff about marrying her isn’t cute, and now she’s going to suffer for it.
Before the end, she’ll be scared and alone and in pain, and it will be your fault. ”
My chest is too tight. There isn’t enough air in the room. I march to the window, intent on wrestling it open, only to find that it doesn’t open at all. “What the fuck?”
“Psyche.” Eros takes the phone back and then catches my hands, bringing them to his chest. “I won’t let my mother harm you.”
I give a harsh laugh. It hurts my throat—or maybe that’s just the tightness there that isn’t dissipating. “I think we’ve more than established that you can’t control your mother.”
“She won’t harm you,” he repeats. “I promise. After tonight, it will be a moot point. You’ll be beyond her grasp.”
I shouldn’t believe him. All these years surviving in this cutthroat city, and I’ve never had an issue with keeping my emotions in check.
The only time I let down my walls is around my sisters, and even then not always entirely.
They’re dealing with their own stuff, after all.
We’ve taken turns propping one another up when the situation gets tough.
Trusting someone outside that tiny circle is unthinkable.
Eros isn’t promising to prevent his mother from killing me out of the goodness of his heart.
It wouldn’t further our mutual goals if she managed to do something to stop the wedding.
He’s invested in marrying me, and if I don’t fully understand his reasoning, I can at least trust that it’s what he wants.
That knowledge should comfort me, but it rings hollow.
“I believe you.” I clear my throat. “I suppose now’s a good time to tell you that Persephone told my mother about the wedding and she will be attending.”
Eros stares at me a long moment, and then he throws his head back and a laugh booms forth. The sound surprises me so much, I jump, but he’s too busy laughing his ass off to notice. He actually has to wrap an arm around his waist to maintain his upright position.
I cross my arms and wait him out. “By all means, get it out of your system now.”
To his credit, he doesn’t make me wait long. He straightens and shakes his head. “We’re going to have to up our game to stay one step ahead of our mothers. This should be interesting.”
“Interesting. That’s one way to put it.”
Eros moves to the door, but he stops before opening it. “Trust me.”
“In this, I do.” It’s almost the truth. I can’t afford to lean on Eros, can’t afford to assume our endgames match up. But I can trust that he is as invested in getting this marriage off the ground as I am, fake relationship or no.
He gives me a slow smile, heat slipping into his eyes. “And, Psyche? I meant it when I said you look divine. I want to eat you right up. Again.” He slips out the door before I can formulate a response.
What is there to say?
I’ve already established that Eros is a consummate liar and that’s he’s cold down to his very soul. It doesn’t matter how warm his eyes get when they look at me, how intoxicating his smile. I can’t trust it.
It didn’t feel fake when he had his mouth on me earlier, though. When his hands shook as he gripped my thighs and his voice went rough and low. In that moment, it felt like he wanted me just as much as I want him. More, even, because he didn’t seem to be fighting his reaction.
A lie. It has to be a lie. We needed to rip the bandage off, so that’s what we did. If I still desire him, there’s a logical conclusion as to why. Adrenaline and pheromones. A physical response is normal under these less-than-normal conditions. That’s all.
I’ve almost managed to convince myself that it’s the truth by the time I step into the elevator to take me down to the room Eros has claimed for the event.
Persephone is at my side, and she’s doing the beaming-sunshine thing she does whenever we have to deal with the Thirteen.
I try to draw myself in, to push everything that matters to me down deep and lock it away so that nothing that happens tonight can hurt me.
I try…and I fail.
How can I lock everything away when I’m one giant exposed nerve right now? I know I have to do this, but expectations about the wedding I always wanted are crashing against the reality of this moment, and it hurts so much more than I expected. It feels a whole lot like grief.
The elevator doors slide soundlessly open, revealing a long hallway that reeks of money for all that it’s gone the same minimalist route that Eros’s penthouse leans toward.
Brushed concrete floors gleam in the bright light, and the walls are painted gunmetal gray.
It might feel like walking through an expensive prison if not for the mirrors.
They line the hallway on either side, stretching nearly from the floor to the nine-foot ceiling. Wrought iron and shining silver create the frames, and I have the near-hysterical thought that if I pressed my hand against one, it would give way and I’d end up in another world entirely.
What is it with this building and mirrors?
Halfway down the hall, a door opens and my mother steps out.
She’s dressed in an elegant gown that covers her slim body from neck to wrists to ankles, and the silver and structure in the bodice and hips give the impression of armor.
She’s twisted her dark hair, so similar to mine, back from her face and her makeup is, as always, flawless.
It takes every ounce of courage I have to keep walking next to my sister until we stand before Demeter. She surveys me from head to toe and back up again. “If you wanted to make a statement, you’ve succeeded with that dress.”
Persephone gives my hand a squeeze. “I’ll see you inside.” She slips through the door, leaving me to face Demeter alone. Coward. But then, I was always going to face my mother alone in this. I chose this path, was forced to choose this path because I wasn’t good enough to outmaneuver Aphrodite.
This time.
“Mother—”
She lifts a hand and shakes her head. “We are due for a discussion, but not here. You’re set on marrying Eros?”
Something like relief courses through me.
No matter what else is true of Demeter, she’s not one to waste a valuable asset.
My marrying Eros gives her a direct line to Aphrodite, or, rather, a direct way to constantly needle and undermine the other woman.
She might have learned her lesson about selling her daughters into marriage without their knowledge—and that’s a rather large might —but if one of us is foolish enough to stumble into a marriage with a powerful person, she’s hardly going to stop it. “Yes, I’m set on it.”
“Then let’s go.” She pivots to face the door and holds out her elbow. “I’ll be damned before any of my daughters walk down the aisle alone.”
We don’t really talk about my father—about any of our fathers.
Three marriages resulting in four daughters, and every one of our fathers disappeared off the face of the earth within weeks of the divorce.
Or, rather, they disappeared out of Olympus.
If not for the rather active social media accounts of her ex-husbands, my mother might have a reputation as a black widow.
As it is, my sisters and I are pretty damn certain she paid off our fathers and ensured they found a way out of Olympus.
I suppose I could blame her for my not having a father figure, but the truth is that my mother never goes with a stick when a carrot will work just fine. My father chose to take her money, take passage out of Olympus, and never look back. Why would I mourn the loss of such a selfish man in my life?
So, yes, it’s entirely apt that my mother be the one to walk me down the aisle and give me away to my new husband.
I slide my hand into the crook of her arm. “Thank you, Mother.”
“You are my daughter, Psyche. More than the others, you are the apple that doesn’t fall far from my tree. I trust that you have a reason for doing this.” She shoots me a severe look. “You should have told me. We could have negotiated for more favorable terms.”
Despite everything, I huff out a laugh. “Maybe on my next marriage.”
“That’s my girl.”