Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
OPHELIA
One month.
I can last until my father marries Athena if it means getting a legitimate stake in Olympus. Before my mother died, I liked Athena. She was like a second mother to me.
I can pretend.
Be civil.
Smile.
Athena waits for me in the sitting room. To my surprise, Atlas is with her, drawing in his sketchbook. I rarely see him without a charcoal pencil in his inked hand.
What is he doing here?
“I thought this was a girl’s day,” I say to Athena as if we’re best friends.
She glides over to me, her movements fluid, even in five-inch heels. As usual, she’s dressed impeccably in a champagne-colored wrap dress, making her black hair look even more stunning against her olive skin.
“Atlas is in our bridal party.” She grips my shoulder as we exit the room. “I didn’t think you would mind his tagging along.”
Yeah, sure.
I hate getting measured in front of hot men I barely know—especially men who draw me and say cute things.
“No, I don’t mind,” I lie as we leave the house with Atlas on our heels. “Let’s go.”
He’s so quiet, always observing. The time we spent together a few days ago was the most I have heard from him. Unlike Ares, he keeps to himself and doesn’t push my buttons.
Atlas rushes past us and hops into the driver’s side of a black Mercedes G-Class. The sleek SUV suits him.
The Audi A8 belongs to Apollo. Of course, Ares drives a vintage Camaro SS, red with black racing stripes.
I think about Ares fucking me on the hood of that car.
A shiver jolts down my arms. Maybe I enjoy doing bad things more than I should.
Because even though I pretend to hate Ares, I can’t stop thinking about we did in my bedroom.
His hands on my body.
His tongue on my pussy.
I want him.
Athena climbs into the front seat, and I get in the back. I cringe at the thought of being trapped in this box with them. But when Atlas turns on the car and cranks up the classical music blaring through the speakers, I let out a relieved breath.
Surprisingly, Athena doesn’t tell him to turn down the music. She must like the classics. I find it relaxing as we drive through Beacon Bay. I imagine Atlas listening to Beethoven or Chopin while he sketches me, adding to his collection.
We arrive at the bridal shop. It’s on the North Side, the part of Beacon Bay where I live. Wealthier residents own houses within walking distance of the town square.
My dad’s businesses are mainly on the South Side, which is grittier and has fewer residential properties.
He gained control over Beacon Bay because of the cheap commercial real estate on that side of town.
No one wants to live there, not unless they don’t have a choice, so he seized the opportunity.
After buying properties, he became the Godfather of the Night within five years. I stood to inherit everything before he announced his engagement to Athena. Dad has been threatening to disown me.
What if he does?
As we enter Bridal Couture, I push down the thought, greeted by a lithe, blonde-haired woman.
She’s the opposite of me, skinny with light features and practically glowing.
Atlas doesn’t pay any mind to her. His fingers clutch the sketchbook at his side, and I notice him fidgeting like he’s dying to draw something.
“Hello,” the woman beams after speaking to Athena, her eyes aimed at me. “You must be Ophelia.” She leans in to hug me as if we’re old friends, and I stand there, inwardly cringing. “I’m Layla.” She steps back and smiles. “Athena gave me your estimated size over the phone.”
Kill me now.
I glance at Atlas and find his eyes on me. He doesn’t turn away and holds my gaze with a thoughtful expression on his handsome face.
What is he thinking?
I wish I could read him.
Atlas is more of a mystery than his brothers. It feels like he’s saying a lot without opening his mouth. Long eyelashes accentuate those big brown eyes. He’s so gorgeous I can’t tear my eyes away. Not until Athena clutches my arm, stealing my attention back to her.
“Ophelia,” she says in a soft tone. “Try on the size sixteen first to see if it fits. If you need a bigger size, let Layla know.”
And just like that, my bubble bursts. I’m sensitive about my weight and hate trying on clothes around other people.
Why did she invite Atlas?
He shouldn’t be here.
Why would a man even want to come dress shopping for a wedding? This can’t be that exciting for him. He hasn’t spoken more than a few words to confirm something his mother asked.
Yes.
No.
Sure.
He doesn’t say very much, even when he speaks. But I like hearing his deep voice. It reminds me of waves crashing on the beach. A little shiver races over me.
“Would you like a glass of champagne?” Layla asks us.
“That would be lovely.” Athena smiles. “We’ll each have a glass.”
“None for me,” Atlas says.
“Darling, it’s a special day. Live a little.”
He rolls his eyes, keeping his coveted book at his side, which only makes me long for the day when I see more of his sketches. “It’s eleven o’clock on a Tuesday, Ma. I have to work later.”
Atlas owns The River Styx, a local bar on the South Side.
“Nonsense,” Athena groans. “You’ll have one glass with us to celebrate.”
I remember Athena being a little extra, but until she moved into my house, I hadn’t realized how much of a pain in the ass she could be.
Was all of that an act?
Is this the real Athena?