Chapter 20
Cupid
I had to get out of that hotel room and collect my thoughts. My mind is going a million miles a minute as I make my way to the lobby, putting some distance between myself and Felicity, however brief and inadequate.
Here’s what I know: Felicity just told me the arrow is finally working on her. The arrow that was supposed to make her feel love and attraction and desire—all the things I told her about before she agreed to the bet. The arrow that I never actually struck her with.
This means two things. Against all odds, she has developed feelings for me—which makes me feel like I’m walking on air.
Except now, I have no idea how I’m going to admit the truth to her.
That I lied about the arrow. That the feelings she’s experiencing are hers, not the product of outside influence.
I reflect, dumbly, that I didn’t give this plan even the most minuscule amount of thought. I might be in deep trouble.
When Felicity realizes the truth…
I don’t know what will happen, and that’s what frightens me most.
I know what I want to happen. I want to keep seeing her, to spend more time with her. I want her to want that, too. Forget about the bet and my deception and keep doing…this. Getting to know each other. Having fun. Falling.
Because that’s exactly what it is for me: falling.
I’ve seen it happen millions of times with millions of people, falling in love. I have even experienced it once before. After all those times, I still seem to have forgotten that sometimes falling in love is the equivalent of falling into a pit of quicksand.
As I’m walking past the casino floor, I hear a soft voice say my name. My head whips around, looking for the source, but I can’t find it. I take another few steps and hear it again—this time it’s three voices calling out to me.
Oh no…
My eyes scan the machines to my left, and—there. The slot machine. I’m seated in front of it after three long strides, leaning forward until my face is just a breath away from the flashing screen.
“What in Hades are you doing here?” I hiss.
“We told you we would be checking in on you,” says Attie, her pale face glowing between a pair of cherries and a number seven. The other two are scattered among the symbols: Clo boxed in by a horseshoe and a gem; Lala between two shamrocks.
“Now’s not really a good time, ladies.” I shove my hands through my hair and try very hard to keep my cool. “Could we, I don’t know, maybe do this later, and not through a fucking screen in the middle of a busy casino?”
All three sisters just look at me in silence, big-eyed and blinking.
With a frustrated groan, I slap my hand on one of the machine’s big plastic buttons.
I’m given the satisfaction of watching a stunned look flash across each of their faces before they begin spinning, spinning, spinning.
Eventually they land, three in a row, on the screen’s pay line.
The machine dings and flashes as they slot into place.
I flinch, worried about drawing even more attention to us.
I slump back into the seat. This is torture, I think. It must be.
“That was not very nice, Cupid,” Clo chides as Attie covers her mouth, looking for all the world like she’s about to barf. “Attie gets terrible motion sickness.” A quiet but obscene gagging noise makes its way through the speakers.
Lala shakes her head, obviously disgusted with me, and Clo tsks.
Okay, I do feel kind of guilty about that—but I’m kind of going through my own thing here. The Fates have a particular talent for showing up at the worst possible times.
“I’m just—” I begin, heated, but clamp my mouth shut at the looks on their faces.
I hang my head, start again. “I’m in a bit of a bad situation,” I say, this time keeping my tone cordial, if not friendly. “And I don’t know what to do about it.”
“Ah,” Clo says. “Relationship problems.” All three sisters nod in unison. I appreciate that they have the decency to at least look sorry for me.
“How did you…?” I stop mid-question, realizing that obviously they would know. They know pretty much everything about everyone.
I let the events of the past few days fall from my mouth in one long wave of words, hoping maybe they’ll be able to offer some advice.
What’s the use of being acquainted with all-knowing entities if you can’t pick their brains every once in a while?
I can’t believe I never thought of it before.
They must have an answer for me—some direction I should take that will make everything work out in the end.
“Actually,” I say, resting elbows on knees, “maybe you ladies can help me out. Give me some…guidance. Friend to friend.”
“We’re not friends.”
“Colleague to colleague, then,” I respond through clenched teeth. Why is it so difficult to talk to them?
Attie extends her hand out, palm up, as if to say, go on. So I do.
“As you probably already know, I kind of messed up. I was going to shoot Felicity with one of my arrows, but I—” How do I explain my severe lack of judgment here?
“I chickened out,” I say.
“That sounds like you.” My eyes narrow at Attie for that jibe. Still mad about her trip around the slot machine, I see.
“Right, thanks for that. So, yeah, I made the intentional decision,” I glare at Attie here, “to not use the arrow. But Felicity thinks that I did use an arrow on her, and now she just confessed to developing feelings for me, real feelings, and I—”
“WHAT?!”
The sudden shriek jolts me from my impromptu therapy session, and when I look back…
Shit.
Felicity is glaring at me, red-faced and white-knuckled, chest heaving with tight fists clenched at her sides. She looks like she’s debating whether she should throw a punch. It’s not needed, though, because the look she’s giving me is a punch right to the gut.
Anger. Betrayal. And something far more delicate and devastating: genuine hurt.
Felicity heard everything, and now she knows I was lying about the one thing that makes her feel the most vulnerable. The thing she trusted me with, just a couple of days ago.
“You’ve been lying to me? This whole time?”
“No! Listen—”
Felicity takes a half-step back. “Be honest, Cupid. For once.” She spits these last two words.
“It’s not so much a lie as withholding the truth,” I say meekly, trying desperately to think of an adequate defense.
“You’re so full of shit.” Felicity throws her hands up in the air. “And I should have known this was a bad idea. I should have known better. This love shit—passion, romance, whatever you call it—is pointless.” She spits this last word, and I recoil.
I move to stand, but my legs are frozen in place. I open my mouth to speak, but I can’t form the right words.
“My instincts were right about you,” she says venomously.
Felicity’s jaw works, shifting back and forth as she stares me down. But she hasn’t walked away yet. Maybe there’s still a chance. Maybe I can explain. I have to try.
“Love, please listen. I had a reason—I promise.”
“What reason could possibly justify lying to me like this?”
“It was the only way to change your mind.”
Felicity scoffs dismissively. “That’s rich. Is that really the best you can do?”
I stand up and slowly approach her, the way you would an injured animal. She doesn’t run away, but she also won’t look me in the eye. I dip my head slightly, try to get her to see me—the me she’s opened up to, the me who opened up to her. Not the impulsive liar.
“You were so closed off to this,” I say, trying my best to explain. “I needed you to be open to even the possibility of attraction or…” I swallow and notice my throat is as dry as the desert outside. “Or something more. I needed you to be willing to let someone in.”
“That’s a bullshit excuse, and you know it,” she says. I’ve gotten close enough now to see there are tears in her eyes, and my chest burns with that discovery, knowing it’s because of me.
“You know it’s not, Love,” I say, gently. “You…you’re so dead set on making yourself unlovable that—”
Felicity rears back, as if slapped. “Unlovable?” A scoff, and then she does look me in the eyes, her own blazing behind her glasses.
“You’re just like every other guy, Cupid. Chasing some high to satisfy your ego, using women to do it. I’m a successful, smart, attractive single woman, and that’s just too unlovable for you, is it?”
“I didn’t mean—”
“No!” Felicity shouts. “Stop. Just stop.”
She scrubs her face with her hands, leaving her glasses slightly crooked. I want to lean in and fix them. I want to show her I’m not terrible, not like she thinks. That I can take care of her. I’ve been careless, but I can fix it—if she’s willing to give me a second chance.
But I don’t get to say any of this to her, because in a voice almost too quiet to hear, she says, “Our deal is over, Cupid. I won on account of you being a lying bastard. Don’t ever contact me again.”
With that, she turns on her heel and storms away, calling over her shoulder, “And get a haircut. You look ridiculous.”
Behind me, I hear one of the Fates let out a low whistle. “You really messed up big this time, Cupid.”
I let my head fall into the cradle of my hands. “Thanks, Clo,” I say. “That’s very helpful.”
I’m vaguely aware of whispers coming from the machine. It almost sounds like the sisters are arguing with each other, but I can’t bring myself to care.
I can’t get the look of hurt on Felicity’s face out of my mind.
I can’t stop replaying what I said, and wondering how much of it she heard, or thinking about how it made her feel.
So when the sound of a throat clearing jerks me out of my thoughts, I’m surprised to find the sisters still on the slot machine screen, watching me.
Lala looks at me with something like pity in her eyes. “This might not be the best time for this, but…we’ve got something we need to tell you.”
I give them my full attention—or at least what I can offer, with half of my head and heart focused on Felicity. And with every word, my mouth drops open a little wider as anger builds, flooding me from the ends of my hair to the tips of my toes.
Some things—some people—simply never change.