Chapter Nine Aphrodite
Chapter Nine
Aphrodite
Aphrodite leaned against the railing and glanced around Zeus’s yacht, the Titan. She didn’t see Ares yet, but it was only a matter of time. She felt lovely and deadly at once, her body flush with awareness of her own intoxicating beauty.
But then, Aphrodite had always felt strongest out on the water.
Perhaps that was why artists loved to show her emerging from sea foam—to emphasize the startling blue of her eyes, the liquid curve of her body, the way her hair rippled down her back like sunlight dancing on water.
Though Aphrodite liked to think that there was something figurative about this depiction, too.
That the ocean mirrored her: her moodiness, her irrepressible mischief, her uncharted depths.
Her capacity to destroy, if needed.
“Don’t look, but Helios is hitting on Iris. Again.” Hermes sidled up next to her, wearing sunglasses and a pink linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up.
Aphrodite had always felt like she and Hermes were two of a kind: both bright and glittering and in constant motion, both bucking the dull traditions of the other Olympians.
Both were members of the Pantheon yet excluded from the true inner circles of power, overshadowed by the heavy hitters like Zeus and Apollo.
Aphrodite let out an amused breath. “Helios has never learned to keep it in his pants.” At least Zeus showed some discernment in his human affairs, but Helios seemed to run after every last mortal who sunbathed on a beach. The phrase sun-kissed hadn’t come from nowhere.
“Another round?” Hermes nodded at her empty rosé.
“You’re a terrible influence,” Aphrodite replied, handing him her glass.
“Of course I am. That’s why you love me.”
“That, and your wicked comebacks.” It was delightfully satisfying, gossiping with Hermes, especially when he was mocking someone. And Aphrodite so loved to mock the other goddesses. They started it, she reminded herself. They had ganged up against her from day one and refused to change their minds.
Her memories of the past thousand years might have been hazy, but Aphrodite would never forget how it had felt, standing before the Olympian Council in her frail mortal body.
Listening as they debated whether to make her one of them.
In the end, the vote had just barely passed in her favor, with all the gods voting for her, and all the goddesses against—all except Hera.
A choice that her mother-in-law likely regretted.
As usual, Hephaestus hadn’t joined today’s outing.
He claimed the ocean made him seasick, which Aphrodite secretly doubted, given how close he was with his uncle Poseidon.
She suspected that Hephaestus was simply looking for excuses to avoid the party.
He’d much rather be alone in his dark, smoky workshop—because of course there was a forge on Olympus—than out in the sunshine with the other gods.
Not that Aphrodite minded. With her husband gone, it would be easier to talk to Ares.
Apparently he’d arrived last night, bringing some mortal along with him. Aphrodite almost felt sorry for the poor woman. She was clearly here for Aphrodite’s sake: to prove to everyone that Ares was over her, or even—as absurd as the thought was—to make Aphrodite jealous.
She put on her cat-eye sunglasses and wove toward the front of the yacht. Sure enough, Ares was up there, talking to his sister. Athena looked ridiculous in cuffed black pants and low-slung black pumps, as if she only knew how to dress for an office in Tokyo, not a yacht in the Mediterranean.
As Aphrodite expected, there was no sign of the mortal—what was her name, Julia? Aphrodite had made certain of that.
It had been easy, really. She’d walked by Julia’s room last night, mere minutes after the woman arrived, and tugged at the thread of Julia’s desire, making her crave sleep. When Ares had come looking for her, Julia was jet-lagged and groggy.
The other gods always dismissed Aphrodite. Stupid of them, really. Didn’t they realize that desire, the sheer intensity of wanting something, was one of the most powerful forces on earth, as strong as Zeus’s thunderbolt and Poseidon’s tidal waves?
Aphrodite kept moving toward Ares, ignoring Athena’s angry stare.
“Hey, you two,” she said cheerfully when she’d finally reached them. This close, she could see that Ares was leaner, his hair longer and streaked from the sun. He looked pointedly away from her, but Aphrodite was undeterred.
“Aphrodite, back the hell off,” Athena snapped. “Stop getting my brother into trouble out of boredom, or spite, or whatever this is.”
Aphrodite sniffed and turned toward Ares. “Can we talk alone?”
“I don’t think we should be seen together,” Ares mumbled. He was still staring at the ground, as if afraid to set his eyes on her.
“I disagree,” she said levelly. “We can’t be seen avoiding each other. That would only add smoke to the flames. If we talk like everything is normal, what could they possibly have to report?”
Athena gave a derisive snort, but Aphrodite kept her eyes on Ares. After a beat, he nodded.
“Athena, please just…give us a minute.”
His sister sighed. “I’ll be right over here.” She cast Aphrodite one last warning look before stomping off. It took all of Aphrodite’s willpower not to magically break the stilettos off those ugly pumps she wore.
She turned back to Ares, looking up at him through her eyelashes. “It’s good to see you again,” she murmured. When he didn’t reply, she added, “You left so abruptly.”
Finally, Ares met her gaze. “Of course I left abruptly, Aphrodite. Your husband—my brother—told me to get the hell out. Which I deserved.”
“You never tried to get in touch. Not once over the past three years!” That, perhaps, had stung more than anything else: the realization that anyone, man or god, could sleep with her and then walk away without a backward glance.
She was Aphrodite, the goddess of sex. No one got to leave her. She was supposed to be the one to leave them.
“I didn’t exactly think it was a good idea to reach out,” Ares said flatly.
“But you just ran off, and left me to deal with the fallout!”
She hadn’t meant to come at him with accusations, at least not at first. Aphrodite swallowed, surprised to find that she was blinking back tears.
“What happened between us was your fault as much as mine,” she added in a heated whisper. “Yet your family blames me for what happened.”
Ares seemed surprised by her words. “I think it’s safe to say that they blame me, given that Hephaestus banished me afterward.”
“Trust me, they blame me plenty,” Aphrodite seethed. “It’s not fair that you get to come back, the prodigal son, as if nothing ever happened. While I’m still being punished for what we both did!”
She expected Ares to fight back, but he stared down at the blue waves below. Dolphins were chasing alongside the yacht, grinning and jumping in a perfectly choreographed dance—Poseidon, always such a show-off.
“I’m sorry,” Ares said at last. “If it makes you feel better, I’ve been answering for our actions, too. Hephaestus still hasn’t spoken to me.”
“You’ve only been back a day. Give it time.” Aphrodite let out a breath. “It took much longer than that before Hephaestus forgave me. But he did move past it, in the end.”
Ares frowned. “Then why did you say you’re still being punished? Who else blames you for what happened?”
Aphrodite could have rolled her eyes at his stupidity. “Who do you think? Your mother.”
“Oh. Right,” he said awkwardly. “Well, I’m sorry.”
“If you really feel sorry, then you could talk to your mother for me,” Aphrodite insisted.
“Talk to her?” Ares repeated, bemused.
“You could tell Hera to move on, convince her to stop icing me out.”
“Aphrodite, I wish I could help,” Ares told her, with surprising gentleness. “But I have enough on my plate trying to get Mother to approve of Julia.”
At first, Aphrodite didn’t comprehend what he’d just said. Then she barked out a strident laugh. “You can’t be serious. That mortal woman? Why do you care what your mother thinks of her?”
“Because I love her,” Ares said quietly.
Aphrodite laughed again. “Love her? Come on, Ares, you’re using her. You brought her here to deflect attention from us. Which was smart, by the way—”
Ares silenced her, placing a hand on her shoulder. He glanced about, then drew Aphrodite toward the steps that led up to the captain’s deck, out of sight of the rest of the party.
“I’m not using Julia. I love her,” he said again.
This was ridiculous. How could Ares think he loved some ordinary mortal, after he had slept with her? The notion was downright insulting.
“You’ve forgotten what love feels like.” She nudged closer to him, her breasts brushing against his chest. “I can remind you, though. I swear that I’ll make sure that no one sees us this time.”
“There is no ‘this time,’ ” Ares said firmly, stepping back.
“Maybe not here on Olympus, but—”
“No, Aphrodite. Never again.”
Aphrodite looked at the flat and unyielding planes of Ares’s face. Impossibly, unbelievably, he meant what he said. He really was telling her no.
Never in all her years had Aphrodite been rejected. It was a decidedly unpleasant sensation.
“You’re going to regret this,” she warned.
Aphrodite whirled back onto the deck with the anger of every woman in history who had ever been scorned. Her gold bangles clinked with each step.
None of this was right. The sky should have been below her and the sea above, the entire world turned upside down, because that was the only explanation for why Ares had refused to intercede for her with Hera—then refused her.
Who the hell did Ares think he was, dismissing the goddess of love? Did he think he was more powerful than desire? Well, she would prove him wrong.
No one rejected Aphrodite and got away with it.