Chapter Twelve Aphrodite
Chapter Twelve
Aphrodite
Though Aphrodite couldn’t set foot in Hera’s enchanted rose garden, nothing prevented her from lingering outside its metal gate and eavesdropping.
She had been watching Ares all night—as much as she could, given that Hera had seated them so far apart. When she had seen him walking with Hera toward the gardens, Aphrodite followed at a careful distance. She listened, holding back an audible scoff, as Ares insisted that he would marry Julia.
What he said next left Aphrodite incandescent with rage.
He honestly thought he could make that woman a goddess?
It was galling enough that he’d rejected Aphrodite in favor of some nondescript mortal with no fashion sense.
Now he wanted to put Aphrodite’s position at risk?
She was no fool; she’d heard Hera’s remark that someone would be demoted from the Olympian Council to make room for Julia.
Just as Hestia had been kicked out when Aphrodite was deified.
No one had ever explained to Aphrodite why there couldn’t be thirteen Olympians. Or why another goddess had to be the one demoted, instead of Dionysus, or even Hermes.
It would happen again if Julia joined their ranks. And this time, Aphrodite would be the one voted out.
After all the trouble she’d caused, the other goddesses would probably vote to deify Julia because it gave them a chance to get rid of Aphrodite.
She needed to scare that woman away. Now.
Aphrodite ran wildly back toward the lawn, her thoughts scattering—only to collide with a broad, solid chest. One that belonged to her husband.
“Aphrodite. Are you all right?” Hephaestus curled a hand around her waist, steadying her.
“I was feeling a little dizzy. I needed to get some air,” Aphrodite said swiftly.
Hephaestus was too kind to point out that they were already outside, already breathing fresh ocean air. He merely nodded, his brown eyes fixed on her. “It’s been a long weekend. And you were up with Eros in the middle of the night, weren’t you?”
“I was,” Aphrodite said swiftly, grateful that he’d ascribed a noble motive to her movements.
She hadn’t actually woken up for their child, of course.
That was what Thalia was here for. Aphrodite had simply been tossing and turning, her sleep fitful after that conversation with Ares on the yacht.
She’d finally padded over to the sliding glass doors and stepped onto the terrace, inhaling the warm ocean air.
She’d seen something bobbing on the waves—a rowboat, she’d realized, with its oars tucked in. That could only be Poseidon, sleeping out on the water, as was his habit.
It had hit her, then: the familiar hollow sensation in her chest. The feeling of being untethered, bobbing like Poseidon’s boat on the waves without anywhere to go.
That must have been the reason Aphrodite went back to bed and nestled against Hephaestus, curling an arm around his burly, broad-shouldered form. He was so warm to the touch, like sleeping near a furnace.
“Hey,” he’d murmured, stirring enough to drop a drowsy kiss on her brow.
Aphrodite had waited, her body shivering like a bowstring, wondering if he would initiate something more. Then the sound of his snoring had risen into the air.
Now Hephaestus took a step back, his arm falling from her waist. Aphrodite fought a strange urge to place it there again. She looked up, her eyes locking on his—just as a figure in an ugly red dress moved past.
“I’m sorry,” she told Hephaestus, and turned aside. If he was hurt, or confused, he didn’t show it. He simply nodded and watched her go.
The first floor of the main house had a bathroom specifically designed for these family reunions, with multiple stalls and a row of sinks, like you might find at a luxury hotel or a country club.
The wallpaper was patterned with vibrant blue peacocks (Hera’s touch, of course) and gilded so that it shimmered in the light.
Embroidered hand towels had been arranged neatly on the Thassos-marble counters.
Light poured from crystal sconces with hand-painted shades.
Aphrodite lingered at the sinks, studying herself in the mirror. As always, the sight of her own perfect reflection was soothing.
When Julia emerged from one of the bathroom stalls a moment later, that red dress glaring like a traffic light, Aphrodite was ready.
She applied her lipstick slowly, her movements delicate and precise, watching Julia.
The mortal was pretty enough, in a girl-next-door sort of way, with an athletic build and long dark hair.
Aphrodite felt her magic itching beneath her skin at the sight of Julia’s imperfections.
If she’d been anyone else, Aphrodite would have lifted her palm and given the woman a makeover.
She would have started with that dress, which did Julia no favors, hanging on her body like a limp garbage bag.
Not to mention how much better Julia would look with real eye makeup instead of waterproof mascara.
“I’m afraid we haven’t been introduced. I’m Valentine,” Aphrodite said at last. “You’re Harry’s new girlfriend, right?”
“Apparently, my reputation precedes me,” the woman replied. “I’m Julia.”
“How did you meet Harry?” Aphrodite prompted.
Julia recounted what was clearly a well-worn story: how she’d seen Ares at a bar and he’d challenged her to a game of darts, and they’d proceeded to stay up all night talking.
Talking? Is that all? Aphrodite thought viciously.
“So, what do you think of the reunion so far?” Aphrodite reached into her purse for a comb and began tracing it through her hair, enjoying the way Julia watched in mesmerized fascination. No one ever looked away once Aphrodite got out her comb.
“It’s…big,” Julia said at last. “I didn’t really know what I was in for.”
“The Ellenes are such a close family, and there are a lot of them.” Aphrodite’s voice dripped with false sympathy. “It took me years to keep track of everyone, and I still get some of the cousins’ names wrong!”
It was the right note to hit. Julia seemed to forget that she’d been wary of Aphrodite and leaned forward, bracing her palms on the pristine marble counter.
“I had no idea that Harry came from money. It was so much easier back when he was just Harry Adams, a guy who worked at a bungee jump and took me canyoning on the weekends.”
What a lie. As if anyone believed that Julia hadn’t known exactly what she was doing, going after the son of her company’s CEO.
“Well, I for one am glad he brought you,” Aphrodite said softly. “Harry hasn’t come to a reunion since the one three years ago, of course. I’m glad you changed that.”
As she’d hoped, Julia took the bait.
“You know, Harry still hasn’t told me what happened here three years ago,” Julia mused aloud. “I know he had some kind of falling-out with his family, but every time I bring it up, he shuts me out.”
Aphrodite went pale—easy magic, forcing the blood away from her face, something even Hestia could have managed.
“Do you know what happened?” Julia pressed. “Did Harry get into a fight with his father?”
“With his brother, actually. My husband.” Here it was, Aphrodite thought, the moment they had both been waiting for.
“What were they fighting about?”
She leaned a hip against the counter and looked down, biting her lip. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—forget I said anything.”
“Please, Valentine. Whatever happened, Harry clearly regrets it, but I can’t help him move on if I don’t understand,” Julia begged.
Now Aphrodite’s eyes were bright with tears. “I thought you knew, otherwise I would never have mentioned it….”
“Mentioned what?” Julia asked, bewildered.
Aphrodite lifted her gaze and delivered the killing blow. “It was me. They were fighting over me.”
A beat of heavy silence echoed through the bathroom. In the distance, they could both hear the sound of laughter and music, the hum of conversation from the party.
“Are you saying that you and Harry…” Julia floundered, but Aphrodite remained silent, forcing this woman to say it aloud. Julia swallowed. “You had an affair?”
It only happened the one time, actually, but Julia didn’t need to know that.
“Like I said, please forget I mentioned it! I hate that I came between the two brothers.” Aphrodite wrung her hands as if distraught. “I hate that I’m still coming between them.”
Julia shook her head, though she was visibly reeling. “No, Harry wouldn’t do that. I know him.”
“I blame myself, you know,” Aphrodite went on mournfully. “I knew Harry was in love with me, but I didn’t stay away. Then it just…happened. Now Hector hasn’t seen his brother for three years, because Harry didn’t dare come home. He doesn’t trust himself around me.”
Perfectly delivered, she thought with a touch of pride. Just the right amount of regret to make it sound like a real confession.
“No.” Julia sounded like she was trying to convince herself. “Whatever happened in the past, Harry is with me now. He has moved on.”
“I hope you’re right,” Aphrodite agreed.
“I hope he didn’t stay away for three years for my sake.
Harry has the best of intentions, but he’s misguided and lost.” She placed a gentle hand on Julia’s forearm.
“Let me give you a piece of advice, one woman to another. The Harry you think you know—some rugged adventuring type who takes you on glacier hikes, buys Asahi beer, sleeps on a mattress on the floor—that isn’t him.
There’s so much of him that you’ll never understand. ”
Julia tore her hand from Aphrodite’s grip. “Actually, I think you’re the one who doesn’t understand him. As you just pointed out, you haven’t seen him in years.” Julia smiled, but there was an edge to it. “A lot can change in that time.”
The sheer audacity of this mortal, insisting that she knew better than a goddess? Aphrodite spoke her next words over a roaring in her ears.
“I didn’t want to say this, but you should know that Harry isn’t serious about you.
He brought you here as a prop. To make me jealous.
Or maybe to show everyone that he’s done with me.
” Aphrodite still spoke in a hushed tone, as if she regretted this whole mess.
“I’m sorry, Julia. I hope I’m wrong, but I wouldn’t count on a future with Harry if I were you. ”
Julia’s eyes flashed with confusion, but she shook her head. “Harry and I love each other.”
“So he’s never lied to you? Left anything out, hidden something he didn’t want you to see?”
She watched Julia’s face crumple with sudden confusion and doubt.
Of course “Harry” had lied. He was lying to this woman every minute, masquerading as a mortal, hiding his true name.
And when you lived with someone, you sensed when they were keeping something from you.
“I’m sorry,” Aphrodite said again, “but I should be getting back to the party.” She turned on one Aquazzura heel, not bothering to glance back at the mortal.
She already knew she had won.