Chapter Thirty-Six Aphrodite
Chapter Thirty-Six
Aphrodite
There weren’t many places in Manhattan that Aphrodite feared to visit, but the Doubles Club was one of them.
It was a door behind a door behind a door, a private members’ club that had catered for decades to the Upper East Side social set.
Aphrodite was far more comfortable in glamorous settings, low-lit back rooms where models and fashion designers drank craft cocktails while wearing graphic tees and smoking vape pens.
None of those things, graphic tees or vape pens or craft cocktails, were present at the Doubles Club.
It was all Burgundy wines and bow ties, full of members with names like Muffy and Daisy and George.
Aphrodite stared for a moment at the unmarked door, painted a deep claret color. Then she drew in a breath and started reluctantly down the staircase to the basement club.
She had done her best to dress the part, wearing a black-and-white houndstooth silk blouse that tied with a bow at the neck and a matching pencil skirt. Very demure and buttoned-up and not at all Aphrodite. Hopefully Hera would notice that she was trying.
That was precisely why Aphrodite had ventured here, into the land of pearls and headbands and—ugh—Chanel No. 5. She needed to talk to Hera about Julia, who was becoming a far bigger thorn in her side than Aphrodite could have imagined.
She hadn’t expected the woman to stay after Olympus, let alone after what happened at the engagement party in London. But inexplicably, Julia was still moving forward with this wedding to Ares.
The final straw had come last week, when Julia marched into Hera and Zeus’s penthouse for the cake tasting, dressed like a fashion plate and staring daggers at Aphrodite. It was clear enough that the outfit, and the glare, were a challenge.
Julia was declaring war.
Well, that mortal didn’t know what she was up against.
The entrance hall of the Doubles Club was hung with old nineteenth-century Parisian cartoons, which depicted men smoking pipes, men holding monocles, men wearing cravats. The only female figure was a circus performer in a leotard walking across a tightrope.
No one had ever claimed that these sorts of clubs celebrated women. Even if the ladies who lunch all jostled for invitations here.
Aphrodite gave Hera’s name to the ma?tre d’, and cast a bit of magic toward him for good measure, filling him with a sudden urge to help her. He smiled and eagerly ushered her into the dining room.
Hera was seated at a table near the wall, surrounded by a group of mortal women.
They all looked the same in their Oscar de la Renta dresses and Chanel jackets, all picking at salmon salads or cups of vichyssoise.
The only thing at the table that they seemed to be consuming with any enthusiasm was the bottle of Sancerre.
For a moment, Aphrodite was overcome by an uncharacteristic wave of loneliness. There had been a time, long ago, when she hoped that she and Hera might do this: linger at lunch, exchanging stories, bonding.
Then she’d had an affair with Ares, and Hera’s attitude toward her—which could hardly have been described as warm—had devolved into outright hostility.
Hera never said anything cruel in front of Hephaestus, but it didn’t matter.
Aphrodite knew perfectly well what her mother-in-law thought about her.
The more pressing question, Aphrodite reminded herself, was how she felt about Julia.
Though Hera was going through all the motions, planning an elaborate wedding as if she welcomed Julia with open arms, Aphrodite had started to doubt her mother-in-law’s sincerity.
She knew that Hera would never dream of rejecting Ares’s fiancée outright.
No, Hera would plan their wedding as if she really did approve, while simultaneously, and discreetly, working to derail it.
As she approached the table, Aphrodite pasted a smile on her lips, only for that smile to falter at the expression on Hera’s face. The ma?tre d’ must have realized his error, since he turned quickly back toward the host stand.
Aphrodite stood her ground. At last, Hera acknowledged her.
“Can I help you with something?” she demanded, not bothering to make introductions.
Aphrodite knew that these mortal women had no idea about the affair—Hera would never have dreamed of sharing something so scandalous—but she doubted that Hera’s feelings toward her were a secret.
This is the daughter-in-law, their pointed glances seemed to say. The one she can’t stand.
Aphrodite smiled as sweetly as she could. “I was hoping you might grant me a moment of your time.” She had phrased it using the old words, as a supplication. Something the other goddess couldn’t ignore.
Hera gave a beleaguered sigh. “We were just finishing. Why don’t you and I find someplace to talk.
” She stood abruptly and headed for another door in the corner, one that led to a small, private room with a table that seated ten.
The sort of place that members might rent out for birthdays, or that the club might use for wine tastings.
As soon as the door was shut behind them, Hera whirled on Aphrodite. “You have some nerve, showing up like this at my club. How did you even know I was here?”
Because you always have lunch here on Thursdays. You’re a creature of habit, Aphrodite thought.
“I need to discuss something with you,” she said instead. “I thought of trying to find you at home, but…”
But Hera would have turned her away. Aphrodite never came to the penthouse unless she was accompanied by Hephaestus—unless both women were pretending, for his sake, that all was fine between them.
Hera’s expression darkened, so Aphrodite played her final card. “I told Hephaestus I was having lunch with you today. He was excited to hear it.”
As it happened, this was true. Things had changed between Aphrodite and Hephaestus since London, when she’d sent that late-night I miss you text.
Hephaestus had begun eating with her at work, and she’d found she looked forward to it.
Hephaestus would call her office line every morning and ask what she wanted, then have his assistant set up their takeout in the large seating area adjacent to his office.
As they ate, he asked about her day, helped her think through various problems the beauty department was facing.
“I’m actually meeting your mother at lunch today,” Aphrodite had explained when he called this morning. Hephaestus had seemed delighted at the news.
If only he knew what this was really about.
Hera sucked in a breath at the mention of her favorite child, as Aphrodite had known she would. Then she pulled out the chair at the head of the table and sat, curling her hands proprietarily over the armrests.
“What is it?” Hera demanded, her tone clipped.
Aphrodite cut right to the chase. “I have concerns about Julia Dodds. There is something strange about her.”
Hera’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t think you, of all people, should be trying to break up this wedding.”
“So you’re telling me you have no reservations about this mortal?”
Hera said nothing to that. Aphrodite shifted her weight, wishing she could take a chair at the table, but she didn’t dare. No one sat in Hera’s presence without being invited.
“This has nothing to do with my history with Ares,” she insisted. “It’s Julia. I don’t think she should join the family.”
“Why not?” Hera asked quietly.
“Has Hermes said anything about her?” Aphrodite knew that Hera considered Hermes her loyal soldier, had probably already asked Hermes to do some digging on Julia—as he’d almost certainly done about Aphrodite, back when Hephaestus was wooing her.
“Because I’m not sure you can trust Hermes anymore, not when it comes to Julia. He’s in her camp now.”
She felt a bit guilty throwing Hermes under the bus. Aphrodite missed the days when it had been her and Hermes against the other gods, laughing at how bitchy and vindictive they all were.
And now you’re acting just like them, a voice in Aphrodite’s head whispered. Trying to keep Julia out, just as the other goddesses tried to keep you out.
Aphrodite forced herself to ignore the voice.
Hera scoffed. “I highly doubt Hermes cares about Julia. He never really thinks of anyone but himself.”
“Are you sure? Because I highly doubt she put together that outfit she wore to the cake tasting on her own,” Aphrodite explained. “I was watching Julia when Hermes came in; I saw her glance at him like she wanted his approval. He nodded once, very slightly. He’s helping her.”
It had hurt, seeing Julia and Hermes exchange that look. Knowing that Hermes was actually choosing to help the mortal now.
“That doesn’t mean anything,” Hera mumbled unconvincingly.
“Hermes is always stirring up trouble, playing both sides—because he likes the chaos, or maybe out of self-preservation. But he certainly made a statement, helping Julia. And who knows?” Aphrodite shrugged. “He might not be the only god working with her.”
It was a shot in the dark. Aphrodite watched as Hera sat with that for a moment, considering.
“There’s something off about Julia,” Aphrodite pressed when Hera said nothing. “Something that doesn’t add up right. I know you feel it, too. We need to protect Ares.”
To her surprise, Hera let out a breath that was almost amused. “It’s rather exhausting, isn’t it? Protecting men, mostly from themselves.”
“They would be lost without us,” Aphrodite ventured.
Hera’s lips curled in something approximating a smile, and for a moment, it wasn’t entirely hostile between them. Then Hera shook her head.
“I still don’t trust your motives. You’re going to try to sleep with Ares again the moment he and Julia are done.”
“Like I said, this isn’t about Ares.” Aphrodite was loath to reveal that she’d been eavesdropping, but maybe she could convince Hera that she’d figured it out on her own? “I don’t want another mortal woman entering the Pantheon.”
Hera looked up sharply. “You know?”
“That Ares wants to make her immortal? I guessed,” Aphrodite lied. “You don’t go to all this trouble to bring a mortal into the fold if you’re not serious about keeping them around. So it’s true?”
Hera didn’t answer, but her silence spoke volumes.
“What are you suggesting?” Hera asked, after a beat.
“We combine our magics to find out Julia’s dark secret. Then we reveal it to Ares.”
“I’m not sure she has a dark secret,” Hera said quickly. “It’s a waste of time to go digging into her past. What we need is to keep this marriage from happening.”
Everyone has a dark secret, Aphrodite thought. But she nodded and said, “Of course. I agree.”
Hera held out her hand.
At first, Aphrodite thought they were just shaking, sealing a deal the way men in business always did. But Hera gripped her palm and didn’t let go.
“Aphrodite, I can’t have you hurting Hephaestus. Swear to me that you won’t seduce Ares again. He’ll be weak, after losing Julia, and I can’t have you using your—” Hera faltered, then landed on, “Your beauty on him. No love potions, no tugging on his desires.”
“I swear,” Aphrodite told her mother-in-law.
This wasn’t about Ares anymore, if it ever had been. It was about Aphrodite and her position among the gods—a position she had fought for, too hard and for too long to let some nobody human come take it from her.
As Hera shook Aphrodite’s hand, their eyes met, and for a brief moment, Aphrodite felt something pass between them.
Not forgiveness, exactly, but maybe understanding.
The knowledge that they had both done things they regretted.
That they had to protect what was theirs.
That they were just two goddesses in a world ruled and shaped by gods—by males.
But at least now they were aligned.
Julia didn’t stand a chance against the two of them.