Chapter Forty-One Aphrodite
Chapter Forty-One
Aphrodite
Aphrodite stood in the walk-in closet of her hotel suite, removing clothes in their labeled garment bags from the suitcase.
She’d packed all her favorites for the weekend—the Oscar cocktail dress printed with hydrangeas, the Akris sea foam–green gown with a scooped neckline, the toile Emilia Wickstead that showed off her shoulders.
She wanted to intimidate Julia, make her feel inadequate at her own wedding.
This mortal needed to realize who, exactly, she was up against.
Aphrodite pulled the last pair of Jimmy Choos from her suitcase, a massive one made of unmarked black fabric.
She flicked her wrist and it shrank down to the size of a laptop case.
One of Hephaestus’s most ingenious inventions, a bag that changed size or shape depending on what you needed to store in it.
“I can’t believe you’re still using that thing,” her husband said behind her.
She turned to see Hephaestus at the closet door, arms crossed over his chest. He was still wearing his outfit from tonight’s family dinner, a checked button-down that made his brown eyes look a molten shade of gold.
Aphrodite was suddenly, acutely aware that it was just the two of them in here.
Eros was staying with Thalia in a room down the hall.
“Of course I use this bag,” she replied. “It’s one of your cleverest inventions, which is really saying something.”
Hephaestus flushed at the praise. “I just meant, it doesn’t look like anything special. I thought you might prefer the designer luggage covered in little VLs.” It was oddly endearing that he didn’t know Louis Vuitton.
“And support one of our direct competitors? I wouldn’t dream of it,” she said lightly. “Besides, sometimes humble appearances can be deceiving.”
Hephaestus drew in a breath, as if he wasn’t sure what Aphrodite had meant by that. She didn’t quite know, either.
She turned toward the door and Hephaestus stepped aside, letting her walk past him into the bathroom, all snow-white marble and crystal sconces. Rain still pounded against the window. The lights were dim; Aphrodite started to flick them on, only to realize that a candle had been lit.
And the bathtub was full of water, with red rose petals scattered over its surface.
“Did you…,” she asked, but Hephaestus looked as surprised as she was.
“The hotel staff must have drawn us a bath,” he explained. “Maybe they got confused and think that we are the couple getting married?”
“It looks lovely.” Aphrodite adored a hot bath.
“No reason to let it go to waste.” Hephaestus retreated a step. “You should take a bath, relax.”
Aphrodite swallowed. And then she said, “You could join me.”
Hephaestus looked at her in surprise.
What was she thinking, asking her husband to climb into a bathtub with her? For all that Aphrodite was the goddess of sex, or of love (it changed depending on who you asked), her marriage didn’t involve intimacy in the bathtub.
Maybe it should.
This tension had been building between her and Hephaestus since London. And whatever it was, Aphrodite wanted to see it through.
“I’d like that,” Hephaestus replied, his voice low and husky.
Aphrodite’s heart skipped as she reached behind her back and unzipped her dress. It clung to her body for a moment and she had to peel away, the soft petal-pink column of it unfolding. It fell with a silken hiss at her feet.
Next to her, Hephaestus had unbuttoned his shirt.
His chest gleamed like bronze in the flickering light of the candle.
A dusting of dark hair traced over the muscles of his abdomen, guiding her eyes down his body.
He was so tall, Aphrodite thought dazedly.
So very large, with his broad shoulders and strong thighs. It would be a tight fit in the tub.
Hephaestus’s breath hitched as he stepped into the water. Aphrodite felt oddly reassured by the sound. He was always so calm, so self-assured; she liked thinking that she’d made him nervous, broken his hold on his self-control.
She settled in the tub in front of him, leaning her back against his chest, her head tucked below his throat.
She could feel the steady beat of his heart, resonating like a drum.
The water felt lukewarm by now, but a moment later, Aphrodite felt its temperature rising.
Little jets of water began to massage her lower back.
Magic had many uses, but this was quite a good one.
“Aphrodite,” Hephaestus said hesitantly.
“Mmm?”
She felt so light and buoyant; her limbs seemed to float above the water’s surface. The ends of her long golden hair were already wet, drifting in the tub like a mermaid’s.
“Never mind,” her husband muttered.
Slowly—and rather inelegantly—Aphrodite twisted, rearranging her hips so that she was facing Hephaestus. Her legs were folded at the knees, and she was straddling his lap. Their faces had suddenly grown very close.
“What is it?” she asked.
“I just…I feel like you’ve been distracted lately.”
That was an understatement. She’d been terrified of losing her place in the Pantheon and busy meeting with Hera, trying to come up with ways to get rid of Julia. Aphrodite wasn’t just distracted; her nerves were drawn as taut as a bowstring.
“It’s about Ares, isn’t it? And the fact that he’s getting married?” Hephaestus didn’t look at her as he spoke.
The tub felt smaller somehow. Aphrodite reached for Hephaestus’s hands and placed them on her hips. He gripped her tightly but didn’t otherwise move. “It was never about Ares. You have to know that,” she murmured.
“So it was about us? About me?”
“No, it was about me. I felt so lonely, so lost in the family. And in that moment, for some reason, it seemed like Ares felt the same way. Like he and I understood each other.” Aphrodite shook her head, and the wet tendrils of her hair swayed with the movement.
“We should have talked about this back when it happened, instead of always avoiding it and dancing around it.”
Hephaestus was silent. His hair and beard had grown curly in the steam. Aphrodite felt a sudden urge to reach behind him and tangle her fist in it, pull his mouth to hers.
“Aphrodite,” he said at last, “have you ever wondered why I married you?”
Because you wanted me and were too honorable to sleep with me without marrying me first.
Aphrodite decided against voicing that aloud.
“You are beautiful, obviously, but it wasn’t your beauty that drew me to you,” Hephaestus said, following the train of her thoughts.
“It was your curiosity, your sense of adventure. The eager way you delight in new things. You made me want to be like you—to be braver.” He let out a breath, his voice lowering.
“I have tried, but, Aphrodite, I’m never going to be like my brother. ”
“What are you talking about?” It was disorienting, having this conversation in the close confines of the bathtub, surrounded by the warm water and the lavender-scented bubbles. The candle flickered on the side table, reflected in the great mirrors over the sink.
“I’m not wild or spontaneous. I don’t want to jump out of airplanes or set out on a hike without a destination.
I can barely handle the black-tie galas we have to attend for the company,” Hephaestus insisted.
“I want to build things, to get lost in plans and ideas, and you—you love being at parties, meeting important people, being admired. I don’t want to disappoint you,” he added softly, mournfully.
You love being admired. Aphrodite thought of all the times she had gone to those parties in a new gown, savoring the glances that strangers cast her way.
Suddenly, it all felt flimsy. Like a cheap knockoff compared to the very real admiration of the man before her, who didn’t just look at her and see beauty, but who saw all the best parts of her.
The parts that no one else took the time to notice, because they were too busy staring at her body.
“You don’t disappoint me, Hephaestus. Far from it,” she assured him.
Aphrodite wasted so much time thinking about what other people wanted, reaching for their desires, digging up their most secret longings. Why had she never dared to think more carefully about what it was she wanted?
Deliberately, her eyes locked on Hephaestus’s, she floated closer, until she was positioned carefully atop him. She moved slowly, dragging her body up and down the length of him.
“We could move to the bed,” he growled, but Aphrodite silenced him with a kiss.
Outside, rain drummed harder against the windows. It masked the sounds of water sloshing out of the tub in great sheets, to pool on the white marble floors. Neither of them paid it any mind.