Cruel Seduction (Dark Olympus, #5)(5)

The music changes and then it’s Aphrodite’s turn.

The air goes charged as she steps through the doors and makes her way slowly down the aisle. She doesn’t have the same otherworldly beauty that Ares does, but I can’t tear my gaze away from her. Her dress is almost indecent, or at least hints that it could be with one wrong move, and her mass of dark hair is piled on her head in a fancy design that looks like it took hours.

She holds my gaze boldly. It strikes me that she’s walking down the aisle alone. Shouldn’t her brother be giving her away instead of standing at my back like he wants nothing more than to sink a knife between my ribs before I can say my vows?

There’s probably some symbolism here. Olympus seems to love that shit. Nothing is straightforward and no one says what they mean. It wasn’t like that back on Aeaea. I won’t pretend it was some nice life without pitfalls, but at least people didn’t smile to your face and then murder you the first chance they got.

It isn’t lost on me that I did exactly that two weeks ago.

Aphrodite stops in front of me. She’s already tall, but wears heels that make her even taller than my six feet, two inches. She smiles and it’s not a happy expression. I once again have to fight not to tense. I’ve read the headlines of that gossip site they call news—MuseWatch. No one believes this is a love match. It’s a relief in a way.

I don’t have to pretend to like my wife.

The priest, an old white guy with all of three hairs on the top of his head, starts going on about the principles that guide a good marriage, but I ignore him and stare at the woman I’m linking my life to.

Not for long. Not if Minos and the others have their way. I can see him out of the corner of my eye, all smiles and pretend joy. My foster father doesn’t share my difficulty with lying in both expression and body language. The memory of his words has me straightening.

This is what’s required to keep the rest of them thinking we’re cowed. Play the part, Theseus.

I follow the priest’s instructions to place my left hand under Aphrodite’s right. Her skin is soft and smooth, free of the calluses that mark mine. I’m not fool enough to think that means she’s not dangerous. She’s already proved otherwise.

“Cold feet, Husband,” she murmurs.

“No colder than your heart,” I snap.

The priest ignores us as he wraps a piece of golden cloth around our hands, binding us together symbolically. He drones on about binding our lives together. It seems to go on forever, the late summer sun beating down on us and making my suit feel too tight. I want to get the fuck out of here, to move until I stop feeling like an animal in a trap.

He finally lifts our hands high. “What the gods have bound, no one should separate.”

And then it’s over.

We’ll have to wear the bindings until the reception, which seems like a good time to attempt an assassination, when both parties are awkwardly tied to each other and at least one’s dominant hand is out of commission. Another useless Olympus tradition.

My skin prickles as we walk back down the aisle together. None of the people watching us seem overly happy with this event. That’s to be expected, but I didn’t anticipate it making me feel so fucking vulnerable. I hate it.

We step through the doors, but Aphrodite doesn’t stop there. She practically drags me through the hall, past the ballroom where part of the reception will be held, and through a nondescript door.

My eyes are still adjusting to the dimness when she spins and shoves me against the wall. It’s awkward because our bound hands mean she comes with me, landing against my chest.

“You fucking bastard,” she snarls.

Just like that, I know exactly why she’s pissed. Apparently my little invitation found its home. Good. I relax back against the wall and look up at her. “Problem, Wife?”

“You know exactly what the problem is.” She grabs for my chin, but I catch her wrist before she can make contact. She narrows her eyes. “Release me.”

“Call it an overabundance of caution.” I tighten my grip a little when she yanks on it. “Wouldn’t want you clawing up my pretty face with those nails.” Now that I have a better look at them, I’m not at all surprised to see that they’re sharp enough to serve as weapons in their own right. She’s not going to be ripping out any throats, but she could probably take an eye or two.

Aphrodite flips a switch so fast it makes my head spin, all her fury tucked away between one heartbeat and the next. She goes soft against me, her smile still cold as ice. “You’re not pretty, Hephaestus. You never know; a few scars might be an improvement. They’ve certainly served the Minotaur well.”

“Pass.” My wires are getting crossed by this interaction. She came in like an attack, but now she’s pressed against me like a lover, her breasts nearly spilling out of her dress. Our faces are even, close enough to kiss. I don’t like how fast she changed things up on me. I don’t trust it. “Back off.”

“Why, Husband? We’ll be consummating this marriage shortly. We could get started now.”

Just like that, I get it. The anger was the slip, not this weird sexual tension that flares between us like poison. I lower her arm and pin it to the small of her back, pressing us closer yet. It’s a fight to keep my body from responding to her. I’m only human, and Aphrodite might be a snake, but she’s a gorgeous one.