The dining room table always has fresh flowers on it, and they always seem to match whatever Psyche is wearing when she buys them. Even though I tease her about being vain, I love it. It feels like she leaves a little piece of her in the penthouse when she’s out.
Every room has little things added. Extra pillows in our bedroom. A knit throw blanket in the living room, along with a stack of books that, judging from their broken spines, she’s reread many times.
I stop in front of my favorite addition. Psyche rolls her eyes, but she’s fully grinning now. “Every time!”
“We look good. It’s a shame not to appreciate it.” On the wall in the foyer, there’s a larger-than-life print of the photo from our wedding. It’s my personal favorite of the bunch, one of our first kiss as a married couple. Hermes did us a solid and ducked out of the way, though I didn’t realize it at the time.
“You are such a sap.” She nudges me with her shoulder. “Come on, Husband. We don’t want to be late.”
I loop my arm around her waist as we head down the elevator to the parking garage. It’s so fucking easy being with Psyche, listening to her detail her plans to champion a new designer Juliette recommended who specializes in plus-sized clothing, that I forget to be nervous until we’re parking outside her mother’s building.
My chest gets tight as I stare at the front door. “What are the odds she decides to poison me?”
Psyche raises her brows. “We can pretend that you’re actually worried about that if you like.” She reaches across the center console and takes my hand. “Or we can talk about the real issue.”
“Don’t tell me Demeter isn’t capable of poisoning someone.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
I give her a look. “Is that supposed to be reassuring? You’re enjoying this.”
“Only a little,” she admits. “It’s so rare to see you nervous.”
“Psyche.”
“Eros.” She squeezes my hand. “I love you. My mother might have resisted the idea at first, but she’s made her peace with it. She won’t be more difficult than normal at this dinner, and homicide is stricken from the list of possibilities.”
Psyche’s family is important to her. The most important thing to her. She loves me, but her sisters are her bedrock. Even her mother, for all that they clash, holds a vital role in her life. If I can’t make peace with them, true peace, it might become a wedge in the future. It might hurt her.
I swallow hard. “Let’s go.”
She releases me long enough to get out of the car and then reclaims my hand as we head into the building. I can pretend it’s simply for the joy of touching me, but it’s obvious she’s offering her silent support. I appreciate it.
I’ve faced down innumerable dangerous situations. I’ve killed people. I’ve swum with the worst predators Olympus has to offer without blinking.
Of course it would be a family dinner that has me so nervous, I’m in danger of being sick.
Demeter’s apartment is identical to what it looked like the last time we were here, one of the many trips to transport all of Psyche’s wardrobe to our place. The spare bedroom already looks like a perfect replica of hers here, so I’ve commissioned a contractor to remodel the entire space as a closet. It’s a surprise for her birthday next month. Once she approves the design, we’ll start construction.
I expect Psyche to lead the way into the kitchen where I can hear Demeter and Persephone talking in low voices, but she veers away from that door and hauls me up the stairs. I curse when I catch my toe on a stair. “If you wanted a quickie, we could have done it in the car instead of your mother’s house.”
“Ha-ha, very funny. I want to show you something.”
“Is it your—”
“Eros,” she hisses, but she’s obviously trying not to laugh. “Focus.”
“I’d say I’m remarkably focused right now.” The banter eases some of my tension. No matter what else today brings, this is the same. I let Psyche drag me along like her favorite toy until she stops in front of the picture wall. “Look.”
This isn’t the same as when I was here the first time. There are two new additions. The first is a black-framed photo of Hades and Persephone. She’s wearing a white wedding gown that looks remarkably traditional. There’s even a veil covering her blond hair. He, of course, is in a black-on-black suit, but he’s not wearing his customary dour expression. Instead, he’s staring down at his bride with an indulgent smile on his face. She’s beaming at him, practically radiating light. It’s so sweet it makes my teeth ache.