He’s not. I’m no psychologist, but if Eros is a sociopath, I wouldn’t be surprised. He doesn’t seem to have the moral brakes most people do. Or maybe that’s just a side effect of being raised from birth by Aphrodite. Nature or nurture, the bottom line is that if he has emotions beyond amusement and irritation, he keeps them hidden deep down. And lust. We can’t forget about lust. Eros has that in spades.
Even so, this is all a lie, a game, even.
I don’t look up from my phone. “Why are you doing this?”
“I don’t want you dead.” He says it so simply, I flinch.
“What’s so special about me that I get spared?” He has bodies in his past. He’s admitted as much. “Is it because I’m Demeter’s daughter?”
He snorts. “No, that’s hardly a mark in your favor.”
“Then why?”
Eros stares hard at his plate. “I’ve done a lot of stuff I’m not proud of, hurt people who I thought were enemies at the time, only to find out later that the only thing they’d ever done wrong was to piss off my mother.” He shrugs. “After a while, it didn’t matter what they’d done, only that she commanded them to be punished.”
I still don’t understand. “But she commanded me to be punished.”
“Yeah, she did.” Eros stabs a piece of potato. “But like I said, I don’t want you dead. This is the only other way.”
I have no reason to trust him. None. He’s given his word, yes, but Olympus is filled with liars and cheats. Even my mother has been known to commit to a shady deal when the situation calls for it. Everyone in the city thinks that she and Hades have an alliance; they don’t. Instead, she traded her help for Hades’s attendance at six events each year. He shows up at her side, and people make the assumptions my mother wants them to make. It’s not the truth, though. The upper city might have forgotten how far she was willing to go to return Persephone to her engagement with the old Zeus, but Hades hasn’t.
My mother is arguably one of the gentler hands when it comes to Olympian power games. Aphrodite has neither a soft touch nor a subtle bone in her body. Eros wouldn’t have survived this long in this city without being a little bit of both liar and cheat. I certainly haven’t. There’s plenty he’s not telling me about his motivations. For all that, I trust that he’s as intent on this marriage as I have to be. All the other details will fall where they may.
It’s our job to ensure they fall where we want them to.
My phone buzzes as a text comes through. A welcome distraction from how good it feels to have Eros touching me.
Persephone: We’re meeting in an hour at Poppy’s. She’s furious about that photo. Between the one last night and the other, she thinks you’ve been secretly dating behind her back. Good luck.
Our plan is working. This is what I wanted. So why do I feel so sick about it?
I type a quick thank-you and push my chair back. “My mother will be leaving the penthouse in about thirty minutes.” She’ll want to get to Poppy’s early to ensure she has her preferred table. My mother isn’t predictable when it comes to many moves she makes, but there are certain things I can reasonably assume she’ll do. One of those is maneuvering to get the best table in any restaurant, maximized for seeing and being seen.
Eros grabs both our plates and heads for the sink. “Let’s go.”
“We really don’t—” I cut myself off at the look on his face. It’s clear he’s not about to let me out of his sight, and I honestly don’t know what I’d do if I got a little distance from him. I’ve committed myself to this, yes, but if there was a chance to find another way… I am who I am, which means I am my mother’s daughter. I will always be looking for the best path forward, even if that means pivoting unexpectedly.
Not to mention if he’s serious about the threat his mother offers, I actually need him to look out for me. I haven’t survived the last twenty-four hours only to fall now, when survival is on the horizon. “Fine. Let’s go.”
It takes us five minutes to get our shoes on and into the elevator. There’s a different security person waiting at the floor of the parking garage with Eros’s car, a white woman with bright-red hair and even brighter lipstick. She smiles at him, and the expression only dims the slightest bit when she sees me. “Morning, Eros.”
“Morning.” He barely glances at her as he holds the door open for me and whisks us down to the aisle he parked in last night. Except instead of going to the tiny sports car, he walks past it to a dark sedan. It’s still the height of luxury, but it’s surprisingly understated. When I raise my eyebrows, Eros looks away. “The Porsche isn’t practical if we don’t want to draw attention.” His shoulders hunch the tiniest bit. “And you weren’t comfortable in it.”