Still.
I can’t help appreciating how damn good Psyche looks in her fleece-lined leggings, slouchy oversize knit sweater, boots, and an honest-to-gods puffed jacket. Add in a knitted hat to match the sweater and she’s downright fucking adorable. It makes me want to drag her back to my place—our place—and strip her out of that clothing, layer by layer.
She leans against my arm and smiles up at me as if I’m her favorite person in the world, and for a moment, I forget that this is pretend.
A click of a camera somewhere nearby reminds me.
I give her a warm smile of my own, and it’s all too easy to convince myself that her rosy cheeks are in reaction to me, rather than the icy air. “Couldn’t we have found somewhere warmer to show off how giddy in love we are?”
Her smile doesn’t falter in the least. She leans into me and matches my low tone. “It’s easier to pretend that we don’t realize we’re being followed outside.” Psyche laughs a little. “Besides, I like the gardens in the winter.”
I look around us. Some past Athena decided the university district really needed a giant, sprawling outdoor garden for students and professors to spend time in. There’s a large greenhouse on the other side of the park, but Psyche seems intent on walking every path except the one that will lead us there. “I don’t get it. There’s nothing to see. Everything’s dead.”
“Eros.” She smacks my arm lightly with her free hand. “That’s very glass half-full of you. The garden isn’t dead. It’s sleeping.”
I eye what appear to be bare sticks situated on the left side of the cobblestone path. “Looks dead to me.”
“For someone who deals death on occasion, one would think you’d be better able to identify it.” She says it so casually, as if she doesn’t recognize the barbs attached to each word.
I’m a killer, and she needs to remember it. “Psyche.”
“It’s a reminder.” She’s not looking at me. She’s studying the sticks as if they hold the secrets of the universe. “Nothing lasts forever. Not the hibernation over the winter, but not the beautiful blooms of summer, either. There are seasons to everything.”
It doesn’t require much to understand she’s not talking about the garden at all. She’s talking about herself. I slip my arm around her waist, tucking her in against my side. We might be pretending for the barely concealed paparazzi shadowing us, but the truth is that I like touching her. As much as I’d like to stay in the safety of our penthouse and keep working to seduce her out of her pants again, I’m not about to miss this opportunity to dig deeper into the enigma that is Psyche. “Your sisters all seem to have some kind of endgame when it comes to Olympus.”
“Do they?”
We turn almost as one and continue wandering down the path, deeper into the sleeping garden. “Callisto would burn the city to the ground if no one stopped her. Hard lessons or no, Eurydice wants love. I thought Persephone would flee Olympus.”
“Circumstances changed.”
Circumstances. A strange way to say that Demeter essentially sold Persephone into a marriage with the old Zeus, sending her daughter fleeing over the River Styx and into Hades’s arms. The tightness in Psyche’s voice deters me from saying as much, though. That’s fine. I don’t really want to talk about her sisters. I want to talk about her. “You’re the one I’ve never been able to figure out.”
“Am I?”
I give her a little squeeze. “You damn well know you are. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were Demeter 2.0. You go about things in a very different way than your mother does, but the cunning and careful image manipulation is the same.” She tenses, but I don’t let her go. “That wasn’t criticism. It’s foolish to think honesty will get you anything but a knife in the back when you’re dealing with the Thirteen and their inner circles.”
“Maybe I’m exactly what I look like.” A little bitterness seeps into her voice. “A socialite influencer on the prowl for a rich and powerful husband. Maybe you’ve played right into my hands.”
I laugh. I can’t help it. “If that’s the truth, you’re an even better actress than I expected.”
“Thank you.” She turns in my arms, still smiling at me as if I hold her heart in my hands. “Time for a photo op, Husband.”
Husband.
Oh, I like that. I like that far too much.