She’s not exactly wrong. I know my mother hoped that I’d end up marrying either her or her sister, but we’ve never been more than friends. And we are friends, or as close to it as is possible for people like us. “I didn’t think you’d approve.”
“Liar.” She doesn’t sound pissed, just amused. “This reeks of a scheme. It’s fine. You don’t have to tell me the details. I assume you’re calling because you need something.”
“You wound me, Helen.”
She laughs. “That would require you to have a heart that could be wounded.”
She’s got me there. I glance at the entrance to Psyche’s building. I don’t have a heart, but my future bride does. It’s my job now to ensure it stays safely within her chest. Helen will help with that, even if she doesn’t know the full story. I drop the charming persona, strangely grateful to do away with the bullshit. I can maintain the act indefinitely, but there’s a certain relief in being able to be my true self. I’m allowed the freedom with so few people. “I need two favors.”
“Granted, but I want one in return.”
I snort. “You haven’t even heard what they are yet.”
“I don’t need to. I’m bored. After Eris decided to stir the pot by spilling absinthe on both Demeter and Aphrodite at the last party, Perseus has got us all under lockdown so we don’t bring any more shame onto the family name—as if that were even possible after our shitshow of a father.” She makes a derisive noise. “I need a distraction, and whatever you have going on will do nicely.”
“And for your favor?”
“I’ll figure it out later. Just tell me what you need.”
Giving open-ended favors isn’t exactly my style, but I highly doubt Helen will decide to use it against me. Beyond that, if she were in trouble, I might bullshit a little but we both know I’d help. “I need the contact information for that clothing designer in the lower city you like to use. The one who pisses my mother off.”
“Juliette. Sure. I’ll text you her number.” My phone beeps a second later with the text in question. “That was boring. What’s the second thing?”
Best not to beat around the bush. “I need you and Eris to stand as witnesses at my wedding. Tonight.”
She’s silent for so long, I have to resist the urge to check to see if the call dropped. It hasn’t. Helen just needs time to process. When she finally draws in a long breath, I brace myself. She doesn’t disappoint. “Eros, I say this with all the love in my withered heart, but are you out of your fucking mind? Dating her is one thing. Marrying her? Your mother is going to stroke out. Gods, my brother is going to stroke out, too. And likely Demeter. You’re going to take out three of the Thirteen in a single act. It’s brilliantly ruthless but reckless in the extreme, and you’re not reckless.”
Not usually, but then there’s nothing usual about this situation. “Will you do it or not?”
“I’ll do it.” She doesn’t even hesitate. “I don’t know what you’re planning, but I’ll do it. Eris will, too.”
I don’t bother to ask her to confirm. If there’s one thing Eris can be guaranteed to do, it’s show up when there’s chaos in the wind. A wedding between me and Psyche is the very definition of sowing chaos. “We’re doing it at my place tonight at seven.”
“We’ll be there.”
“Helen… Thanks. For showing up. For not asking too many uncomfortable questions. For all of it.”
She huffs. “It’s really sad that you’re even a little surprised that I would, but I can’t exactly blame you. This is Olympus, after all.”
“Yeah.” The rules are different here, at least for the circles we move in. Having a person you trust enough to ask for a favor is the most valuable thing in the world—and about as rare as the Golden Fleece of legend.
We hang up quickly after that, and I glance at the clock and then the front door to Psyche’s building. She’s taking her sweet time, but I have one more call to make before I go hunt her down. This one goes even quicker. Apparently Helen sent Juliette a text right after she sent me one, so the designer is expecting my call.
I explain what I need and give her Psyche’s measurements. She mutters to herself for a few minutes, and I can hear her flipping through hangers on the other side of the line. “I have several items that might suit. You’ll have to come to me, though. I don’t give a fuck who your mother is—that’s a mark against you, to be perfectly honest—or if the bride is one of my clients from time to time. I’m not crossing over into the upper city.”