I have my answer, don’t I?
The kind of parent Aphrodite is.
Probing into Eros’s childhood to dismantle what little faith he has in his mother isn’t on my agenda. It won’t change anything about our current situation…and I can’t shake the suspicion that it will hurt him. Instead, I focus on a different angle. “I have my own money. What other reason could I have for seducing sweet, innocent you into marrying me?”
“Revenge is the easiest to believe, even easier if word slips out that your mother commanded it.”
“The powerful Demeter sending her daughter to climb into bed with the enemy’s son in order to hurt Aphrodite.” It’s a reach, but if the story is compelling enough, Aphrodite might be onto something. In theory. I lift my brows. “Who is going to believe that you, playboy darling of Olympus, became so enamored with me that you threw caution to the wind and put a ring on my finger?” I know my strengths, but Olympus is all about the shiny surface. They’ll see what they want to see, especially if it reinforces their beliefs of what power and beauty look like.
He catches my chin in a light grip, tilting my face up to meet his. “I don’t know, Psyche. I’m feeling pretty fucking enamored right now.”
Real?
Fake?
I can’t tell, and that scares me. Almost as much as my desire for it to be real scares me. “You’re doing a grand job of selling our romance,” I finally manage.
He strokes his thumb over my cheekbone. “I gave you my word. No one will harm you while you’re mine. Not even your reputation.”
Silly to focus on that qualification. Didn’t I just tell him this morning that I belong to no one but myself? “I’m not yours.”
“That ring on your finger says otherwise.”
I’d almost forgotten about the ring. No, that’s a lie. I’ve felt its presence as if it weighs much more than it possibly could. Every time it shifts against my skin, every time the diamond catches the light, I’m reminded of what we’ve done.
The ring has nothing on Eros’s gorgeous face. I can’t look away from him. “By that logic, the ring on your finger makes you mine.”
“Yes.” He sounds far too satisfied with that. “I’m yours, Psyche. What will you do with me?”
The smart response would be to shut his question down. To remind him that we are not, in fact, jumping back into bed together at the first available opportunity. That this marriage is solely because my life is on the line and not for any other reason. It’s difficult to remember that here, in the intimacy of this booth, in a little bar that Eros took me to because he likes this place. Because he feels safe here. “Do you bring all your lovers here?” I throw the words like a javelin, desperate to put some kind of space between us, even if it’s emotional.
He doesn’t move back. “I don’t bring anyone here. Not like that. Sometimes Helen or Hermes will come drink with me, and Perseus used to tag along when we were younger, but like I said before, this is a…” Eros finally looks away, surveying the room with a strange expression on his face. “This is a safe space. As safe as one can get in Olympus.”
I follow his gaze, guilt closing clammy hands around my throat. I catch sight of three separate phones pointed in our direction. “I’m sorry.”
“Why?”
“I’ve never seen you photographed here and now you are, and it’s because you’re with me.”
His lips curve a little. “I knew that would happen when I chose this place. There’s nothing to apologize for.”
Instead of abating, my guilt only gets stronger. “Surely you don’t have so many safe places in this city that you can afford to lose one.”
His small smile disappears. He searches my face. “Are you worried? About me?”
“Yes.” I can’t look away, can’t break the growing intimacy of this moment. I thought I knew what was happening here, but now I’m not so sure. “I know how exhausting it can be to never let down your guard, and it’s a really special place that allows it outside your home. You shouldn’t have sacrificed that. Not for this. Not for me.”
He cups my jaw and drags his thumb over my cheekbone. “You really are worried about me.”
I don’t understand why he’s not. I can count on one hand how many public spaces are safe for me to be my true self at—and still have most of my fingers left over. Losing one would be devastating on a number of levels. “I’m sorry. If I’d realized—”