If Demeter thinks she can fuck with me without seeing consequences, she has another think coming.
***
After a mostly sleepless night, I get ready and head down to the kitchen in search of coffee. The sound of laughter echoes through the empty halls as I reach the ground floor. I recognize Persephone’s voice, even if she’s never laughed that freely around me. It’s silly to feel jealous of that fact after only knowing her a few days, but apparently reason has gone out the window where this woman is concerned.
I take my time walking to the kitchen, enjoying how much more alive the house feels this morning. I hadn’t really noticed the lack until now, and the realization doesn’t sit well with me. It doesn’t matter what life Persephone brings to my home, because she’s leaving in a few weeks. Getting used to the idea of waking up to her laughing in my kitchen is a mistake.
I push through the door to find her standing at the stove with Georgie. Georgie is technically my housekeeper, but she’s got a small army of staff to take care of cleaning this place, so she mostly presides over the kitchen and cooking. There’s a reason most of my people find their way through these doors for at least one meal a day; she’s a happy, middle-aged white woman who could be fifty or could be eighty. All I know is that she hasn’t appeared to age in the twenty years since she took over the position. Her hair has always been a sleek silver, and there have always been laugh lines around her eyes and mouth. Today, she’s wearing one of her customary aprons with frills around the edges.
She points to my normal chair without looking. “I just put a new pot of coffee on. Breakfast sandwiches incoming.”
I eye the pair of women as I sit. Persephone is on the other side of the island, and she’s got a little flour on her dress. Obviously, she’s been an active participant in breakfast. The realization makes me feel strange. “Since when do you let us help?”
“There is no ‘us.’ Persephone offered to handle a few small tasks while I set things up. Simple.”
Simple. As if she hasn’t chased off any offer of assistance I’ve made for the last two decades. I accept my coffee and try not to glare at it. The closest Georgie has let me get to “help” is watching a pot of water for fifteen seconds while she dug through the pantry for a few ingredients. Certainly nothing involved enough to put flour on my clothing.
“Maybe that expression is why Georgie doesn’t want you playing the role of a human storm cloud in her kitchen.”
I shoot a look at Persephone and find her fighting back a smile, her hazel eyes dancing with mirth. I raise my eyebrows. “Someone’s in a good mood this morning.”
“I had good dreams.” She winks at me and turns back to the stove.
I already had no plans to hand her back to Demeter and Zeus, but even if I were entertaining the idea, this morning would have nuked it. She’s been in my house less than forty-eight hours and something has already unwound in her. If I were any more arrogant, I’d chalk it up to the orgasms last night, but I know better. She feels safe, so she’s let down a layer or two of her guard. I might be a bastard, but I can’t repay that fledgling trust by throwing her to the wolves.
I’ll keep my word.
For better or worse.
Chapter 12
Persephone
I expect Hades to call in people to dress me rather than let me leave the house. All in the name of safety, of course. So I’m surprised when he leads me to the front door. A pair of sheepskin boots sit there. He points at the bench tucked back in an alcove of the foyer. “Sit.”
“You bought me boots.” They’re hideous, but that’s not what has me raising my brows. “This is your idea of a compromise?”
“Yes, I do believe I’ve heard the word before.” He waits for me to pull them on, watching closely as if he’s about to jump in and do it for me. When I raise my eyebrows, he slips his hands into his pockets, nearly successful at pretending he’s not an overprotective mother bear. “I’m well aware that you won’t submit to being carried down the street.”
“Very astute of you.”
“Like you said: compromise.” Next comes a large trench-coat type of jacket that covers my borrowed dress. I look absolutely ridiculous, but that doesn’t stop my heart from going warm.
Hades, king of the lower city, boogeyman of Olympus, someone more myth than reality, is taking care of me.
I find myself holding my breath as Hades opens the front door and we step out onto the street. It looks nothing like the alley that led to the underground passage he used to bring me into his house. No trash. No close quarters and filth.