The excuse feels flimsy as fuck, likely because it is. I don’t care. I push the thoughts away and head back up to my room. I’m not sure what I expect, but it isn’t to find Persephone in my bed, sound asleep.
I stand there and stare, letting the scene wash over me in waves. The way she’s curled on her side, the blankets clutched to her chest with a loose fist. Her hair already a tangled mass over her pillow. How she has her back to what was my side of the bed last night, as if she’s just waiting for me to join her and curl my body around her.
I rub my thumb against my sternum, as if that will ease the ache there. It’s tempting to join her in bed right now, but I make myself go to my closet, strip, and head into the bathroom to go through my nightly ritual.
She’s exactly where I left her when I return, and I shut off the lights and ease between the covers. Maybe I’m reading too much into this. She’s fallen asleep, but she already said she’s not a big cuddler. Just because she’s here doesn’t mean it’s an invitation…
Persephone reaches back and grabs my hand. She scoots back toward me as she tugs me closer, only stopping when we’re sealed together from torso to thigh. She pulls my arm up to curl around her chest with the blanket and gives a sleepy sigh. “Night, Hades.”
I blink into the darkness, no longer able to deny the fact that this woman has irreversibly changed my life. “Good night, Persephone.”
Chapter 20
Persephone
A day passes, and then another, one week bleeding into the next. I spend my days alternately obsessing over when Mother and Zeus will make their move and sinking into the distraction that living with Hades offers. Each room is a new exploration, containing a secret to hold close to my heart. There are shelves tucked into every nook and cranny, all filled with books with spines weathered from many rereads. I conquer one room a day, drawing this journey out, feeling like I’m getting closer and closer to knowing the man who owns this place.
Several times a week, we revisit the winter market and Hades lets me tug him along like a well-loved stuffed animal as I explore. He’s also taken to showing me other hidden gems the lower city has to offer. I get to see dozens of the columns, each depicting a unique scene that relates to the business they bracket. I never get tired of the way his expression goes from guarded to a little awestruck when he realizes how much I value these experiences. I feel like it’s allowing me to get to know this part of the city, yes, but also the man who rules it.
And the nights? My nights are filled with knowing him in an entirely different way.
I close the book I wasn’t reading and look at him. He’s sitting on the other side of the couch with a stack of paperwork and a laptop. If I squint a little, I can almost pretend that we’re normal people. That he’s brought his work home with him. That I’m perfectly content to be a housewife or whatever label fits my current status.
“You’re thinking rather hard over there,” he says without looking up.
I fiddle with the book. “It’s a very good book. A real puzzler.” I don’t sound remotely convincing.
“Persephone.” The seriousness in his tone demands a response. A truthful response.
The words bubble up before I can call them back. “You haven’t taken me back to your sex dungeon.”
“It’s not a sex dungeon.”
“Hades, it’s the very definition of a sex dungeon.”
At this, he finally sets his laptop aside and gives me his full attention. His brows draw together. “We’ve been having a good time.”
“‘Good time’ hardly begins to cover it. I enjoy exploring your house and the lower city. I enjoy exploring you.” My cheeks heat, but I power on. “But you said you wanted people to take us seriously, and how can they take us seriously if you’re not treating me like they expect you to?”
“I haven’t wanted to share you with the voyeurs from the upper city.” He says it so simply, as if he’s not dropping a bomb. Hades tugs off the throw blanket I’ve curled up under and tosses it onto the floor. “You’re right, though. It’s possible they haven’t moved yet because we haven’t forced them to.”
I go a little melty at the feeling of his hand closing around my ankle. It’s always like this with him. I keep waiting for the intensity to fade, for ready access to each other to wear off the shine of having sex with each other. It hasn’t happened yet. If anything, the last couple of weeks have made me want him more. I’m Pavlov’s dog. He touches me, and I’m instantly aching for him.