I pause meaningfully. “If you’re looking to get some revenge, I’m not going to be an easy mark.”
“If I wanted to hurt you, I would have won the moment you got into the car with me.” His lips curve, though the expression still hasn’t reached his dark eyes. “I want to talk, Hephaestus. That’s all. We’ll have privacy here, which is something you’ll find in short supply in this city.”
“Theseus.” I don’t know why I say it. But once it’s out of my mouth, I don’t want to take it back. “My name is Theseus.”
“Not anymore.”
“Still, I’d rather you use it.” I follow him through the door and into a surprisingly charming little bar. It’s nothing like the pub I used to spend my time in before leaving Aeaea, its walls plastered with signed dollar bills, its floors permanently sticky and the jukebox stuck on some weird-ass band no one but the owner had heard of. But…this place does have more soul than most of the city I’ve interacted with so far. There’s black and red art hanging on the walls, the style abstract in a way that feels almost violent. I look at the painting nearest us for a long moment, trying to figure out what’s causing the effect. It makes me vaguely uncomfortable.
“Maybe one day I will.” Adonis moves past me to the long bar that stretches down one wall. When I met him, I would have wagered he’d never worked a day in his life, but he slips behind the bar with a level of comfort that suggests he’s slung drinks here plenty of times.
Interesting.
I follow more slowly, still taking in the space. Black marble tabletops and black leather chairs and stools. Bright-red shelves that house a truly impressive selection of liquor. It should feel like the whole place is trying too hard, but somehow it forms a cohesive whole.
Adonis doesn’t ask me what I want. That should irritate me, but as I slide onto a stool, I find myself fascinated by the graceful way he creates two identical drinks in front of him. He moves fast enough that I can’t quite catch everything—sure as fuck not enough to recreate it.
“This is your family’s place?”
“Yes.” He adds a cherry that’s so dark it’s almost black to each drink and slides one over to me. “It’s more a hobby than anything else, but my family likes to pride themselves on being a working family, so it’s tradition that each of us work here for a bit as adults.”
An entire business that functions as a hobby. That sounds like some rich people shit. Technically, I’m one of the rich now, have been ever since Minos pulled me out of that orphanage at fifteen. But half a life among the privileged doesn’t erase that my first half was spent with nothing of my own.
Nothing except Pandora.
I should have known better than to yell at her. She’s never liked that shit; it’s a guaranteed way to ensure she does the exact opposite of what I want. Like stay with Aphrodite.
The thought of my wife anywhere near Pandora has me clenching a hand around my glass. No matter what Aphrodite wants me to think, Pandora would never jump into bed with her… I pause. Well, she wouldn’t jump into bed with my wife on our wedding night, at least. I’ve seen the people Pandora is attracted to, and to a person, the only thing they have in common is that they’re beautiful, dangerous, and bad for her.
Like my wife.
I take a drink, mostly for something to do, and am surprised to find it light and refreshing. I examine the liquid in the glass. “What is this?”
“Old family secret.” Adonis smiles and leans forward to prop his elbows on the bar. “Now, let’s talk.”
7
ADONIS
“Eris would lose her mind if she knew I was here alone with you.”
“What my wife doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”
His wife. Not mine. Never mine. She was never going to be, as she reminded me yesterday.
Most of my life, I’ve gone with the flow. I live a charmed existence and I’m aware enough to realize that, but I also realized pretty early on that I’d never hold one of the thirteen titles. My mother takes after her mother in being too outspoken and too stubborn to bend when others think she should. Old money has a way of thinking the world revolves around it instead of the other way around, and my mother reflects that.
My other parent isn’t that much better. They like to poke their nose in when they’re not welcome and have a nasty habit of sharing gossip a little too freely. Everyone does it, of course, but my parent doesn’t bother to pretend they’re not. It gets people’s hackles up.