Things would be so much simpler if I only wanted Eris. I drag my hand over my face and speak softly, pitching my voice to only carry to him. “I am very angry with you.”
Theseus nods slowly. “Yeah. I get that.”
“You get that. I—”
He snags me around the waist and drags me against him. It’s similar to the moment when I pinned him against the shower wall, but even with the obvious threat, I can’t help staring at his mouth. If he smiled right now, I might punch him in the face, but he just looks vaguely tormented, as if he’s not any happier with how things have developed than I am.
Theseus squeezes my hip. “Would you believe me if I said I didn’t want her dead?”
“No.” But I want to. Gods, how I want to. I want to so desperately, it shakes me. “You hate her.”
“Yeah, I guess.” His gaze tracks toward Eris’s closet. “Feels more complicated than hate these days. She’s a monster, maybe even my monster. I don’t like seeing her declawed.”
He sees her. Actually sees her. Not the wild-child party-girl persona she picks up and sheds like clothing. Not the cold Aphrodite who makes calls solely to save her city.
Eris. Woman. Monster.
Mine.
Except she’s not mine any longer, is she? She’s his.
Having sex with this man was a mistake. I knew it when it happened, but with my foolish heart lurching in my chest as if trying to close the distance between us further, I have to admit exactly how thoroughly I’ve screwed myself.
I’m falling for my ex’s husband.
And I’m still in love with my ex.
23
APHRODITE
If someone told me a week ago that I’d be sharing a tense meal with my ex and my husband, I would have laughed them out of the room. I fully intended to stay as far from Adonis as possible, and the only time I planned to be in Hephaestus’s presence is when I’m driving him out of his mind with rage.
He’s not out of his mind right now.
He’s eating with a single-minded intensity that reminds me a bit of one of Helen’s partners, Achilles. As if he grew up not entirely trusting his next meal was guaranteed. It makes me feel strange. More so, it’s strange how domestic this is. Hephaestus put his jeans back on, but didn’t bother with a shirt. Adonis has pulled on a pair of lounge pants left over from one of the many times he spent the night.
Weak as it is, I’m wearing one of Adonis’s old shirts, its fabric soft and faded from so many washings. It doesn’t smell like him anymore—it hasn’t in years—but it’s my favorite thing to put on when I’m feeling off-center. If I was stronger, I wouldn’t telegraph how much I need the comfort, but they found me curled up in the shower, so it’s pretty obvious how not okay I am.
Everything about this situation makes me feel strange. I take small bites, mostly to keep Adonis from pestering that I need calories, but my mind is abuzz with the events of the last day.
I held it together through sheer grit today. Every loud sound or quick movement after the attack had me fighting down a flinch. I’ve been at home in this city from the moment I was born, and for the first time, it feels like it is the enemy instead of a longtime friend. Worse, I don’t see a way through this.
The cat is out of the bag regarding the assassination clause. We can’t cover it up, and it’s obvious that giving people something to gossip about isn’t enough to distract from the temptation of claiming a spot on the Thirteen for themselves. The public might not actively hate us right now, but a quick scroll through MuseWatch gave the surreal impression that they’re looking at the attempted assassinations as entertainment.
I can’t hate them for it. This is the culture the Thirteen created and fostered. We’re reaping what we’ve sown. Even as they root for us or against us in turn, they won’t condemn the assassins entirely.
I hope Perseus has some ideas during the meeting tomorrow…because I don’t.
To distract myself, I look at the men. Hephaestus glares at the table like it said something insulting about his mother. Adonis eats in the precise way he does everything, never a bit of energy wasted. They sit next to each other at the bar, so close that their shoulders brush regularly, and there’s a…
I stare.
No.
Surely not.
I must be imagining things. There has to be a reason my husband and my ex are so comfortable in each other’s presence when they have every reason to hate each other. If I’d been in my right mind, I would have noticed it before. Hephaestus has reason to be here, but Adonis doesn’t. Not unless he was called. Not unless Hephaestus called him.