It takes a solid thirty minutes to get everything we need and for Hades’s man Charon to show up with two guys to help haul it all back home. It’s not until I walk through the front door that I realize I was thinking of this place as home before just today. That it feels more like a home than the high-rise penthouse my mother owns ever did, my sisters’ presence or no.
A sliver of panic spears through me. No matter how much I’m enjoying my time with Hades, this can’t be home. I’ve sacrificed too much, asked my sisters to sacrifice too much, to not follow through now. I have to leave after I turn twenty-five, have to take my trust fund and power my way out of Olympus. If I don’t… What was even the point?
I’ll have traded one beautiful cage for another.
And that’s one thing I can’t allow.
Chapter 23
Hades
“Hades, we’re going to be late.”
I sit on the floor while the three black pups play in and out of my lap. It took them most of the day to warm up to the space, and we decided to clear out a room near the interior courtyard so we have easy access to the outside for potty breaks. So much to consider, it almost distracted me from what’s coming.
Almost.
I look up and my breath catches in my throat. Persephone is beautiful in everything she wears, but she’s stunning in black. The stark color sets off her golden skin and blond hair. It doesn’t exactly cover up her brightness but gives the feel of a stray sunbeam that’s somehow found its way to the Underworld. The dress clings to her skin like oil, pouring over her breasts and down her hips to fall to the floor around her feet.
She looks like a fucking queen.
“Hades?”
I give myself a mental shake, but I can’t take my eyes off her. “You look beautiful.”
She glances down at herself and smooths her hands over her hips. “Juliette outdid herself with this one. It’s deceptively simple, but the cut and fabric are just masterful.”
I carefully move the pups off my lap and rise to my feet. “It wouldn’t look nearly as masterful on anyone else.”
“Now you’re just teasing me.” But she’s smiling as if my compliments make her happy. I have to rein in the impulse to promise to compliment her every day if it puts that expression on her face. Has she noticed how she’s slowly relaxed and unfurled in the last few weeks? I have. She’s stopped guarding her words so closely, has stopped considering each conversation like a battlefield she might not come out the other side of. Another clear indication of the trust she places in me.
In how safe she feels.
She nods at the puppies, her expression going indulgent. “Have you considered names?”
“Dog.” I don’t mean it. I only say it to see her roll her eyes at me.
She doesn’t disappoint. “Hades, you have three dogs. You can’t call them all ‘dog.’ They need names.”
“Cerberus.” I point to the largest of the three, the one who’s the clear leader, even at this age. “This one is Cerberus.”
“I like it.” She smiles. “Now, the other two.”
“I want you to name them.”
Her brows draw together, and for the first time since she walked into the room, she looks unsure. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Because she’s leaving.
Instinct tells me to back off, to protect myself, but the deadline makes me reckless. “Persephone.”
“Yes?” Is there hope in her tone? I’m afraid to assume.
There are a thousand things I could say right now, a thousand things I want to say. Spending the last few weeks with her has made me the happiest I can remember being. She challenges me and delights me in turn, and I have a feeling I could know this woman for decades and she’d still find ways to surprise me. I suddenly, desperately want this winter never to end, want spring never to come, want to stay with her here forever.
But there is no forever. Not for us.
I cross to her and cup her face in my hands. “If we were different people in different circumstances, I would get down on my knees and beg you to stay at the end of the winter. I would move heaven and earth and the Underworld itself to keep you with me.”
She blinks those big hazel eyes at me and licks her lips. “If…” She sounds so hesitant, I simultaneously want to gather her into my arms and don’t want to move in case she never finishes that sentence. She doesn’t leave me hanging long. “If we were different people, you wouldn’t have to beg. I’d plant my roots right here in this house, and it would take a catastrophic event to make me walk away.”