“How long what?”
“How long are we doing this?”
“As long as it takes.”
I stare at him. “That is nowhere near specific enough.”
“Fine.” He shrugs. “Until my mother is no longer Aphrodite.”
That seems more reasonable, but it could still potentially be a long time. There are only three ways for one of the Thirteen to stop holding their title—death, exile, or retirement. I can count on one hand how many have chosen the latter option in the entire history of Olympus. A scattering more have had that option forced on them because health or mental deterioration made it impossible to do their duties. The odds still aren’t in our favor. Aphrodite won’t step down voluntarily, and she’s in her fifties. If left unchecked, she might be around for decades.
I can’t be in a fake marriage for decades. I can’t. I’ve barely let myself dream of love and a family and everything that entails. If I spend twenty years married to Eros, that will nuke those dreams. The knowledge leaves a weight in my chest that is difficult to speak past. “You won’t kill Aphrodite.”
“She’s a monster, but she’s my mother.” He takes another turn, guiding the car north. “I won’t allow you to do something to put her in danger, either.”
That limits our options considerably. I turn and stare out the window. The farther from the warehouse district we get, the more the buildings lining the street change. The bars disappear from the windows. The streets become more pristine and look less grimy. As we enter the blocks around Dodona Tower—Zeus’s seat of power—the storefronts take on a uniform look that’s as soulless as it is flawless.
Several blocks northwest of the tower, Eros turns into an underground parking garage. I manage to stay silent until he parks and turns off the car. We sit there for a moment, the air seeming to gain weight between us. I can’t look at him. This is too dangerous, too volatile. Words bubble up, escaping before I can think better of them. “You know, it strikes me that I’ve already broken the rule about going to a secondary location with someone who means me harm.”
He gives me a strange look. “Do you always make bad jokes when you’re nervous?”
“No. Never. But then, I’ve never been threatened with actual death before, so there’s a first time for everything.”
“We’ll talk inside.”
I follow him out of the car and look at the space around me. My mother’s building is quite a bit farther from the city center, and although it’s nice, it’s very clear that our neighborhood isn’t as interested in keeping up with the Thirteen’s idea of what beauty entails. Mother likes to stay close to the agriculture district so when there are inevitable issues, she’s a short drive away. Our neighborhood and home are expensive but understated.
There is nothing understated about this place. Even the parking garage reeks of wealth, from the line of hideously expensive cars, to the bright lights displaying everything, to the glassed-in elevator area. There is even a security guard in a glassed-in booth, a white man in a nondescript black uniform. I glance at Eros. “Is this security really necessary?”
“Depends on who you ask.” Eros opens the glass door to the interior room that houses the elevator and steps back, allowing me to precede him into the space. He slides an arm around my waist, and I nearly levitate right out of my skin. It takes everything I have not to shove him away, to relax against him as if touching Eros is something that I do all the time.
We step onto the elevator and I barely wait for the doors to close before I try to move away. Eros only tightens his hold on me. “There are cameras.”
Right. I should have thought of that. Of course there are cameras covering every inch of the public space in this building. I speak through gritted teeth that I hope look like a grin. “We haven’t started this yet.”
“We started it the second you said yes. Relax and stop grinding your teeth.” He smiles down at me—his liar’s smile with warm eyes and sweetly curved lips. “We’re in love, after all.”
7
Eros
Touching Psyche was a mistake. She’s so fucking soft that I have the nearly unstoppable urge to run my hands all over her body and… Fuck, I need to get a hold of myself. Being attracted to her is useful for the lie we’re about to pull off, but losing control is unacceptable.
My mother is going to be furious.
I shouldn’t relish that knowledge. She holds most of the cards and I have so few that there’s a very real chance she’ll throw caution to the wind and exile me for this. No matter how reckless she is, she’ll know this marriage isn’t the real thing. Not that she’d care one way or another. To Aphrodite, it doesn’t matter if I’m hopelessly in love with Demeter’s daughter or playing some deeper manipulation. She only cares about her endgame.