No, the one we need to convince is Demeter herself. I need her in my corner, and I need it yesterday. If she’s on my side—our side—then she can step in and protect us in a way even I can’t manage. I am only a son of Aphrodite. Demeter is one of the Thirteen and has more alliances and power than anyone.
There’s a reason Aphrodite hates her so much, after all.
My mother would hang me out to dry if she thought it would serve her long game. Demeter threatened to starve half the city to get Persephone back from Hades—and then followed through on that threat. If not for Hades’s foresight, people might have died. So, yeah, we need to convince Demeter that we’re hopelessly in love so that her legendary overprotective motherly instincts kick in. An impossible ask, but if anyone can pull it off, it’s me and Psyche.
The elevator stops at my floor and the door slides soundlessly open. The entire floor is my penthouse suite, so there’s just a small room here with a single door. I release Psyche and unlock the door. “Welcome home.”
I expect her to keep showing her nerves and her claws in equal measure, but she turns a happy smile on me. “Thank you, baby. I’m so happy.”
It’s a lie. I know it’s a lie. That doesn’t detract from the power of my response in the least. I rock back on my heels and have to clench my fists to keep from reaching for her. She hates me and I don’t know how I feel about her in general, but there’s just enough chemistry between us to make things complicated. I haven’t missed the way her gaze keeps flicking to my mouth as if she can’t stop looking at my lips.
I wasn’t imagining her attraction the night of the party.
I’m not surprised; I have access to a mirror, after all. My looks are as much of a weapon as anything else in my arsenal. People see a pretty face and they’re conditioned to expect certain things, which means they often don’t look for the danger beneath the surface. If Psyche is among those who find me attractive, all the better. We’re going to be up close and personal for quite some time.
Maybe I shouldn’t look forward to that. I sure as fuck shouldn’t already be considering how quickly I can get my hands on her again. I have to be better than this. For our scheme to work, neither of us can afford to be distracted.
Psyche steps into my home and whistles. “You really went full-on millionaire playboy when you decorated this, didn’t you? How crass.”
The cloud of lust around my head dissipates a little. I try to see my penthouse from her point of view. It’s filled with expensive things, yes, but so is her mother’s home, I’d wager. “What’s wrong with it?”
Her lips quirk and she sweeps a hand to encompass the entire room. “How narcissistic do you have to be to have a hexagon-shaped foyer with mirrors on every single wall?”
“They’re not on every wall. Just four of them.” The other two house the door to the elevator and the door leading deeper into the penthouse. My skin heats, and it’s not desire to blame this time. “My mother feels strongly about making a first impression.”
“More like your mother enjoys being the center of attention, even if she’s the only one in the room.” She says it with a straight face. Before I can come up with a response, Psyche moves to the nearest mirror. They’re massive things that stretch from floor to ceiling and nearly the width of each part of the wall, all framed by stylistic metal. “Eros, these are ridiculous.” She brushes her fingers along the frame that is designed to look like clustered feathers. “Gorgeous work, but utterly ridiculous.”
“You’re being judgmental right now.” I sound defensive, but I can’t help it. Just like I can’t help watching Psyche and her many reflections move about the room, pausing before each mirror so she can see the different frames. Feathers, daggers, jagged hearts, and a cluster of arrows.
Psyche touches her finger to the arrow point. “Sharp.”
“Like I said, my mother likes to make an impression.”
Psyche shakes her head. “Okay, give me the tour. I need to know what other monstrosities this place holds before we move forward.”
I know she’s using humor to deal with the unexpected turns this night has brought her, but it still irritates me. “I don’t have to marry you, you know?”
“Except I kind of think you do. You don’t seem the type to do anything without a good reason—and it’s not because I was nice to you for fifteen minutes at a party once. You don’t have to tell me, but let’s stop pretending that this is one-sided, yes?”