He catches my chin in a light grip, tilting my face up to meet his. “I don’t know, Psyche. I’m feeling pretty fucking enamored right now.”
Real?
Fake?
I can’t tell, and that scares me. Almost as much as my desire for it to be real scares me. “You’re doing a grand job of selling our romance,” I finally manage.
He strokes his thumb over my cheekbone. “I gave you my word. No one will harm you while you’re mine. Not even your reputation.”
Silly to focus on that qualification. Didn’t I just tell him this morning that I belong to no one but myself? “I’m not yours.”
“That ring on your finger says otherwise.”
I’d almost forgotten about the ring. No, that’s a lie. I’ve felt its presence as if it weighs much more than it possibly could. Every time it shifts against my skin, every time the diamond catches the light, I’m reminded of what we’ve done.
The ring has nothing on Eros’s gorgeous face. I can’t look away from him. “By that logic, the ring on your finger makes you mine.”
“Yes.” He sounds far too satisfied with that. “I’m yours, Psyche. What will you do with me?”
The smart response would be to shut his question down. To remind him that we are not, in fact, jumping back into bed together at the first available opportunity. That this marriage is solely because my life is on the line and not for any other reason. It’s difficult to remember that here, in the intimacy of this booth, in a little bar that Eros took me to because he likes this place. Because he feels safe here. “Do you bring all your lovers here?” I throw the words like a javelin, desperate to put some kind of space between us, even if it’s emotional.
He doesn’t move back. “I don’t bring anyone here. Not like that. Sometimes Helen or Hermes will come drink with me, and Perseus used to tag along when we were younger, but like I said before, this is a…” Eros finally looks away, surveying the room with a strange expression on his face. “This is a safe space. As safe as one can get in Olympus.”
I follow his gaze, guilt closing clammy hands around my throat. I catch sight of three separate phones pointed in our direction. “I’m sorry.”
“Why?”
“I’ve never seen you photographed here and now you are, and it’s because you’re with me.”
His lips curve a little. “I knew that would happen when I chose this place. There’s nothing to apologize for.”
Instead of abating, my guilt only gets stronger. “Surely you don’t have so many safe places in this city that you can afford to lose one.”
His small smile disappears. He searches my face. “Are you worried? About me?”
“Yes.” I can’t look away, can’t break the growing intimacy of this moment. I thought I knew what was happening here, but now I’m not so sure. “I know how exhausting it can be to never let down your guard, and it’s a really special place that allows it outside your home. You shouldn’t have sacrificed that. Not for this. Not for me.”
He cups my jaw and drags his thumb over my cheekbone. “You really are worried about me.”
I don’t understand why he’s not. I can count on one hand how many public spaces are safe for me to be my true self at—and still have most of my fingers left over. Losing one would be devastating on a number of levels. “I’m sorry. If I’d realized—”
“Psyche.” He shifts his hand to the spot where my neck meets my shoulder. It’s a light touch but possessive all the same. “Being here doesn’t burn this bridge for me. You have nothing to feel guilty over.”
How can he not understand the implications? I wet my lips, trying to think of how to explain it. “The second those pictures go live, you’ll give the upper city something it loves above all else—novelty. People will flock to this bar, most of them hoping to get a chance to interact with you or your inner circle. It will become the new hot spot, which means it will change the fundamental nature of this place.” I’d seen it happen before. I’d been the cause of it happening before.
He shrugs. “It won’t last forever, and it will give the Bacchae a boost in income for the duration. In a few months, once they realize I don’t sit in this booth like a tiger in a cage, they’ll move on to the next big thing.” He leans closer, still looking at me like I’ve amused him. “That timeline will compress if we’re seen frequenting some other place.”
“But…”
“The next time we’re here after that, no one will pay us any attention.” He anticipates my argument. “I’m not the only one who views this place as a safe space. The actors and crews won’t like all the people effectively playing tourist, and they won’t share photos again. If anything, doing this makes it safer in the long run.”