To distract myself from such foolhardy thoughts, I stand and move to the sink. It feels remarkably like running away, but I’m just washing the man’s blood from my hands. I glance at the mirror and stop short. He’s staring at me with the strangest expression on his face. It’s not the desire I’ve already convinced myself I imagined. No, Eros is looking at me like he’s never seen me before, like maybe I’ve acted against his expectations.
That can’t be right, though. It doesn’t matter if I’ve occupied the same parties and ballrooms and events as this man for the last ten years; there is absolutely no reason for Eros to think of me at all. I certainly don’t spend much time thinking about him. He might be gorgeous, even for Olympus, flawless enough to have his likeness plastered across every billboard if he wanted the work, but Eros is dangerous.
I dry my hands and move back to the seat across from him. Somehow, without all the blood in play, this feels even more intimate. I push the thought away and get to work bandaging him. Though I half expect him to push my hands away and do it himself, he stays perfectly still, barely seeming to breathe as I carefully apply bandage after bandage. There are about a dozen cuts, all said and done, and despite my assertion that he needs to see a doctor, most of them are small enough that they’ve nearly stopped bleeding.
“You’re rather good at that.” His low voice is filled with edges. I can’t tell if he’s accusing me or merely making a comment.
I choose to take it at face value. “I grew up on a farm.” Sort of. It was technically a farm, but it wasn’t what people picture when they think of so-called farm life. There was no quaint little house with a faded red barn. My mother might have expanded her fortune with her three marriages, but she was hardly starting from scratch. We were an industrial farm and the setup reflected that.
His lips curl, something light flickering in his eyes. “Are there a lot of stab wounds on farms?”
“You admit it, then—that you were stabbed.”
Now he’s actually smiling, though there’s still pain evident on his face. “I admit nothing.”
“Of course not.” I realize I’m still too close to him and back up quickly, moving to the sink to wash my hands again. “But to answer your question, when there are a variety of large machines, not to mention various animals that take exception to foolish humans, injuries happen.” Especially when one possesses adventurous sisters like I did. Not that I’m going to tell Eros that. This interaction has already been too intimate, too strange. “I need to get back.”
“Psyche.” He waits until I turn to face him. For a moment, he looks nothing like the confident predator I’ve worked so hard to avoid. He’s simply a man, tired and in pain. Eros touches one of the bandages on his chest. “Why help Aphrodite’s pet monster?”
“Even monsters need help sometimes, Eros.” I should leave it at that, but his question felt so unexpectedly vulnerable that I can’t help the impulse to soothe him. Just a little. “Besides, you’re not really a monster. I don’t see a single scale or fang to speak of.”
“Monsters come in all shapes and sizes, Psyche. You should know that by now, living in Olympus.” He starts to button up his shirt, but his hands are shaking so badly, he fumbles it.
I move before I have a chance to remember why this is such a terrible idea. “Let me.” I lean over and button him up carefully. My fingers brush his bare chest a few times, and I’m certain I imagine the way he hisses out an exhale in response. Pain. That’s all it is. Eros is certainly not responding to my touch. I hold my breath as I finish the last button and move back. “There you go.”
He climbs to his feet. I watch closely, but he seems a little steadier than he was earlier. Eros pulls his jacket on and buttons it up, hiding the worst of the bloodstains. “Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me. Anyone would do it.”
“No.” He shakes his head slowly. “They really wouldn’t.” He doesn’t give me a chance to respond to that. Just motions to the door. “Let’s go. Head up without me; I need to find a replacement shirt.” He hesitates. “It wouldn’t be good for us to be seen returning to the party together.”
It really wouldn’t. It would get Olympus’s gossipmongers chatting, and Aphrodite and Demeter might stroke out in pure rage in response. The very last thing I want is to be linked to Eros in any way, shape, or form. “Of course.”
As we step into the hall, Eros presses his hand to the small of my back. The contact jolts through me with the violence of lightning in a bottle. I miss a step and he moves quickly, catching my elbow and keeping me from ending up on the floor. “You good?”
“Yes,” I manage. I don’t look at him. Can’t look at him. It was difficult enough to ignore this unfortunate spark between us while I patched him up. I don’t like my chances with him standing so close, one hand on my lower back and the other cupping my elbow. I should most definitely not…
I lift my face and Eros looks down and, gods, we’re so close. This is a mistake. At any moment, I’ll pull away and put a respectable amount of distance between us and it will be like this strange little interlude never happened. At…any…moment…
A bright flash sears my eyes. I jerk away from Eros and blink rapidly. Oh no. Oh no, no, no, no. This can’t be happening.
Except it is happening. My vision clears slowly, and any hope I have of pretending some light bulb shattered at random goes up in smoke. A short white man with bright ginger hair and a camera in his hands stands a few feet away. He grins at us. “I knew I saw you get in the elevator together. Psyche, care to comment about what you’re doing sneaking away from Zeus’s party to get alone time with Eros Ambrosia?”
Eros takes a menacing step toward the photographer, but I grab his arm and fight for a smile. “Just a friendly little chat.”
The man doesn’t miss a beat. “Is that why Eros’s shirt is buttoned up incorrectly? And you looked like you were about to kiss in this picture?” He’s gone before I can come up with a lie that might make sense.
“We’re fucked,” I breathe.
Eros curses far more creatively than I have. “That about sums it up.”
I know how this goes. Before the end of the night, pictures of me and Eros will be plastered across the gossip sites, and people will start theorizing about our forbidden romance. I can see the headlines now.
Star-crossed lovers! What will Demeter and Aphrodite think of their children’s secret relationship?
Forget stroking out in rage. My mother is going to kill me.
3
Eros
Two weeks later
“Bring me her heart.”
“My chest is healed up just fine. Thanks for asking.” I don’t look up from my phone as my mother paces from one side of the room to the other, her skirt swishing about her legs. Knowing her, she chose her clothing today to maximize her dramatic flouncing.
She’s nothing if not a showwoman.
The phone isn’t the distraction I’d like it to be. In the two weeks since the party, the speculation and gossip about me and Psyche Dimitriou hasn’t died down. If anything, our refusal to make a public comment about it has only fanned the flames. There’s nothing Olympus loves more than a good story, and the children of two public enemies hooking up is nothing if not a good story. The truth doesn’t matter when there’s a compelling lie to be told.
Not to mention the photographer got a stellar shot.
In the picture, we’re standing so close, nearly in an embrace, and she’s looking up at me in question. And me? The look on my face can only be described as hungry. I wouldn’t have done something as foolish as to kiss Psyche in that hallway, but no one looking at our image will believe it.
“Stop playing with your phone and look at me.” My mother spins on her tall heel and glares down at me. She’s fifty, and though she’d skin me alive for saying as much, no wrinkles or gray hair betray her. She spends a fortune to keep her skin smooth and her hair a perfect icy blond. Not to mention the countless hours with her personal trainer to accomplish a body twenty-year-olds would kill for. All in the name of her title, Aphrodite. When one has the role of the matchmaker of Olympus—the peddler of love—one must meet certain expectations.