“We are in perfect agreement there,” I lie. Things would be so much easier if I actually loathed her, if I didn’t crave an intimacy we’ve never managed to share. Not that we’ve tried.
She slides her other hand down to the band of my pants and undoes my belt in a quick, practiced move. “You’re lucky I don’t shove you out a fucking window.”
Suddenly, I’m so sick of this shit. I release her and step back. She stumbles a little, and it takes everything I have not to reach out to catch her. Hera rights herself before I have a chance to, which is perfectly on brand. She doesn’t need me. She never has. Maybe it’s not fair to want to be needed by her, but I’m not feeling particularly fucking fair right now.
I stalk to our living room, leaving her to reluctantly shadow my steps. None of the massive windows that overlook the city open, but the door out to the balcony does. I shove it wide and step out. It’s a little after mid-October, but the wind reeks of winter, harsh and cutting and so cold that it makes my face prickle.
I turn around as Hera steps through the door and hold my arms out wide. “Here you go. One good shove and your Zeus problem is no more. That’s what you want, isn’t it? That’s why you’ve gone through the trouble to coerce Poseidon into treachery, to work with Ariadne and the Minotaur to bring down Dodona Tower, no matter what other people might have been hurt in the process.”
“No one else was going to be hurt,” she snaps. The wind whips her hair around her face, almost as if its embodying her anger. “I made sure of that, even if the plan didn’t end up working out.”
It’s fucked that her finally admitting her treachery is a strange sort of comfort. I take a step back until the railing digs into my ass. “Well, now you can betrulysure of it. It’s late. No one will be walking down the sidewalk. If you want me dead, then have the fucking decency to do it yourself.” To topple me from the height of the tower I’m supposed to rule…just like my father.
For the first time in our marriage, my wife actually looks lost. She blinks those big eyes at me, her beauty so sharp it takes my breath away. It’s unforgivable that, even now, I want her so desperately I can barely think past it.
“Zeus…”
“No, you don’t get to call me by that title. You don’t get to pretend Zeus is all I am. Say my name, Wife. Don’t be a coward now.”
Instead of rising to the gauntlet I’ve thrown, her lower lip quivers. It’s the tiniest movement, quickly quelled, but I see it—and she knows I see it. “I should do it.” She crosses to me and fists the front of my shirt. “There are so many people in this fucked-up city who want you dead, me first among them. You’re a fool to give me this opportunity.”
I am. I can’t pretend otherwise. And yet I don’t move, waiting to see what she’ll do. Even as her grip tightens on me, the pressure of her knuckles against my chest growing, I’m not entirely certain if I’m going to let her shove me over the railing or not.
But she doesn’t do it. She stares up into my face and shakes her head slowly. “I hate you.”
“I know.” The two words come out almost as an apology. They certainly feel like one.
Even so, I don’t expect her to go onto her toes and slam her mouth to mine. The wind screams around us, but I stop feeling the cold the moment her tongue slides into my mouth. This means something, though I can’t think clearly enough to figure out what. A reprieve, possibly. It’s certainly not proof that Callisto doesn’t have the audacity to commit murder. We both know she has audacity in abundance.
I break the kiss with a low gasp. “Say yes, Wife.”
For once, she doesn’t fuck around. She’s already backing up, tugging me with her. “Yes. Now. Hurry.”
I sweep her into my arms and carry her into the relative warmth and safety of our home.
15
Hera
Today it feels like the world has spun around me, faster and faster, until there’s no safe space. Not my sisters, not my mother, not the city I’ve only recently claimed as mine. Not until I stepped through the door ofthispenthouse and foundthisman waiting for me. Poison words, each harsher than the next, and yet it’s familiar and…yes,safe.
The day I stop lying to my husband is the day I lose this safe space.
Even knowing that, I allow my head to rest on his shoulder as he carries me through the living room and down the hall to the bedroom we share. His pulse beats steadily despite the dramatics on the balcony.
I almost pushed him.
There was a split second there, a moment of pure desperation, when I actually started to move forward, to shove him over the railing. A perfect ending to mirror his father’s death: a sad accident, or maybe a desperate personal choice. Except I couldn’t doit. All these months of plotting, of lining up events to kill him…for nothing.
Zeus steps into our bedroom and kicks the door shut behind him. “Callisto.”
I never should have exposed this particular weakness. The only people who still call me Callisto are my sisters. Not even my mother does, too pleased with my ascension to Hera. Giving this intimacy tohim? Unthinkable.
I want him to say my name again. Again and again and again.
I wriggle until he sets me on my feet and then plant my hands on his chest, walking him back toward the bed. If he’s kind to me now, I don’t know if I’ll ever reclaim the coldness I need to get through this greater conflict. There needs to be ice in my veins to protect my family. “Take off your clothes.”
For a moment, I think he might argue, might try to claim control again, but some decision is made in my favor behind those heated blue eyes. He holds my gaze as he unbuttons his shirt and shrugs it off. His belt whisks through the loops with a sound that makes my thighs shake. His pants are next, sliding down muscular thighs and then kicked away. I realize my mistake too late.
