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Bishop reaches over the table, pouring bubbles into a small tumbler. He slides it across the table. “You’ll be fine.” Bishop shuffles his chair up farther, protectively, leaving me slightly behind him. My eyes find Brantley as I tilt the glass up to my mouth, swallowing the sweet tang of champagne.
“You’re getting the taste of that mommy juice, Sainty…” Eli murmurs from beside me, kicking his leg out while running his index finger over his upper lip. Eli reminds me of the character Stiles on Teen Wolf. So pretty and cute. “Mmmm, I’d be careful how those eyes look at me.”
I snap out of what I was thinking, straightening my back. In a matter of days, I’ve been thrown from one extreme to another. I’ve gone from not seeing anyone, to conversing with more than a couple people, to being around some of the most interesting characters I’ve ever seen.
“I just think it tastes nice,” I say, while carefully placing the glass back onto the tabletop. My muscles begin to ache, my eyes heavy. Fatigue from the trip or all of the thinking that has been going on in regards to Brantley and me, and Bishop and me, and Tillie and me, taking its toll.
My eyes land on Brantley, but I lean into Bishop. “I’m going to bed.”
Bishop nods, kissing me on the cheek while chuckling through a whisper. “Don’t forget about tomorrow…”
I smile, but it doesn’t reach my eyes. It’s a weak effort.
I close the door behind me and take in the bedroom that Brantley and I are sharing. It’s not like we’ve never shared a bed before; it has happened numerous times, but never have we ever kissed or had oral sex before we’ve had to share a bed. So now, I have to fight this niggling anxiety that’s creeping up my spine.
Is he mad that I kissed him? Does he regret going down on me? Brantley has always been so hard to read, but I’ve always found comfort in the fact I trusted him. Now I’m not so sure.
The bedroom is nice, not as nice as Bishop’s, but I don’t think any room in this cabin is supposed to be at the caliber of Bishop’s room, which tells me this cabin is probably part of his family tree. There’s a large king-size bed in the center of the room, with two large bay windows on either side, looking over both sides of the house. Behind the bed is a bathroom with a claw-foot tub and timber counters. I flick the light on in the closet and see that my bags are in there, with a costume hanging on a hanger. I reach for the note that’s pinned to it, opening it onto the words. Wear this tomorrow night. Love, Tills. Unzipping the bag, my fingers touch the fabric. I go back to the letter. Hades and Kore.
“What’d she pick?” His voice interrupts my thoughts and I have to count to ten to calm the nerves in my belly.
I tilt my head over my shoulder, smiling from behind it. “Kore.”
Brantley chuckles, stepping farther into the closet, making it smaller. “Gotta admit the uncanny similarities between the four of us.”
I turn, and it’s not until I’m fully facing him I realize just how close he is to me. Intentional? I’m not sure. “How so?” I’m familiar with the history and Greek mythology of Persephone and Hades, but I want to know how he interprets it.
“Let me see…” He comes closer, and I find myself stepping backward until my back collides with something hard. “You both have a fond love for flowers and plants.” His hand comes up to rest against whatever it is my back is leaning on. He’s closer. So much closer. “I basically did carry you off to the pits of Hell where you could reign, and lastly…” Fingers glide over mine and sparks fly between us. “Hector could basically pass as Zeus.”
“Hmmm,” I murmur absently, unsure how I take his very quick and brief description of the situation. I chose the name Kore because Brantley chose Hades. I initially wanted Persephone, but Brantley said it was too long, so we went for her other name. “So this was your plan all along?”
His dark eyes search mine. Eyes so blue they could pass as white against eyes so dark they could mirror Hell. “Which part?” His mouth moves over the words and my breath halts. My stomach squeezes and twists into knots as I memorize every dip of the fine lines that curve his lips. So sharp and precise, like the words that come out of them. My eyes cross and my brain fogs from looking at the same spot for too long. His finger presses against the bottom of my chin, tilting my head up. My eyes collide with his, and it’s as though everything around us ceases to exist. The clothes hanging in the closet dissipate, and all that’s left standing in this room is him and me.
