‘I can see why you didn’t want to marry him,’ she says.
I nod with feigned sadness. ‘He never showers me in the appropriate number of compliments. Why would I marry him?’
‘I was under the impression your refusal was less about me and more about your general thoughts on marriage.’ He dries his hands on a towel.
‘Well, yes, marriage is gross.’
Hades points at me. ‘That argument would work on your parents, I’m sure.’
My smile falters and from the way his own smile falls I know he’s caught it.
‘Well, successful or not, an engagement was proposed today and I think we need to drink to it,’ Styx says, gleefully unaware of the sudden dip in my mood.
Hades shrugs. ‘Very well. I trust you know where the wine cellar is.’
Styx’s eyes go wide. ‘I’m sorry, you have a whole cellar dedicated to wine and this is the first I’m hearing of it?’
Hades gives a rueful shake of his head. ‘Of course, I was keeping that from you for a reason.’
‘Keeping secrets from your secret keeper.’ She pouts. ‘That’s so mean.’
‘Is it as mean as denying a proposal from a man who only wishes to make you happy?’ He glances longingly into the distance, hand clutching his heart.
‘Show me to the wine first,’ I say. ‘You can cry afterwards.’
We spend the rest of the evening drinking and celebrating and laughing so much that my sides ache. At one point Hades shows us his music room and attempts to drunkenly serenade me into marrying him, which would have stood a better chance of working if he were any good. It seems that music, like needlework, is not where his talents lie. He only stopped when Styx requested rotten fruit to throw.
The next morning my head throbs like nothing I’ve ever felt before and I’m not sure there’s enough water in the world to quench my thirst. I’ve drunk before – been drunk before – but not like that.
The nymphs have gone all out this morning – the usual fruits and breads are joined by buttery pastries, fluffy eggs, honey-glazed meats and creamy cheeses studded with rosemary and whole cloves of garlic. I’m not sure I can sit in front of it without being sick. I ache to both fill a plate and thrust it all into the fire.
Hades groans into his tea, staring at it like it’s the Lake of the Five Rivers.
‘I haven’t drunk that much since I got to this realm,’ he says.
‘A partier in your youth?’ I tease, though it would be more satisfying if we weren’t practically the same age and the room wasn’t spinning.
He doesn’t answer, which I might mistake for some effect of the alcohol if he weren’t also avoiding looking at me.
Well, now I’m interested.
‘What is it? Does it have something to do with what you said about trying something with the humans when you first got here?’
‘Fates, Persephone, is it not bad enough that I’m hungover? You want me to discuss that? Not happening.’ He lifts his cup to his lips.
I shrug and reach for the water jug. ‘Fair enough.’
‘Why do you always do that?’ he asks, staring at me with shrewd curiosity.
‘Do what?’
‘Ask a very pointed question and then drop the point when I don’t want to answer?’
‘Because I trust you,’ I say like it’s obvious. ‘If you don’t want to tell me that’s your choice – I trust you have a reason.’
He considers and says carefully, ‘I can’t help but feel like it’s because someone spent an awful lot of time telling you not to ask questions.’
‘I do a lot of things my mother tells me not to do.’ My throat tightens though and the words are difficult. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I don’t resist my mother’s teachings as much as I think I do.
