‘No, no, I … well, I was about to say I prefer solitude to paint but I’m not actually sure an alternative has ever been possible. It could be nice to share it.’ He smiles almost sheepishly and it’s too much. I’m so used to his cocky grins. This bashful Hades, the one he becomes talking about things he actually cares about, has my heart doing flips.
Before I’m even sure what I’m doing I’m in front of him and my thumb is wiping his cheek.
Suddenly his hand snatches my wrist, and he glowers down at me. ‘Don’t tou–’ he starts, but cuts himself off from what I realize must have been an instinctual response.
‘You have some paint,’ I say, waving my fingers to show him the yellow now coating my thumb – and maybe to distract from how flushed I am.
‘Oh.’ He holds my hand for a second too long before he lets go. ‘Sorry.’
Does he want to touch me? Is that why he hesitated?
‘I need to ask you something,’ I scramble to say before I entirely forget why I came here.
‘Yes?’ He arches an eyebrow and, by the Fates, I’m still standing so close. I can’t think of a way to move that isn’t incredibly obvious.
I wipe the paint on my dress and Hades’ querying eyebrow turns back into a scowl.
‘Is it not bad enough you’re wearing my curtains without smearing them with paint?’
The question surprises me so much that I let out a sharp laugh.
‘I’ll have you know they’re actually your bedsheets. And what does it matter, are you a dressmaker now?’ I ask.
He considers the question, his eyes running up and down my body. I know he’s just looking at the dress but, please, could somebody tell my heart that? It’s pounding so fast andoh –
No.
Absolutely not.
Surely this is normal. Surely anyone would be struggling to breathe with any man looking at them like this. Especially a man as undeniably attractive as he is. Surely anyone would still feel the ghost of his touch on their wrist. Surely anyone would find him painting like that mesmerizing. This doesn’t mean anything. It can’t mean anything. This whole situation is complicated enough without adding …that.
I steel myself. Itdoesn’t. Because it can’t. So even if it did mean something – which it doesn’t! – I’m going to push it down to that dark place inside myself where I squash all my unwanted feelings until they dissipate. I’ll numb myself to this man.
‘I’ve never tried it,’ Hades says, completely oblivious to the atrocious direction my thoughts have taken. ‘No doubt I could do a better job than you have. I’ve worked with fabrics before – though never bedsheets and linen.’
‘I’m sure I’d survive if you used other materials,’ I joke and for a moment I think I might succeed at pulling myself from the spiral of my thoughts.
But then he says: ‘I’d need to take some measurements.’ And I think of his hands running across my body as he gathers such numbers. I feel dizzy, like the room is swooping, like myvery legs are unstable. His eyes catch mine, blazing intensity and an edge of desire, and I’m certain he’s thinking the same thing.
I jump back, forgetting that there’s an easel behind me with wet paint slathered across it. I swear and fumble with the collapsing contraption, trying to balance, and then the same instincts that flung me back have me reaching for Hades, who hasn’t stopped laughing. I manage to miss his outstretched hand and go straight for his robes.
He grasps my shoulders and pulls me upright.
‘I am so sorry. Is it –’
‘Completely ruined? Absolutely. But don’t worry – it was entirely worth it for this.’ He waves his hand at my dress, now stained with even more paint, and at my flustered appearance.
I let go of his robes. ‘You’re an arse.’
He still has one hand on my shoulder and I’m far more aware of it than I should be.
‘And you’re incredibly uncoordinated. Do the suitors know?’ he jokes. ‘No husband will ever want you like that.’
I manage not to flinch but every cord of my body is suddenly strung so tight the slightest breeze could cause them to snap.
When I meet Hades’ eyes again I find him watching me carefully.
‘Your mother says similar things, doesn’t she?’
