I’m too drunk to chase the thoughts away. The alcohol almost feels like the perfect cover – I could blame it on the drink if he doesn’t feel the same way.
And I’m far, far too drunk to consider the consequences if he does feel the same way, the two of us trapped together without the space to explore whatever this could be.
He’s looking at me, laughter still ringing, and there’s something about the expression on his face. I’m lying on the floor in an evening gown Aphrodite would rip right off my back. My hair is a mess, my lipstick smudged and my cheeks flushed with amusement. No one has ever seen me like this before and, for the first time in what feels like so long, I’m gladI feel vulnerable. What if my walls, in failing to keep something out, have let something wonderful in?
‘I can’t tell you how good it is to see you so happy.’ Hades’ voice is suddenly serious, his eyes focused intently on mine. They’re so close, so captivating. I could waste an eternity looking into them. ‘I’d marry you a thousand times if it let you, therealyou, find happiness like that.’
Indeed, I taste the wine first before the feel of his lips registers. My kiss is hungry and desperate and so full of things that I can’t say that it feels like a gasp for air. His lips are firm and his skin soft as my hands cup his face, pulling him towards me, and I’m not even sure if my heart is beating. My whole body is hyper-alert and numb at the same time and –
Hades pulls away, eyes frosty, body tense.
‘Don’t do that,’ he says softly, blinking with dazed confusion, like he can’t believe what I’ve done, like I’ve hurt him somehow.
He hastens to his feet as if his only purpose is to put distance between us.
‘There’s no one here. No one is watching,’ he says, anger building with each word. ‘I don’t need a damn performance.’
I jump to my feet too because I can’t stand his anger while I’m staring up at him. ‘Hades, I –’ But the words get stuck in my throat as something slams shut inside me, and I don’t know what I’d say anyway.
‘I don’t want this,’ he fumes. ‘I don’t want this from you at all. Why do you keep thinking I do?’
My eyes sting but I nod. ‘Okay, okay, I’m sorry.’
He shakes his head. ‘I can’t keep doing this. Every time I think you understand me, you go and … It doesn’t matter. I’mgoing to bed.’ His lips twist. ‘And, just to be clear, I don’t want you there either so don’t come and find me.’
I bite my tongue to hold back my tears. Is the rejection not bad enough without his anger? His rage? I thought … I thought … Fates, I wasn’t thinking at all, but if I were I might have expected a gentle refusal, not this apparent disgust, repulsion so strong it has the kindest man I know on the verge of shouting.
Go!I want to scream.Get out of here!I don’t want him to see how much his words have hurt me. Worse, I don’t want him to see how angry I am at myself for ever risking this and managing to fuck it up quite so badly. But if I open my mouth I’ll start sobbing, so I just nod instead.
He gives me one last look that I can’t decipher, something raw and angry and hurt.
And then he’s gone.
ISPEND MOST OF THE NIGHTcrying into my pillow, snotty and choking on my own tears, wishing I had Cyane or even my mother to comfort me. But then I think of what my mother might say: ‘Oh my darling. Young hearts are so easily swayed – and so easily broken. That’s why I’m choosing your match – to save you from all this. Chin up, and next time you’ll know to leave it all to me.’
And then I’m crying harder because maybe she would be right. Maybe I never should have trusted the way I was feeling. In the sways of my hurt and the effects of the wine, I even start to feel that, if I’d never come to the Underworld, I wouldn’t be in so much pain right now.
By morning, my throat is raw and my eyes are bleary.
I contemplate staying in bed, but my mouth is the driest it’s ever been and the need to inhale a bucket of water drags me towards the dining room.
Hades is sitting waiting.
Right. Of course he is.
Just the sight of him has my heart thundering again, mostlyfrom embarrassment and fear of his rage lingering, but – and I hate to admit it – partly from the excited memory of his lips.
Did he kiss me back at all? I can’t remember. Would I have been able to feel it? It’s not like I have much experience to go on.
‘Good morning,’ he greets me. ‘How are you feeling?’
I stare. Is that it? A night spent sobbing, thinking I ruined our friendship, replaying his angry rejection a thousand times, and he greets me with something so mundane?
‘We drank a lot of wine,’ he clarifies.
‘Yes,’ I say, fumbling for my chair. ‘I think I’m fine. You?’
‘I’ve been better,’ he says, picking up his glass of water. ‘Persephone, we need to talk about last night.’
