I shake my head. ‘Believe me, most of the people I grew up with would love this. I’m sure some of the mortals would jump at the opportunity. I’ll let them organize it.’
Hades hesitates. ‘I’m not sure that’s best.’
‘We’ll review it all,’ I say. ‘And you’ll be given a chance to add your own overly dramatic flair.’
He scoffs. ‘I’m terribly sorry, did you just have the nerve to callmedramatic?’
‘Darling,’ I say, ‘there is a literal deity of drama and I’m fairly certain he doesn’t come close to our level. I’m dramatic, yes, but so are you.’
He suppresses a smile. ‘Perhaps.’
‘So … I’m going to go outside because I can’t stand this, and I can do something useful by sorting out the flowers. And you can go make the crockery for the feast or whatever it is you want to do,’ I propose.
Hades smiles in that small, self-conscious way he doeswhenever we discuss his art. All those hobbies he swore to keep secret, the ones he isolated himself to defend.
‘I wanted to ask you, actually,’ I say, ‘whether you were planning on making my wedding dress?’
‘No,’ he says quickly. ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’
‘I thought you liked a challenge?’ I tease.
He picks up the scraps of fabric we were comparing and rubs the fibres together like he’s trying to gauge their quality. ‘I just think,’ he says without looking at me. ‘That … it might be odd. It would be like I’m dressing you for how I want to see you. Like I’m selecting how you appear to me.’
My heart pounds at the thought, the idea he might have opinions on that. He might fantasize about how I might look …
I manage that smirk again, the one he pointed out only yesterday. ‘Just how wild do your wedding thoughts run? If I’m standing before you in either a battle tunic or lingerie you might have gone too far.’
He laughs. ‘I hadn’t considered it.’ He looks at me, his lopsided smile back again. ‘Although …’
I swat his arm. ‘Behave. It’s a dress, Hades. You’ve made them before.’
‘It’s aweddingdress.’
‘Make it, please,’ I say, hugging my arms to my chest. I’m not sure why it matters to me but it does. ‘I … don’t want to wear something made by anyone else when I marry you.’
His brow furrows but he nods anyway. ‘Very well.’
‘Thank you,’ I say. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have bouquets to plan.’
I leave before he can back out.
My mortal friends are reasonably excited by the prospect of my wedding, though more for the drama of the gods descending on the Underworld – and the opportunity to tease me about any feelings Imighthave for Hades – than any genuine love of such events. Larissa says that in her hometown the focus at a wedding was entirely on the feast, and she’d be happy to help with the menu. Damaris, the farmer, grins slyly and says the most important thing is the guest list as it dictates how good the gifts will be. And Cora, the former princess of Thebes, wrinkles her nose in disgust before changing the subject and asking if I am able to search for spirits because there’s a poet from Lesbos she is looking for.
So I leave them to look for some spirits who are willing to help, but instead I find myself at the Styx.
‘Hello?’ I call, unsure how to find her. It’s a long river.
‘What?’ Styx whines, instantly appearing before me. She has dark shadows beneath her eyes – though really all of her is shadow. Her high cheekbones and long eyelashes cast dark lines down her face. Her skin is less white than grey, and her eyes are so dark the pupil is lost.
‘What’s wrong?’ I ask her.
‘My blood alcohol content, I imagine,’ she groans. ‘Did I kiss Pallas last night?’
‘Not that I saw,’ I say, freezing up. That’s too close to what I want to discuss.
‘Must have been at the after-party. Or maybe it was Thanatos.’ She presses her palm to her forehead.
‘You don’t remember whether the guy you kissed had wings?’
