Page 5 of Ungodly Rich

Her husband ran a hand wearily over his features. “At least go somewhere private, the next time you feel the urge to confront a mortal. What if you’d been seen?”

“No one saw.” And even if they had, they wouldn’t have believed it—would have invented some rational explanation for what had happened.

Mortals were willfully blind in that way. They had a remarkable ability to ignore the evidence of their own eyes, insisting on science and logic when the world was so clearly wild and supernatural.

And magical.

Tara glanced over at her husband, who leaned a hip against his desk, his deep blue eyes on hers. For all the eons that Tara had known him, this was how Bruce had looked. Unfairly handsome, his dark hair peppered with only the slightest bit of gray, his face creased with boyish mischief and, usually, lust.

Bruce Ellene, also known as Zeus.

For better or worse, Hera—currently operating among the mortals as Tara Ellene—had long ago accepted him, flaws and all.

Sometimes she wondered if mortal women felt this way about their marriages. Not that she could ever ask a mortal. Like all the gods, Hera kept her true nature hidden, along with her name. When she saidHeraaloud, the humans heardTara,just asZeusturned intoBruce. It was safer this way.

“She’s going to be fine, you know,” Hera felt the need to add. She hadn’t meant toscarthe girl, just teach her a bit of a lesson.

Zeus shrugged. “We’ll give her a good severance package. I was planning to do that anyway, since…”

Since he’d already been growing tired of Olivia.

The phone on Zeus’s desk rang, startling them both, but within seconds it was picked up by a young man at a cubicle around the corner.“Mr. Ellene’s office,” he murmured, smoothly taking over Olivia’s job. Already Olivia’s desk area was empty, the black singe marks on the carpet the only evidence that she had been there at all.

Zeus sighed and walked to the bar cart, a Victorian antique with original nineteenth-century wheels. He poured two measures of bourbon and passed one to Hera.

Silence still hung between them, but it was softer, less aggressive than before.

She lifted her drink in an ironic mockery of a toast, noting the Baccarat crystal tumbler. “Remember when we tried to buy them?”

As always, Zeus knew exactly what she meant. “Too bad the sale didn’t go through.” He settled into the armchair facing the couch, crossing one ankle over the opposite knee. “You always did have a soft spot for pretty things.”

No, that’s you,Hera wanted to reply. Yet she lacked the heart to keep attacking.

The bourbon settled in her stomach, its warmth as familiar to her—and as infrequent, lately—as her husband’s touch. She and Zeus had been married so long ago that she could hardly recall it, her memories of that day as hazy as an old, faded painting. Truthfully, she couldn’t remember all that much. This was for the best.

No one, human or immortal, would have been able to bear centuries of memories. It would only lead to madness.

“Olivia didn’t matter to me, Hera. It was just…sex,” Zeus assured her, interrupting her thoughts.

“She was under the impression that you were divorcing me,” Hera said quietly.

Her husband scoffed. “That woman was getting too clingy. Delusional of her, thinking that I would ever leave you.”

Just like always, Zeus had deflected blame onto someone else’s shoulders—and deliberately avoided the wordsI’m sorry.Nor had he promised to remain faithful, not that Hera would believe him if he did.

They would keep doing this same dance, over and over and over again. Zeus would keep cheating, and she would keep pretending it was fine, because she was the goddess of marriage and domesticity.Because they had three children together, and their offspring had already fractured the family in irreparable ways.

Hera would say or do anything to hold her family together.

“Please, Hera, can we put this behind us?” Zeus added. “Forgive me?”

“You’re already forgiven,” Hera promised, and reached across the couch to take her husband’s hand.

Chapter Three

Aphrodite

Everyone in this family had a role to play. The patriarch, the peacemaker, the comic relief, the prodigal son.