Page 57 of Ungodly Rich

She was the one who’d set this in motion. Earlier today, she had slipped out to meet with the head of the TWL London offices, a briskBritish woman named Arabella. Aphrodite had magicked Arabella into thinking she needed to leave town, and that she couldn’t do so without Hephaestus’s help. She had also filled the woman with a fierce desire to forget the whole conversation, so that no one would suspect Aphrodite of fabricating this work crisis.

She would be sneaking out tomorrow night, and she didn’t want Hephaestus to find out.

“Only for a night or two,” Hephaestus replied. “I was thinking…what if you came with me? We could leave Eros with Thalia and be back for the engagement party Friday.”

Aphrodite was supposed to say no, but her mouth couldn’t form the word.

“We could stay at that hotel you like—the small one on the Left Bank, by the river. I’ll make a dinner reservation at Septime. And you can keep busy while I’m helping Arabella put out the so-called fire in the Paris office.” He hesitated. “Maybe you could visit that fashion designer you love, the one who makes the red shoes?”

“They’re shoes with red soles,” Aphrodite murmured, though her heart swelled at the fact that Hephaestus was trying to recall Christian Louboutin’s name. All fashion designers were worshippers of Aphrodite, of course, but Louboutin had long been one of her favorites.

“We could go shopping in the Marais,” Hephaestus added. “And get drinks at Candelaria.”

His words were as magical and seductive as one of Aphrodite’s own spells.

She found herself imagining it all: Waking up in that jewel-like room, wandering into the early morning light for fresh croissants and coffees, coming back to the still-rumpled bed and falling onto it with Hephaestus. Her thighs would hook up around his waist, his weight settling over her, until his emergency alarm went off and he had to leave for his meetings. They would find each other again at the end of the workday and disappear into an art gallery or wine bar, holding hands like mortal lovers.

She hadn’t realized, when she had manipulated Arabella into wanting to leave London, that the woman would choose to go toParis.

Eros had withdrawn his jumbo-sized box of Legos from the closet, but neither parent paid him any mind. Aphrodite twisted around so that she was facing Hephaestus, who watched her steadily.

She felt a sudden urge to tell him everything. About her fears that Julia would become a goddess, that her rise would mean Aphrodite’s fall. About the regrets that sometimes caught at her, the loneliness. The desire that pulsed through her right now.

She couldn’t tell him. Hephaestus had been born a god, and a male one at that. He had no idea what it was like to feel vulnerable or weak, at the mercy of someone else. Certainly, he wouldn’t approve of what Aphrodite had done, in her various attempts to get rid of Julia. To protect her own position.

Hephaestus had never resorted to subterfuge or tricks in his whole immortal life. If he found out what she was planning, he would never look at her like this again: his expression soft and tender, almost worshipful.

Aphrodite couldn’t bear that thought.

“I wish I could come,” she said softly, “but there are some things I need to handle in London.”

“Right, you’re helping Mother with the party. Thank you for doing that.” Hephaestus dropped a quick kiss on her brow. “I know she doesn’t always make it easy.”

“Let’s do Paris another time,” Aphrodite said swiftly.

Hephaestus nodded, but a light had dimmed in his eyes. “I’d love that.” He stood, holding out a hand to help her to her feet. “Why don’t I get Eros to sleep. Unless you want to do bedtime tonight?”

“No, I’ll leave you to it. Thank you.” Aphrodite smoothed her dress, trying to suppress the longing, or confusion, that still pulsed through her.

She’d felt a moment of desire for her husband, but so what? Aphrodite was the goddess of sex. It was in her very nature to feel lust. She had more important things to focus on right now.

Namely, destroying Julia.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Julia

When Julia and Harry arrived at the Four Seasons London, Abby was already at the bar.

“You’re here!” Abby rushed forward and threw her arms around her. Julia closed her eyes for a moment, relishing the sensation of someone familiar when everything in her life felt uprooted and strange.

Belatedly, Abby acknowledged Harry with a smile. “Good to see you, too, Harry. Are you staying?”

“Oh, no. I wouldn’t dream of crashing girls’ night.” He grinned, tucking his hands in his pockets. “I’m just delivering her to you.”

“Thank you,” Julia murmured as he gave her a quick goodbye kiss. “I love you.”

She and Abby settled at a high-top in the hotel’s bar area, all gleaming wood and leather. Julia took a moment to study her friend. Abby looked impossibly chic in winged eyeliner and sandals that revealed dark purple toenails, her chestnut hair chopped into a sleek bob. “You’re so European now. I remember the days your closet was full of argyle sweaters and Hunter boots,” she remarked.