Page 67 of Ungodly Rich

The potion should have made Aphrodite feel a spark of connection with Hephaestus, herhusband.Instead it drove her straight into his brother’s arms.

Hera had never told a soul about her intervention, not even Zeus.Especiallynot Zeus. He might misunderstand, and blame her for the affair.

“These photos haven’t gone to print, have they?” Hermes asked, interrupting her thoughts. He was still frowning regretfully down at Hera’s phone as if he, not Julia, were the one in the cringeworthy photos.

“TheSunthreatened to publish them with the headlineEllene Bride-to-Be Is Ready for Her Tiara! But no, nothing has been printed,” Hera told him.

The gods had to be very,verycareful about controlling their image,or mortals might eventually notice that the same individuals kept showing up, generation after generation. There was a spell in place to prevent humans from snapping photos of the gods. If they tried to do so without the god’s permission, the photo would turn out blank.

But Julia wasn’t a goddess, and there were no protective spells around her.

“They aren’t printing the article?” Hermes repeated. “Did you bribe them?”

“Not with cash.” Hera sighed. “I’m going to need you to find me something on the prime minister. Today, if possible.” That was the only trade theSun’s bottom-crawling editor had been willing to make: burying Julia’s photos in exchange for a scoop on someone more famous to the unwashed masses than an Ellene. Someone political.

“So you’d better go to Ten Downing now. Follow him for a while, compel him if needed,” Hera concluded.

Hermes didn’t rise from the table. He hesitated, staring down into his coffee. “There’s one more thing,” he said slowly. “Have you sensed anything…unusualabout Julia?”

Plenty.“You’re going to have to be more specific,” Hera admonished him.

“Have you attempted to use your powers on her? Because Aphrodite and I were both unsuccessful,” Hermes admitted, with visible reluctance. “Aphrodite says that she was able to enchant Julia on Olympus. But after we left Greece, I tried to compel Julia and drew a blank. Last night Aphrodite tried to tug at her desires, and she couldn’t influence her, either. Julia didn’t even seem aware that she was resisting us. It was as if she had some kind of—of shield,” he added helplessly.

“That is strange indeed.” Hera didn’t say more. She was hardly about to tell Hermes that she, too, had encountered Julia’s strange defenses. Or that the Eye of Argos had failed for the first time in Hera’s memory.

If she’d learned anything from her husband over the years, it was that you didn’t need to share everything with those who worked for you. Especially not your shortcomings.

“Perhaps she was touched by the Fates as a child?” Hermes mused,fingers drumming restlessly against the table. “She could have inadvertently absorbed power from them? Or maybe she’s under some kind of protective spell.”

“I didn’t ask for your theories,” Hera said tersely.

Hermes flinched. “I only thought—”

“Your job isn’t tothink,Hermes. Just go find me something on the PM to give those awful tabloid people, all right?”

Hermes’s expression shuttered. “Of course.”

Hera instantly regretted snapping at him. But Hermes had already vanished from the dining room, leaving nothing but a slight breeze in his wake that ruffled the edges of the tablecloth.

She stood and retreated with a sigh. It was a sign of how distracted she was that she didn’t even bring her tea with her. The conversation with Hermes had only left her with more questions than before.

Who—orwhat—was Julia, and why had she appeared among the gods?

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Julia

Julia had to hand it to Tara; the woman could really throw a party, even if this party wasn’t like anything Julia would have planned for herself.

Guests spilled through the solarium, a room whose wide-planked wooden floors were covered in antique furniture and Venetian lamps, onto the back lawn of the Mayfair house. White hydrangeas floated in the plunge pool like tiny stars. Waiters passed canapés on silver trays—fresh figs with goat cheese, steak tartare on little wafers, seared scallops in delicate porcelain spoons. She was amused to note that Harry’s cousin Dylan was stationed firmly at the bar, where men in jackets poured the specialty cocktail, a vodka and lavender thing with sprigs of mint. And inside, an entire wall had been filled with photos of Julia and Harry in silver frames. Julia had paused at the pictures, wondering where Tara got them all, before the event coordinator grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her outside.

Now she stood next to Harry in a receiving line, shaking hands with an interminable number of strangers who all asked her the samequestions: Where was she from, where did she go to school, were her parents the Dodds who had chaired Charity: Water’s gala last year? It stung a little, knowing that they were all trying to assess her worth—trying to decide whether she was a gold digger who had targeted Harry or someone who actually deserved him.

Julia stole a glance across the lawn at her aunt and uncle, who were clustered at a high-topped table. Catching her gaze, they waved cheerfully, but Julia could tell they were overwhelmed by all of this. How could they not be?

“You okay?” Harry asked, drawing her back a step, away from the line of guests waiting to get their attention.

Julia gave a rueful smile, wondering just how many people were left in the receiving line. “I’m good. Though I have to admit, I would rather do the Tower of London ghost tour again than face these crowds.” Her eyes drifted to Tara, who was still greeting her guests with the cool condescension of a queen deigning to speak with her lowly subjects.