Page 7 of Ungodly Rich

Aphrodite had always looked like this, even as a mortal. The other gods—or more accurately, the goddesses—spoke of her beauty as something almost separate from her, a cosmic gift that had inexplicably fallen on Aphrodite and that she didn’t deserve. She should be grateful, they sniffed, judging her with sidelong glances.

Aphroditewasgrateful. But a gift as magnificent as her beauty didn’t come without strings. There was always a price to pay, which Aphrodite knew all too well.

When she was a human, beauty had brought her so much—immeasurable joy, and something she thought was love, and in the end, unbearable heartache. And then Hephaestus had come along.

When he’d revealed himself as a god, just like in the old stories, Aphrodite had been awed…and intrigued. In his own shy way, he began wooing her—he, an immortal, treating a penniless human as if she were a queen. When he had proposed, offering todeifyher, she accepted without a second thought.

Yes, their marriage had been a bargain, and for her part, Aphrodite was satisfied with how that bargain had turned out. She refused to consider their relationship in any other terms—refused to acknowledge that Hephaestus, in his earnest, honest heart, might love her. Because Aphrodite certainly didn’t deserve his love.

“Looks like you boys are having fun,” she declared, sinking onto the carpet next to the racetrack. Eros came over to plant a sticky kiss on her cheek.

“We are.” Hephaestus snapped the last section of Hot Wheels track into place. His dark eyes darted to his wife and back again, as if he hadn’t decided the tone of their interaction, either.

Aphrodite should have been used to Hephaestus’s size by now, butit struck her anew each time she saw him. Even seated, he seemed enormous, the plastic cars so fragile in his hands. She would never have called him handsome, yet Hephaestus wasn’t unattractive; he kept his dark curls short and his beard neatly trimmed, emphasizing his square jawline.

Besides, Aphrodite had never cared all that much for handsomeness. In her experience, men could be attractive for plenty of reasons: Their power, charm, sense of humor. Their ambition.

She toyed with her thin gold necklace. “How was your trip?”

“The usual. What have you been doing while I was gone?”

“The usual, too,” Aphrodite assured him, which was true. Despite what the other goddesses thought about her, she had only cheated on Hephaestus once.

Unfortunately, that one time, he’d caught her.

It struck Aphrodite as deeply unfair that the male gods, namely Zeus, had countless affairs without consequence, yet she would forever carry a scarlet letter for a single infidelity. She certainly hadn’t set out to cheat on Hephaestus. It had just…happened, one night at Olympus. Her resentment of Hephaestus’s family, her irritation at never being good enough for Hera, and her unbearable loneliness had all crystallized one evening into a prickly energy that she’d recognized as lust. Irrational, unquenchable lust.

Then she’d seen Hephaestus’s brother Ares.

Ares, whose anger felt as combustible as hers, whose passion and restlessness had matched her own. What happened next felt inevitable.

If only Hephaestus hadn’t come looking for her. If only he hadn’t started shouting when he found her with his brother, drawing the attention of Zeus and Hera. Aphrodite had closed her eyes and tugged her clothes up over her bare breasts, wondering if this meant the end of her marriage to Hephaestus. He could call the other gods to a vote, cast her out of the Olympian Pantheon. She would spend the rest of her days as a minor goddess, alone with a mere sliver of her former powers.

But he hadn’t left her.

Silence stretched between them now, the air heavy with uncertainty and the scent of Aphrodite’s perfume.

Eros shattered the moment by throwing a plastic car at Hephaestus’s head. “Car!” he squealed. “Car, car!”

“I think it might be your bedtime.” Aphrodite tugged the protesting toddler to his feet and glanced at the doorway, where Thalia already stood.

After they’d given their son a good-night kiss, Aphrodite and Hephaestus turned back to each other. So many things lay unspoken between them.

“I have something for you.” He headed to the couch, where he’d tossed his travel bag, and withdrew a black velvet box.

A reflexive excitement coursed through Aphrodite. She was like a child in this way; she never could resist the allure of presents.

When she pulled back the lid, her breath caught. Hephaestus often brought her a small gift from his travels: a loose gem for her to set as she chose, or a simple gold bangle. But this necklace was impossibly extravagant. Enormous diamonds and emeralds were linked in an Art Deco pattern, each stone massive in its own right.

She watched, speechless, as Hephaestus lifted the curtain of her hair and placed the necklace against her skin, over the thin gold chain she always wore there. He knew better than to try to take it off.

They both stared at Aphrodite’s reflection, which blazed in the mirror like a flame. The emeralds turned her blue eyes a deeper, more turquoise color, the geometric lines of the stones emphasizing the curves of her collarbones.

“I love it. Thank you,” she said simply.

Hephaestus rested his hands on her shoulders in a deceptively casual gesture. For a moment, Aphrodite thought he might sweep her into his arms and carry her to bed. Surprisingly, she wanted him to.

She thought back to that night three years ago, several months after he’d caught her with Ares on Olympus. The one and only time they had discussed her infidelity.