Page 35 of Curse the Flame

My husband.

Okay. I’m game for anything. I came through the portal, and if that means I have to go on some quest or accomplish some sort of mission to be able to go back to New Jersey, fine. Let’s go. But if I thought it was bad enough when that rough Roman guy grabbed me, yanked my arms, and tied me to that tree in what has to be the worst proposal ever, that’s nothing compared to Mr. Shadow popping out out of nowhere to rescue me while also claiming me.

Mr. Shadow. No. His name is⁠—

I shake my head. Uh-uh. I’m not ready for that just yet.

Right before he brought me upstairs, he finally introduced himself as Aiden, and for my own sanity, he’s Aiden. Sure, he’s Aiden who lives in the Underworld, who told me during our first meeting that he’s waited eight years for me, and then brought me over a black river with faces in it before showing me to a room that has stone walls, fiery torches, and the undeniable feeling that I belong here. He also looks like he stepped out of a movie about 1940s gangsters, down to the cut of his suit and the old-fashioned if definitely Brooklyn accent that I actually get a little turned-on by every time he speaks…

No, Willow. Bad Willow.

Crushing on you-know-who is a bad idea, especially when I’ve got a besotted goddess inside my head who keeps whispering the ‘h’ word no matter how hard I try not to hear it.

Husband.

How can he be my husband?

Simple. He’s Persephone’s husband, but since I think I’m currently the reincarnation of the goddess, does that mean he’s my husband, too?

Uh-uh.

Nope.

Not happening.

So, rather than obsess over why he saved me, why he brought me here, and what he expects of me after waiting so dang long for what, I don’t know, I decide that, instead of taking the opportunity to crawl on top of the bed and take a nap, I go and explore the rest of the room.

I hit the freaking jackpot.

There’s a bathroom. Larger than my entire bedroom in the condo, it has a massive marble tub, a porcelain toilet, and a sink. After all that walking I did today—and can you believe this has only been one full day so far—it’s such a relief to discover that this place has the best magic of all: running water.

Does it make sense? Not even a little.

Do I question it in case it all disappears before I can pee and freshen up? Nope.

I don’t think it’s a good idea to hop in the tub, though it’s tempting. Very tempting. Shoot, I would’ve climbed into the sink itself if I thought I could fit. I give it a good try, wincing when I get water and flecks of dirt and grass and flower petals all over the floor. Right now, I couldn’t care less. I just want to get clean⁠—

“Mistress?”

Ooh, boy. I don’t think I like being called that. And, no, Persephone, I’m not about to tell anyone I meet here that I’m the queen, but mistress… yeesh. It makes me sound like I’m the side piece or the woman of the house.

Is it terrible that I don’t know which one would be worse?

Once I’m not contorting myself in the sink to wash my feet, I hurry to the door. I peek my head out of the bathroom. Standing just inside of the bedroom, I see a woman who, on first look, makes me wish the magical bathroom came with a brush and some lip gloss or something.

She’s gorgeous.

Okay. I know I keep thinking that everyone I meet is a looker. Well, except for the cyclops, but if he wasn’t a misshapen giant with one eye, who knows? But when I say that this woman is gorgeous, I mean it.

Her complexion is a deep bronze color. I’m a natural blonde, but her hair is such a pristine white color that it’s almost shocking. It falls in a sheet down her back, hitting the small of it. She’s tall and thin, but unlike how I’m flat-chested, she has one heck of a rack beneath the satin material draped over her in a gorgeous silver dress.

In her arms, she’s holding a bundle of white fabric with a red sash around the middle.

Her eyes are the color of honey, and they narrow when she sees my dirty face and messy clothes. Good thing she can’t see my wet feet and the mud I didn’t quite get rid of yet or the poor girl might have a coronary.

I wave. “Hi.”

“Hello,” she replies. “My name is Minthe. The master insisted that you have this before supper.”