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Or at least trying to.
“Helen.”
I stop short, but recognition brings a relieved smile to my face. “Eros. What are you doing out here lurking in the shadows?”
He steps forward and holds up a tiny jeweled bag. “Psyche forgot her purse.” He should look ridiculous holding the purse, especially considering the violence those hands have done, but Eros has a habit of moving through life as if he’s untouchable. No one would dare say a word and he knows it.
“What a good husband you are.” I take the last few steps and press a quick kiss to each of his cheeks. I haven’t seen him much in the last couple months, but he looks good. Eros is one of the most gorgeous people in Olympus—which is saying something—a white guy with curly blond hair and a face to make painters weep at its perfection. “Marriage suits you.”
“More and more every day.” His gaze sharpens. “You’ve pulled out all the stops tonight.”
“Do you like the dress?” I smooth my hands down my gown. It’s a custom piece, the golden fabric molded to my body from shoulders to hips before flaring out the slightest bit. It’s heavy with a subtle pattern that’s designed to catch the light with every move. A deep V dips between my breasts, and the shoulders have been shaped into sharp points that give the slightest impression of military bearing. “It’s a showstopper, as my mother would have said.”
I ignore the twinge in my chest at the thought, just as I always do when my mind tries to linger on the woman who died far too young. She’s been gone fifteen years, having suffered a mysterious fall when I was fifteen. Mysterious. Right. As if all of Olympus didn’t suspect that my father was behind it.
As if I didn’t know it for certain.
Pushing this thought away is second nature. It doesn’t matter what sins my father committed. He’s dead and gone, just like my mother. I hope he’s been suffering in the pits of Tartarus since he drew his last breath. When I think of his death, all I feel is relief. He died before he could marry me off to secure some bullshit alliance, before he could cause even more of the pain he seemed to enjoy inflicting so much.
No, I don’t miss my father at all.
“She’d be proud of you.”
“Maybe.” I glance over his shoulder at the doors. “Maybe she’d be furious over what I’m about to do.” Rock the boat? Fuck, I’m about to tip the boat right over.
Eros doesn’t miss a beat. His brows rise and he shakes his head, looking rueful. “So it’s Ares for you. I should have known. You’ve been missing a lot of parties lately. Training?”
“Yes.” I brace myself for his disbelief. We might be friends, but we’re friends by Olympus standards. I trust Eros not to slide a knife between my ribs. He trusts me not to cause him undue trouble in the press. We hang out on a regular basis at events and parties and occasionally trade favors. I don’t trust him with my deepest secrets. It’s nothing personal. I don’t trust anyone with that part of me.
On the other hand, everyone in Olympus will know my plans very shortly.
I square my shoulders. “I’m going to compete to become the next Ares.”
“Damn.” He whistles under his breath. “You’ve got your work cut out for you.”
He’s not telling me he thinks he can’t do it, but I wilt a little all the same. I didn’t really expect enthusiastic support, but being constantly underestimated never fails to sting. “Yes, well, I’d better get in there.”
“Hold on.” He surveys me. “Your hair is a little lopsided.”
“What?” I lift my hand and touch my head. I can’t tell without a mirror. Damn it, I’m going to be even later, but it’s still better than walking into that room out of sorts.
I start to turn in the direction of the bathroom back toward the elevators, but Eros catches my shoulder. “I got it.” He opens Psyche’s purse and digs around for a few seconds, pulling out an even smaller bag. Inside, there is a bunch of bobby pins. Eros huffs out a laugh at my incredulous expression. “Don’t look so surprised. If you had a purse, you’d have bobby pins stashed, too. Now, hold still and let me fix your shit.”
Shock roots me in place as he carefully fixes my hair, securing it with half a dozen bobby pins. He leans back and nods. “Better.”
“Eros.” I gently touch my hair again. “Since when do you do hair?”
He shrugs. “I can’t do more than damage control, but it saves Psyche some trouble when we’re out if I can help like this.”
Gods, he’s so in love it makes me sick. I’m happy for him. Truly, I am. But I can’t help the jealousy that curls through me. It’s not about Eros—he’s more brother to me than anything else—but at the intimacy and trust he shares with his wife. The one time I thought I might have that, it blew up in my face, and I still wear the emotional scars from the fallout.
