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“That I don’t know,” he said. “But I intend to find out. In the meantime, keep the statue by your bed. We wouldn’t want to insult Aphrodite. She’s getting cranky in her old age.”
He grinned but Lia couldn’t, not just yet.
“I had no idea I almost died when I was born. I can’t stop thinking about Daddy being so desperate he’d pray to a goddess on a mantel in the music room. You could count on two hands how many times he’s stepped into a church by choice. And three of the ten times were when me and Art and Charlie were christened.”
“He loves you,” August said. “I envy that. My own father can’t stand the sight of me.”
“Oh, August, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not personal. He can’t stand the sight of anyone. And no one can stand the sight of him, either. Miracle he managed to get any woman to sleep with him, much less my mother.”
Lia smiled, but it wasn’t a real smile and it didn’t last long. She pressed her head against August’s chest before she realized what she was doing. She started to pull back, but he wouldn’t let her. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close to him.
“It’ll be all right.”
“I’m being blackmailed,” she said. “Because David knows I love my parents too much to tell them what he did to me. That’s sick, isn’t it? Using a girl’s love for her parents against her?”
“It is. Makes me sick we’re paying him off. We ought to be throwing him off a cliff. Times like this I almost wish I hadn’t gotten myself kicked out of my family. They could take care of David with a phone call.”
“Take care of? Like...mafia-style?”
“I don’t mean kill him,” August said. “Though it’s tempting.”
“Very tempting. If he wasn’t such a bloody good painter, I’d throw him under a double-decker myself.”
“Is he that good?”
“Unfortunately.” She finally managed to extricate herself from August’s arms. “He never even finished the mural in Mum’s room but it’s still incredible.”
“Can I see it?” August asked. “Or would your mother mind?”
“She won’t mind.” Lia’s mother had shown it off to houseguests before. She led August upstairs and into the east wing, which had been updated far more recently than the west wing—where Lia lived in the old dowager quarters. The colors were muted blues, and instead of the heavy Victorian dark wood paneling in Lia’s wing, here it was mostly white wainscoting along the walls, nothing that would detract from the paintings and portraits hung in the hallway.
As she passed the portrait of her great-grandfather Malcolm, Old Number Thirteen, she stuck her tongue out at him. August caught her and raised his eyebrows.
“Sorry,” she said. “I love the old boy, but this is all his fault for being too handsome.”
“Too handsome?” August said. “How is that even possible?”
“This portrait used to hang over Mum’s fireplace in her bedroom. Mum said Daddy caught her looking at Old Number Thirteen during...you know.”
“Oh, I know.”
“Daddy exiled Great-Granddaddy to the hallway and hired David to paint a mural in Mum’s bedroom by way of apology. But it was a good trade, no offense to Number Thirteen. See?”
Lia opened the door to her mother’s bedroom and let August in first. He did what everyone did upon entering the room. His head fell back, he stared up at the ceiling and his mouth fell slightly open.
Usually the person seeing the ceiling mural said something along the lines of “wow” or “my God” or even “holy shit.” But not August. He said nothing, but his nothing spoke so much more than anyone else’s words.
“It’s Cupid and Psyche,” Lia said.
“Eros,” August said. “He hates the name Cupid.”
“Why?” she asked.
“People think Cupid is a fat baby with a tiny bow and arrow. Does that look like a fat baby to you?” He pointed at the mural. Eros was a full-grown man with a bow as tall as Lia.
Lia had always been fascinated by the strange story of Cupid—strike that—Eros and Psyche. Psyche was a backwater princess from a backwater kingdom whose beauty rivaled Aphrodite’s. Eros had married her in secret. She hadn’t even known she was marrying a god as they made love every night in the dark.
