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“About you thinking I would be the most gentle and thorough lover out of all of them.”
“I was mostly saying that to point out how Perseus pales in comparison.” God, how I wish that were true, but he is just as sexy as the rest of them. Physically, anyway. His personality still sucks. “But yes, I think that you would be the sweet, gentle one.”
“What on earth gave you that idea?” He leans back in his chair, crossing his hands over his chest. I would think he was upset if he wasn’t grinning at me with a mischievous sparkle in his eye.
“The way you kiss me,” I answer. “You are sweet and attentive, and it’s actually amazing. And not a hint of the brutality that I would expect from the others.”
He nods like he is expecting that answer.
“You’re not entirely wrong. When we kiss, I want to worship you and hide you from all the bad things in this world. But you should know that when I get you alone, I will do things to you that will make you wonder if I wasn’t the monster that you should be protected from.” He leans forward in his chair, his bright eyes holding mine even behind his glasses. “Trust me, angel. I will be the reason you fall from grace. And you will love very second of it and beg for more.”
Heat rises to my cheeks and floods my panties. Holy fuck, where has that come from? I am still looking for a response, any response.
Paris gives me that sexy, self-satisfied smile as he sits back in his chair with his coffee. “So, what are your plans today? More party planning?”
It takes me a moment to process the change in topic and to regain control over my hormones.
“Nope, the planner has some samples to get, and she and I will meet up tomorrow. Today I am going to do something far more important, and I was hoping to get your help.” I lean back in the padded chair with my coffee in my hands.
“What’s that?”
“I’m going to try to find out more about my mom. I was hoping you could tell me more about what she was like, especially toward the end.”
Paris regards me for a moment, like he is deciding what to tell me. Then he gazes out the window. He could be watching the cars go by, or the clouds roll in, but I don’t think he is. I think he is watching my reflection.
“How much do you want to know?” he finally says.
“Everything.” My answer is immediate.
He nods and then looks at me again, making eye contact. “Okay, but not here. There are too many ears. And what I need to tell you isn’t going to be easy to hear. So, eat your breakfast, then we will find somewhere quiet to talk.”
“I can’t eat anymore. Let’s just go find that place to talk now,” I say, standing with my cup in my hands.
Hand in hand, he leads me out to his car. We get in, and he drives away from the coffee shop to a park overlooking a picturesque lake with ducks.
“In her last few months, Freya wasn’t doing well. Perseus didn’t want to see it, but she was sick. We took her to the best doctors, of course. They said it was a condition from the drinking, and she needed to stop. She said she would, but then I would find her in the kitchen, passed out on the table, and the stove on fire.”
I gasp, but he keeps going.
“She could have gotten better. I think she chose not to. For as long as I have known her, Freya was never a cheerful person. She would laugh, of course, and I believe she loved all of us. She is the one who called us her protectors, but there was something inside her that was fractured, and that crack just kept growing. I think she got to the point where she gave up trying to fix it.”
“What do you mean, gave up?”
“The doctors gave her meds she refused to take. She would just spend all day drinking and writing in her diaries. She wouldn’t talk to us. And we all tried. A lot. I don’t think she was trying to kill herself. I just think she fell into a depression so deep she didn’t care if she could get out of it or not. Watching her fire slowly fade drove Perseus off the deep end, too, for a while.”
We sit in the car in silence for a bit. Paris’s eyes are glassy, like he is reliving all of it as I try to picture the woman he has been describing, and I just can’t.
“You said she wrote in her dairies?” I say, making Paris snap back to reality.
“Yeah,” he says after a moment. “She had a few. She never let any of us touch them. They should be in her room somewhere. You haven’t found them?”
