He smiles. “Sure.”
I zone out a little as they discuss options. It takes ten minutes before they settle on four shots and then another thirty to get pictures both Psyche and the photographer are satisfied with. He looks up from his camera. “These are great. I can have them cleaned up and to you by tomorrow.”
“Thanks.” I’m already eyeing the exit. How fast can I get my new wife out of here?
Psyche puts her hand on his arm. “It wouldn’t be amiss if you used this moment to your advantage, Claude.” She leans in, smiling sweetly. “If you’re going to sell off one of these photos, use the one at the altar, please.”
He goes a little green around the edges. “I wouldn’t… I didn’t…”
“We know how Olympus works.” She pats his shoulder. It’s a light touch, but he weaves unsteadily on his feet as if it were a right hook. “Just ensure it’s that picture or I’ll be rather upset with you.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he whispers.
“You may go now.”
We watch him practically sprint from the room. I barely wait for the door to close to start laughing. “You’re terrifying.”
“Oh, hush.”
“Truly. You fit right in with your vicious mother and your violent sisters.”
Psyche smacks my shoulder. “I am not terrifying. And let’s not throw stones when your mother took a freaking hit out on me.”
I drape an arm around her shoulders. Not because anyone is watching; simply because I want to. This easy banter between us feels good after the tension of getting all the pieces in place for the wedding. “Can you honestly tell me that your mother has never had anyone killed?”
“I—”
“Honestly, Psyche.”
She glares. “Unconfirmed.”
“Exactly. You have to be at least a little bit of a monster to survive and thrive in Olympus. That goes triply for members of the Thirteen themselves.”
“You’re not wrong, but it’s irritating all the same.” She gives the door a long look. “The upper crust of the city likes to pretend we’re more cultured or refined than anywhere else in the world, but the opposite is true. I mean, look at us. We just got married so your mother will stop trying to have me killed.”
There’s not much to say to that. She’s right. “I know.”
“So, yes, maybe we all have to be a little bit monster to survive this city.” Her eyes dim, a frown pulling at her lips. “Even more than a little bit if I’m going to be perfectly honest.”
“There’s no shame in it.” I stroke my thumb over her bare shoulder. Gods, why is she so soft? Ten years in Olympus, and she still has most of her heart intact. She’s able to mourn the small parts of herself she’s sacrificed to thrive, but the city hasn’t worn her down until she barely recognizes herself. I envy her in that. Maybe I do have some soul left, because I can’t stop myself from trying to chase away the sorrow written across her features. “You’re not one, you know.”
“Not what?”
“A monster.” I smile a little. “I would know, being a monster myself. You might move among us, but you aren’t like us at all.”
She narrows her eyes. “I can’t tell if that’s a compliment or an insult.”
“It’s a compliment. It takes someone special to live among monsters and not become one.” We’re veering into conversational depths I don’t know how to navigate. I need to get us back on safer ground. “Hungry?”
She hesitates but finally says, “Yes. I was too nervous to eat before.”
Truth be told, I was, too. It seems silly to get nerves before a real wedding for a fake relationship, but nothing about this situation is as expected. I’m not supposed to want my new wife so much that I’m practically shaking with the restraint required to keep from kissing her again.
Or, if nothing else, it should only be lust coursing through me when I think of her. I sure as fuck shouldn’t be wanting to put myself between her and anything that would put that sad look in her pretty hazel eyes.
I clear my throat. “Let’s go back up to the penthouse. I’m reasonably sure that no one will fuck with us tonight, so we might as well enjoy ourselves.”
Psyche allows me to guide her to the door and down the hallway to the elevator. “They’re not supposed to fuck with us at all, not now that we’re married.”
I didn’t want to talk about this until later, especially after I just got done trying to reassure her, but Psyche is too savvy not to notice an awkward change of subject. I already know this woman well enough to know that she won’t let me distract her. She’d rather have the full truth out in the open so we can deal with it accordingly.
It still takes far too much effort to answer honestly. “This marriage means my mother won’t be able to follow through on the threats on your life. It won’t stop her from attempting character assassination.”