“You’re not exactly convincing me with that comparison. Romeo and Juliet both died.”
“Semantics. You know I’m right.”
I rub my throat where I can still feel the burn of the alcohol and try to think my way through this. Marriages of convenience are hardly unknown in Olympus, especially among the families of the Thirteen. Everyone is constantly jockeying for power, often in the form of alliances, and using a marriage to seal an alliance is an ancient practice. It’s just… Even with my mother’s obvious machinations, I honestly thought I would avoid being married to someone who actively wants to harm me. It’s the lowest bar possible, but here we are.
“You’re serious?” I finally ask.
“Yes.”
There’s no reason for this to be an elaborate trap. He already has me in the upper warehouse district, and from the look of the streets around here, there are plenty of alleys for him to drop my dead body in with no one the wiser. I paved the way for that to happen without consequences, and I have no one to blame for my naivety but myself.
No, the only thing that makes sense is that Eros is actually offering to marry me. He’s right, in a way; if we played things correctly, we’d be untouchable. There’s little Olympus loves more than gossip. A secret marriage between Eros and me would send them into a frenzy, practically crawling over one another to ensure they’re the first to get an exclusive scoop. The buzz still going on about that single photo is more than proof of that. From there, it’s child’s play to get people on our side, rooting for us to go the distance. If someone harmed either of us at that point, Olympus would have a riot on its hands and not even the Thirteen could quell it. They’d be forced to answer some uncomfortable questions about what happens out of the sight of the public, and no one wants that.
Even Aphrodite.
So, yes, the plan might work. There’s just one glaring issue. I press my lips together and consider Eros. He’s attractive, yes, but there’s an aura of danger that even his flawless looks can’t dispel. “No one would believe that you’ve lost your head and married anyone in a whirlwind affair. You’re too cold. You don’t play the game with the media, and they resent you for it.”
“I don’t play the game because it bores me, not because I’m incapable.”
He’s confident enough that I almost believe him, but this could backfire half a dozen ways, and that’s just off the top of my head. I know I can fake it; it’s what I’ve been doing since my mother became Demeter and dragged our family out of its idyllic country life and into the snake pit that is Olympus. “Prove it.”
The change is almost instantaneous. Eros smiles at me, and it’s as if the sun just came out from behind a cloud. It warms his eyes and lights up his face. He leans across the table and takes my hands. “I love you, Psyche. Let’s get married.”
I break out in goose bumps and my heartbeat picks up until I can hear it in my ears. Even knowing this is fake, I can’t help reacting. “That’ll do, I guess,” I say faintly.
Just like that, he flips a switch and the coldness creeps back over his face and eyes. “Like I said, I can fake it.”
I don’t want to do this, but my options are between bad and worse. Which means I don’t actually have a choice. Still, I can’t help pressing him. “Why would you do this? Why not just do what your mother wants?”
“Unlike my mother, I am capable of putting my emotions aside and thinking logically.” I almost snort at that; I can’t imagine Eros having emotions in the first place. He continues, watching me closely. “Your mother will go off the deep end if something happens to you, and she’ll turn the city upside down until she finds the culprit. There’s the smallest chance she might actually figure out the trail leads back to me. That’s not my idea of a good time.”
When he puts it like that, it does makes sense. He might not be able to stop his mother, but he’s aware enough to realize that he’ll be the one paying the consequences if he goes through with this. “That’s the only reason?”
He looks away, the first sign that he might be in anything other than perfect control. “I don’t have a conscience, so don’t get any funny ideas.”
“Of course not,” I murmur.
“It feels shitty to do this after you helped me.” He speaks so softly, the words are almost lost in the general murmur of the bar around us.
I can’t decide if him acknowledging that makes this situation better or worse. It’s obviously not something I can try to use as leverage, not when he’s been very clear about his intentions. It doesn’t matter if he thinks it’s shitty; he’ll still do it. I sigh. “I’ll agree on one condition.”