“‘When she calms down’ is one rather large caveat.” A puppy appears in Persephone’s screen, a cute little black mutt that licks her chin and makes an eager yipping sound. She pets his head distractedly. “Not now, Cerberus. I’m talking.”
Callisto curses. “This is bullshit. I’m not supporting this.” She hangs up before I can get a word in edgewise.
Eurydice shakes her head. “I’m sorry, Psyche. But you’re going to regret doing this. I can’t support it, either.” She hangs up, too.
I bite back a sigh. It’s no less than I expected, but hope springs eternal. Persephone is still petting Cerberus in a contemplative way. She finally says, “I trust your judgment. I don’t think this is the right course, but I suspect you’re not telling me everything. Last night, you were tagged in half a dozen posts around town with Hermes, and this morning, surprise, you’re marrying the son of our mother’s enemy.”
It’s everything I can do to keep my guilt off my face. “To be fair, half the Thirteen are Mother’s enemies.”
She doesn’t smile. “You went along with me when I asked for your support while I stayed with Hades after fleeing Zeus. You gave me the time and trust I needed to figure things out. It’d be hypocritical in the extreme not to support you right now, too.”
I snort. “I’m so glad you’ve come to that conclusion.”
“Hey, I love you and I’m worried about you. I am really tempted to come pull a Callisto, break down his door, and haul you over the river to the lower city.”
If I thought for a second that would work… But it won’t. Persephone already told me that she’s seen Eros in the lower city, and even revoking his invitation might not be enough to keep him out. It’s difficult to cross the River Styx without an invitation, but it’s not impossible. The barrier in place is a slightly weaker version of the one that surrounds Olympus as a whole. Like Poseidon with the external barrier, Hades has some control over who comes and goes from the upper city to the lower city. It’s not a perfect system, though.
Not to mention the fact that Eurydice and Callisto are here, both ideal backup targets for Aphrodite’s wrath. Next time she orders one of Demeter’s daughter dispatched, Eros might not take the time to have a conversation. He might simply strike.
I can’t let that happen.
“I want this,” I repeat for what feels like the twelfth time.
“If you change your mind, we’ll get you out.” No telling if she’s talking about her and her husband or her and our sisters, but neither option is a good idea. “We’ll be at the wedding, though. Hades and I.” Persephone hesitates. “Do you want me to try to convince Callisto and Eurydice to come as well?”
“No, it’s okay.” I can’t blame them for not wanting to attend our sham of a marriage ceremony, even if it stings. “But if you could invite Mother out to brunch, I’d really appreciate it. I need to get my things from the penthouse, and I can’t do that if I run the risk of seeing her there.” Time might have tempered my mother’s impulse control, but Callisto comes by her rage honestly. I wouldn’t put it past the two of them to lock me in my room until I see reason, which would just make this situation even messier.
“Consider it done. I’ll text you when it’s confirmed.”
“Thank you.”
She gives me a small smile. “Be careful, Psyche. Eros is dangerous in the extreme.”
I understand that far better than she ever will. I try for a smile in return. “I know. He’s a monster. But after tonight, he’s my monster.”
We hang up pretty quickly after that, and I take a few minutes to try to put my appearance to rights. Eros, thankfully, has a whole cabinet full of hair and skin products, but most of it is unfamiliar to me. I comb my hair and twist it up into a messy-chic crown around my head. I keep a small selection of makeup in my purse for touch-ups, which is a lifesaver right now. By the time I exit the bedroom, I look like a woman who just had an unexpected sleepover with her partner but still put together. It will have to do.
A divine smell draws me into the kitchen to find Eros finishing up a hash with potatoes, peppers, and fried eggs. It’s heavier than what I’d normally eat for breakfast, but I accept the plate he passes over and take a seat on one of the stylish iron stools that flank the kitchen bar. They’re not exactly comfortable, but they are pretty. I take a few bites, enough that Eros stops watching me and digs into his own meal.
We eat in a strangely comfortable silence, interspersed by our respective phones buzzing with notifications every few seconds. Eros gives his a dirty look. “How do you put up with this shit?”