by Sotia Lazu
Odds are it’s the girls or someone from the hotel, but in the off chance it is him, I can’t risk letting him see me like this.
Thankfully, years of good skincare practices have conditioned me to always take my makeup off before bed, so I don’t have to deal with dried mascara blobs this morning. I ruffle my hair with my fingers so it sticks up and out, apply a quick layer of lip gloss, and throw on the bathrobe I find hanging behind the bathroom door, to avoid looking too eager.
No time to brush my teeth. A stick of gum I find in my purse will have to suffice.
I throw open the hotel-room door, and my friends pour in with all the exuberance of their twenty years, complete with annoyingly high-pitched chatter.
“When you didn’t answer at first, we thought you were still with the delicious Greek.” Noella brushes past me and not-so-discreetly sweeps the room with her gaze. “I see your night didn’t go well?” She looks pointedly at the tiny bottles scattered around the suite’s living room.
I’m apparently a wandering drunk. There’s more or less a bottle on each surface.
“My night was fine.” I leave them and go to the bedroom, to get dressed. “We had a nice drive and dinner,” I call out.
“But you wanted more.” Sylvie’s voice comes from right behind me.
I pull on a pair of underwear without removing the bathrobe, then slide the fluffy cotton off my shoulders so I can wear a fresh shirt. When I finally turn to face her, I no longer feel like admitting the truth will make me fall apart.
“I did want more,” I say. “He’s sexy and funny and smart, and when I talk, he actually listens. And he kissed me, and then ran off.” And I’m spilling my guts to a child. I’m the one supposed to be handing out romance advice here.
Sylvie leans against the wall, hands behind her back. “From what you’re telling me and what I saw yesterday, he likes you but he’s afraid.”
“Afraid?” I snort. “Have you seen that man? I can’t believe there’s anything that scares him.”
She shrugs and drops her gaze to the floor. “When I was sixteen, I was in love with Antonio.” She sounds like sixteen was ten years ago, not four. In model years, it kind of is. “He was tall and worked out a lot, and—like Mr. Delizioso—he looked fearless. We were together for two years, when I signed up with my first agency. He was supportive with his words, but he started being more distant. He got angry more easily, and we fought a lot. I was crying about it to my manager one day, and she said she saw that a lot—men are afraid of women who don’t need them. You’re an internationally known model. A top model. And he’s... a nobody.”
“He’s not a nobody.” That she’d say this makes me angry beyond reason. “Just because he’s not famous, it doesn’t mean he doesn’t matter.” Why am I so defensive of a man I barely know?
Sylvie’s cheeks turn a deep red. “I didn’t mean it like that. Fame is just hard to deal with, for people not used to it.” She blurts the words out in a single breath, panic evident in her comically wide blue eyes.
Logic and Sylvie’s obvious contrition soothe my frayed nerves. She didn’t mean it as a slight, and she’s right; Hephaestus’ world and mine are fundamentally different. Doesn’t mean we can’t be together. For a day or two, till I’m off to my next shooting location.
Long-distance relationships can work, though. Maybe if I explain—if he sees I’m not out of touch with reality—he’ll give us a shot.
Wasn’t that what I did last night, though? I wasn’t Top-Model-Fuoco, I was Laura, the Girl her Father Didn’t Appreciate. And Hephaestus didn’t seem to appreciate her that much, either.
Except for when he hopped out of his car, grabbed me, and kissed me. And when he called me smart and gorgeous. And when he said I didn’t want him. Which, by the way? Rude. No man will tell me what I do or don’t want. Not anymore.
A short denim skirt in hand, I hurry out of the bedroom and rummage through the sofa pillows for my cell phone.
“What are you doing?” Maria watches me cautiously. “Are you having a nervous breakdown? A girl I know had one of those when she gave up carbs and sleep.”
My laugh does sound a little manic. “I’m fine. I’m just going to get our minivan.”
Sylvie flops in the fluffy armchair and reaches for the room phone. “I’ll have reception call us a taxi.”
“I’m going alone.” I meet her gaze, so she knows it’s not negotiable. “But first, I need to know where I’m going.” I search online for Hephaestus auto repair Athens Greece, and a single address comes up. A glance at the map shows it’s right by the highway. This is it. I didn’t expect it to be so easy. Hephaestus must not be a common name, at least among car mechanics.
I’m so ready to confront Hephaestus, it barely takes me a couple minutes to finish getting dressed and pull on a pair of white sneakers—in case I need to chase him down—and another five to put on foundation, a layer of mascara, and a touch of cream blush. I want to show him what he’s missing out on, not remind him I can be the queen of glam. I do make sure to brush my teeth, before refreshing my lip gloss. There. All ready for him.
The cab driver is mostly quiet, until he recognizes me on a billboard and points excitedly. “This you, yes?” he asks. “Yes,” he answers before I have time to.
I wear my biggest, brightest, fakest smile, both on the billboard and in the backseat, as I repeatedly give him monosyllabic answers to questions bordering on too personal.
Am I here incognito?
No.
Am I seeing a Greek?
No.
Do I have any Greek in me?
No. Though I’d like some. I don’t say that last part aloud.
Don’t know if he realizes I’m not interested in chit chat, but he spends the rest of the ride telling me about his wife and his daughter, who wants to be a model—but he hopes she finds a real job—and how he could have become a singer but didn’t want the fame to get to his head.
I temper my irritation till we reach our destination, and then all but throw the fare at him and jump out of the car. The minivan is where we left it last night. If he hasn’t fixed it yet, can I stay and watch him do it?
“You want I wait?” the cab driver asks.
“No.” But I linger. Now that I’m seconds from seeing Hephaestus again, my mouth is dry. My bravado’s gone.
“Eh, I wait.” The driver waves me off.
I want to yell that he should respect my no and get the fuck out of here, but I can’t waste time and energy on another stubborn Greek man. I have Hephaestus to deal with.
Chapter Thirteen - Hephaestus
I SHOULDN’T HAVE OPENED the garage door this morning.
If Laura knocked, I’d have a couple heartbeats to prepare myself for seeing her again.
As things stand, the only warning I get is a sense of intense longing, unfurling in my chest.
And then, here she is. All legs and attitude, with those blazing eyes staring me down.
I clench my jaw to keep from gaping, because she looks like a fucking Amazon. My body gravitates toward her, and it takes an Olympian effort to stay still when I feel this urge to close the distance between us and kiss her till we’re both breathless. “Are you here for the minivan?” I ask. “It’s ready.”
She plants her fists on her hips. Even scowling, she’s the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. “Why did you kiss me and run away?” she asks.
Fuck. I did not expect her to confront me. How much of a coward am I, for wondering if I can have one of my brothers blink me out of here?
She throws her arms up. “Cazzo. You’re thinking of bolting again. What is the matter with you?” Her scowl deepens, and her eyes gleam silver.
Double fuck. It’s the bond, working its magic on her. For all I know, she didn’t guess I want to get out of here; she picked the thought from inside my head.
“Don’t stand there, looking at me like that.” She indicates me with a sweeping gesture of her hand. “You... You’re a b
ig, strong man, and you don’t have the... The... The coglioni”—she cups both palms between her legs—“to deal with a strong woman. Pfft.”
It’s the scornful sound that breaks my resolve. I take the handful of strides to her, until there’s only a couple centimeters between me and her heaving chest. Holding her gaze, I say, “I kissed you because I couldn’t resist you. I left because I’m wrong for you.”
I expect her to go on a rant, but she bursts out laughing. “I’m wrong for you.” She drops her voice lower and mimics my tone, her accent heavier than usual. In her normal voice, she says, “You don’t know me. You don’t know what’s right for me. I’m the only one who can decide that. I’m sick of men acting like they know what I need.” She huffs. “Now fucking kiss me, and this time, you’d better still be here when I open my eyes.”
I ought to say no. Tell her to take her minivan and get out of my face. Forget we ever crossed paths.
But I don’t want to.
I clasp her face between my palms and press my lips to hers. Gently. Slowly. I take my sweet time, massaging her lips, till she parts them and allows me to dip my tongue inside. I taste her. Savor her like the forbidden fruit she is. I swallow her breath—fresh and minty this morning—and nibble on her bottom lip, before breaking the kiss and taking a step back.
When she doesn’t open her eyes, I say, “I’m still here.”
Laura bats her eyelashes and squints up at me. “You follow directions well. I should have asked for more than a kiss, damn it.”
And if she looked at me with this haughty desire glistening in her eyes, I’d have happily obliged, only for it to come back and bite us both in the ass. “Can’t have more than this.” The words leave a foul taste on my tongue.
“And there he goes, with the cryptic shit again. You keep saying stuff like that, when your body screams otherwise.” It may be by accident that she brushes my cock with her knuckles as she pushes past me, to perch on my desk like she did yesterday. “Unfortunately for you, I love puzzles.” As she speaks, she picks up my puzzle box.
This time, I don’t stop her when I hear the click. Maybe because I’m still recovering from the bolt of electricity her touch sent through my veins. Or I’m too busy ogling her long legs and the hint of what’s between them, for the meaning of the sound to immediately register.
“Ha. Told you I could do this.” A second click, and a third, and she holds up my box.
My open box. And there’s a piece of aged, yellowed paper in it. A note?
I’m beside Laura before I realize I’m moving, and snatch it as she’s reaching for it. My fingers tremble when I unfold it under her watchful gaze, careful not to tear the fragile paper. Whatever is written here should be for my eyes only, but I don’t feel the need to hide from her. Or I simply can’t wait to read my parents’ words.
And they are my parents’ words. They’re in the same handwriting as the note they left with me at the orphanage. But it’s not the heartfelt goodbye I’ve been dreading, or the detailed explanation about why they abandoned me that I’ve been secretly hoping for.
Find Cassandra
Not even a dot in the end. That’s all my parents had to tell me, and it was so fucking important, they locked it in a box I couldn’t open for thirty five years.
I crumble the piece of paper in my fist, and open my hand again in surprise when smoke tendrils wrap around my fingers. The tiny pile of ash in it dissolves in the nonexistent breeze.
Laura’s gasp snaps me back to the present. “How did you do that?” she asks.
She doesn’t seem scared, just genuinely curious—which is what my reaction would probably be if our positions were reversed. I’d need to know the mechanics behind the miracle.
Why does it annoy me so much that she’s not reeling away from me?
Because if the display of a power I didn’t have moments ago doesn’t drive her away, fate is winning. I can’t have that. I can’t allow this perfect woman to wither away, bound to me for an eternity she doesn’t honestly desire. I’ll find this Cassandra later and figure out who she is to me. Now, I must scare Laura enough that she doesn’t come back this time.
My whole life, I’ve been told to hide who I am from mortals until we’ve all ascended. Revealing our true nature will cause trouble. Rumors spread like wildfire, especially when they’re true.
My brothers are strong enough to deal with any fallout, though, so I do what I must. Staring into Laura’s eyes, I say, “I fixed your car.”
She chortles. “That’s a non-sequitur if I ever heard one.” Her eyes mirror the light coming in through the window. How could I have thought they were black? They hold galaxies in them, as she demands, “Tell me how you did the turn-paper-to-ash thing.”
This is it. The point of no return. I suck in air through clenched teeth and say, “The same way I fixed your car. My hands are magical.” I expect her to laugh, but she circles my right wrist with both hands and turns my palm one side and then the other, brow furrowed.
Does she see things I can’t? Is that possible?
“Seriously, how did you do it?” she asks.
If I focus, can I make a flame dance between my fingers? Better not try; don’t want to risk hurting her. “I am being serious.” I force the words out, my gut twisting in on itself. I don’t want her to go. Which is exactly why she needs to. “I’m not called Hephaestus like the god. I am Hephaestus. The god. Reborn.”
She lets go, but the bond—weaving itself thicker despite my objections—allows me to move with the speed of thought and snatch both her upper arms. I didn’t control this power last night, when I ran from her, but I feel it pulsating in me now. Pouring my need to get through to her into the link tethering our minds together, I think at her, “I’m telling you the truth. I didn’t plan to ascend, but my powers are growing, and that means you need to get far away from me. Now.”
She tilts her head and studies my face. Can’t she hear me?
“I can,” she says. In my mind, she adds, “Is this a trick? If it’s not a trick, say blue.”
I bite back the smile threatening to stretch my lips, and form the word slowly. “Blue.”
“Cazzo,” she whispers. “You can read my mind?” The words echo in my ears and my head. Love her for saying what she thinks.
Love her? That’s the bond talking. Can’t fall in love with a stranger in a single day. What I meant to say was that I love that she says what she thinks. Yes. Much better. More manageable.
I take two steps back, giving her some room. “Part of the being-a-god deal.” Why isn’t she leaving? Is she in shock?
She sweeps her gaze over me. Nods. Steeples her fingers together.
Makes no other movement. No effort to get away.
What the fuck?
“You need to go.” I will her to listen, but when she hops down from my desk, it’s to come closer. Definitely in shock. I take another step back, and my calves meet the couch.
Laura keeps coming, until there’s barely any breathing room between us. The way she gazes at me is breathtaking. She licks her lips, and I can taste them. Feel her tongue brush along the tender flesh.
Gaia, this bond is annoying.
“So you’re—come si dice?—ascending to power? Like how? And why do I need to leave? Are you planning on exploding?”
I mustn’t laugh. This is serious. “No, but”—she needs to know everything, to make an informed choice—“I’m ascending because of you.” Informed choice, my ass. The only way for her to have a choice is to leave before we’re compelled to complete the bond. “You’re my soulmate—created to be with me since my first life—and if we bond, I will regain my full powers, and you’ll be bound to me forever.”
Laura scrunches her nose. “Bound? Like BDSM?”
Okay, this time, I laugh. “No, like we’ll fall in love and be together—a couple—for eternity.”
“But I’m mortal.”
“Not after I ascend. We both become immortal.”
&nb
sp; “Huh.” She chews on her bottom lip, eyes wide. “And you knew me before? In your first life? Did you love me?”
I block the rush of emotion her questions bring bubbling up in me. “From what little I recall from that time, I did.”
“So I was reborn too,” she says more to herself than me. “Do we grow old?” Is she checking items off a list?
“No,” I say.
Slow nod. Then— “And we’ll be in love? For real?”
I fall back on the couch. This isn’t going like I planned.
Laura snorts. “How you planned? I meant to come over, yell at you, possibly hate-fuck you, and storm away.”
I should focus on how effortlessly she listens in on my thoughts, but the hate-fuck bit rattles in my skull on a loop. “What’s stopping you?” I swear I meant to ask why she isn’t storming away. Should have phrased it more precisely.
“Well, I did the yelling part.” She shrugs one shoulder and bites her bottom lip.
No. No no no. No.
“Okay. I heard you the first time. Shut up.” Her gaze darkens, hurt flashing across her face, and I want to pull her to me and hold her till the end of time.
Which is the opposite of what I should be doing. There is a limit to self-restraint, though, and I’m only a couple millimeters from reaching it. “That’s not— I want you. I want you more than I’ve ever wanted a woman. More than I want my next breath. But you don’t want me.” She opens her mouth to object, and I hold up my hand. “Let me finish. You were fated to be with me. That allows you no free will. You think you want me, because you were created for me. And if we do have sex, the bond will be complete. I’ll ascend, you’ll be immortal, and you’ll be stuck with me.”
“Sex solidifies the bond?” She arches a perfect dark eyebrow.
“It does, which is why we can’t do it.” Every fiber of my being objects to this statement, but logic must prevail.
Laura’s scowl burns hotter than my touch did on that piece of paper. “You’re not thinking rationally,” she says.
Pardon? “Nobody’s accused me of that before.” If anything, I’m usually told to stop over-analyzing everything.