Utter Cupidity

by Toni L. Meilleur

  “How can you sit there so calmly?!” Psyche demanded as she and Eris looked down into the scrying bowl that sat between them. They’d been waiting for hours to see when Cupid and Brea would eventually emerge from the condo. “Wait, there they are!” she squealed, reaching across, patting Eris’s shoulder in excitement.

  Eris shrugged, stopping Psyche from touching her. She might be in the woman’s company but it didn’t mean she wanted her touching her. “Calm, down!” Eris wished for the millionth time that she had someone a bit saner to work with. “Let’s follow.” Without waiting for Psyche, Eris disappeared.

  “Why is it that I’ve lived in Canton for quite awhile and you keep finding these places I didn’t know existed?” Brea asked, looking around the beautiful Italian restaurant. Large oak barrels lined the walls, giving the restaurant an Old World feel. Each chair was plush and covered in material Brea knew was quite expensive. A small band of musicians played an authentic Italian piece complete with rich vocals.

  The waiters and waitresses served in what looked to be tailor-made tuxedos. The centerpieces on each table were unique, none were duplicated. Their table in particular boasted a small fountain that Brea could only guess ran on batteries. Two large pillar candles sat on each side of the fountain. It was breathtakingly romantic.

  “Over the years I have made some very useful business acquaintances. Places like this aren’t available to the general public.” Jordan played with the edge of the cloth napkin on the table.

  “You mean poor people,” Brea cut to the chase.

  “Yes, I guess you could say that.” Jordan grinned somewhat sheepishly. “I have nothing against poor people and I am not a snob,” Jordan replied, sipping his water.

  “I never said you were.” Brea smirked. “I think you’re basically a nice guy.”

  “Really?” Jordan’s eyebrows perked up in interest. “What else do you think of me, Brea?”

  Brea was caught off guard with the direct question. She was still wrestling with the fact that she’d fallen in love with a man she didn’t know all that well. She wasn’t going to go gushing her feelings about him.

  “I think you’re decent, and you can be quite romantic and thoughtful,” Brea began carefully. “I also think that despite the fact that you were once married, you really don’t know how to have a relationship outside of the bedroom.”

  Jordan looked at her with intense interest. “What makes you say that? You haven’t enjoyed my company these past few days?”

  “Of course I have. I know I’ve forgiven you for that debaucle in Ashe Bay but I can’t help but think you did what you did and said what you said because you were afraid of this thing between us leading to something.” Brea shrugged. “It was strange, you didn’t seem like yourself. Not that I claim to know you all that well,” she added hurriedly, she didn’t want to give him the impression that she considered herself an expert on his personality and habits.

  “I’m hoping you will get to make that claim,” he said softly. “I want us to get to know each other. I like being with you, Brea.”

  “And I like being with you as well. But we have to take this thing slowly, Jordan. It’s not like either of us is in a rush to walk down the aisle. We have time.” Brea reached across the table and stopped his hand from fiddling with the napkin. “I trust you, Jordan, and this is a lot for me.”

  “I hate it when she touches him.” Psyche rolled her eyes. “She acts like she has a right to touch what is mine.” They peered into the restaurant window, unseen by human eyes. Cupid sat with his back to the window.

  “Sssh!” Eris shot daggers at Psyche. “The waiter is bringing the wine.”

  Eris and Psyche looked eager as the wine was being served. Eris, with a flick of her black-tipped fingers sent the poison into Brea’s glass of wine and smiled. The mortal thanked the waiter and took a sip of the wine and smiled. “Have you picked out your new wedding dress?” she said to Psyche, genuinely interested.

  “No, how much time do I have?” Psyche asked excitedly at the prospect of shopping.

  “Roughly two to three days,” Eris replied. “It works slowly, but it’s very thorough.”

  “Oh good then! I can get one custom made.”

  Cupid had felt their presence. It took everything in him not to turn and confront them. The one thing he wanted more than being with Brea right now was strangling both Eris and Psyche. He’d known that soon enough the both of them would cross a line. Then just as quickly as they had come, they had gone. He returned his full attention to Brea and sighed inwardly.

  The plan was to satisfy Brea’s thirst for getting out of the house and get her back to his home, before Eris and Psyche could cause real unforeseen damage. All through dinner his mind kept rewinding to the news of those two witches out to hurt Brea. His Brea. He thought of her belonging to him—no that wasn’t entirely true, he thought of her more as belonging with him.

  Cupid couldn’t help but fall victim to the way her hazel eyes sparked with excitement when she talked of things that meant a lot to her. A sobering thought entered his head. What if she somehow found out what he was and the purpose for the courtship? He would never see her look at him this way again. He had little over a week to get her to agree to marry him and she didn’t seem too keen on trusting him entirely for a relationship.

  He was tired of hiding who he was. He wanted her trust and love. Love? Cupid hid the wave of panic that flowed through him as he sat across from Brea. The god of desire in love? With a mortal? Again? It was a Greek tragedy waiting to happen to him. He couldn’t love Brea. But as he sat there listening to her and loving everything about her from her curly hair to her fast red-hot temper, he knew. Sons of Zeus! He had fallen in love!

  Twenty-Two: The company we keep…

  “You’ve been quiet since we left the restaurant,” Brea observed as she slid out of the uber cute, painful sexy heels. She rubbed her feet, apologizing to them for the torture. “Is something wrong?”

  Jordan had thrown his shirt to the floor and released his blond tresses only to run worried fingers through them. He kicked off his shoes. “I’m fine, just doing some mental adjusting,” he replied with this back to her, looking out of the bedroom window.

  “This is too much,” Brea said suddenly, going for her tennis shoes under the bed. Jordan turned to look at her curiously.

  “What is too much?”

  Brea, having rescued both shoes from under the bed, stood with one in each hand waved them wildly in affectation. “Us. This, this living together. Sleeping together. It’s too much too soon, you’re overwhelmed.” She shed the red dress and began looking through the new bags of clothing for something to wear. “I understand. Listen I’m sure I can stay with Lindie. Her grandmother should be gone by now, or I can stay at a hotel.”

  She pulled out the light blue sweats and began to dress. “I didn’t ask you to go,” Jordan said quietly.

  Brea paused in her dressing. “You haven’t asked me to stay either.” She slid the sweatshirt over her head and the sneakers on her feet.

  “I like you here, Brea, I want you to stay. What’s going on inside my head is my problem and mine alone.” Jordan crossed the room as she swept up her purse, looking for her car keys.

  “It’s my problem, because I am the cause of it, I know it.” Brea delved inside of her purse and triumphantly pulled out the keys. “Look, it’s no big deal. We moved too fast, we took this someplace we shouldn’t have.”

  “Don’t go.” He tried to capture her in a hug but she wiggled away. “Brea.”

  “Tell me what’s bothering you isn’t about me, Jordan. Tell me it has nothing to do with me and I’ll stay.” Brea stood in front of him her car keys in her hands, ready to stay or ready to go at his words. “Just tell me the truth.”

  There it was. The truth. He couldn’t lie to her. It did have something to do with her, everything to do with her, but not in the way she thought. “Brea,” he began.

  “Just the truth, no
fancy words or explanations. Better yet, answer me this with a yes or no. Am I the reason you’re doing this mental adjusting?” The room was so quiet, it echoed both their breathing.

  “Yes,” Jordan said at last. “But let me…”

  “No need. I’ll be in touch.” Brea was out the bedroom in a blink. He could have easily stopped her. But what then? A full confession? She would certainly want to know and right now wasn’t the time. The door slammed, and his heart slammed simultaneously against his chest. He wanted to roar in anger and frustration until his voice gave out.

  He paced the bedroom until he needed more than pacing. Cupid left the condo through the back entrance. Since it was a newly built unit he had no worries of neighbors sitting on their patios. He flexed his wings, and took off in the night sky.

  Brea had no idea how she got out of the condo. Her vision was blurred with tears. This is what she had feared and been waiting for, the other shoe to drop. After getting into her car, she sat behind the wheel and just let the tears flow free. She couldn’t just stay there. If Jordan looked out of the window he would see the weak woman that she was sitting in the car crying. Brea made it as far as around the corner, behind the condos, and slumped in her seat.

  They had moved too fast. No, that wasn’t the real problem—the problem was she should have never forgiven him in the first place. She should have stuck to her resolution of keeping things nothing but business. But he would look at her with those electric blue eyes, and just the proximity of him made her want to reach out and touch him. He somehow bewitched her.

  A thin light came from the back of one of the balconies, obviously someone had opened and shut a door. Brea looked up not really interested, but drawn to the light. There Jordan stood as if he were surveying the area around him. Then, to Brea’s astonishment, stark white wings appeared behind him and flexed. In mere seconds he had leapt into the air, and the large wings beat furiously, carrying him skyward.

  Brea sat in her car for three solid minutes before she remembered to close her mouth. Her mind had gone blank except for the one mantra, I didn’t just see that, I didn’t just see that… Brea shook her head, trying to will the outlandish thought from her head. Jordan some winged creature of the night? She was stressed, stressed beyond her normal limits. With all that had been happening to her lately it was no wonder her mind went out to lunch.

  Even as she convinced herself that she didn’t see what she saw, Brea got out of her car and headed around to the front of the house. It was then that she remembered the old lady’s words, “Oh I see. You’re not a believer. No matter, life will make a believer out of you.” Her legs were stiff, her brain on autopilot. She had to prove to herself that she wasn’t crazy. Or at the very least that she was, and that she should seek medical help immediately. Opening the door to the condo, Brea took a deep breath and went inside.

  It hadn’t helped. The faster he flew, the more he raged against himself for hurting Brea—again. He had been caught unawares by his realization that he loved her. He certainly could have handled things better. He would have to find her, beg her to return. Sweat poured off of him from his rigorous flight. In seconds he would be home, he would shower and find Brea. He would tell her how much he loved her, and hope that it worked out.

  He landed without sound on bare feet. Cupid stretched his wings one last time, preparing to put them away when a soft gasp caught his ear. Cupid turned, tracing the sound to a shadowed corner of the balcony. His sharp vision picked up something he should have picked up before had he not been so self-absorbed. Brea.

  She stepped forward, shock in every nuance of her expression. Her hands curled and uncurled by her sides. Her head shook slowly in defiance as she looked at his wings. She made a wide berth around him, swallowing hard before she spoke. “I’m not seeing this. These can’t be real.” No matter, life will make a believer out of you. The words reverberated in her head.

  Brea reached out and lightly touched the edge of one of his wings. “This feels real, Jordan.” Her voice cracked. “What—I don’t understand.” She fingered a feather in astonishment. If it weren’t for the tense situation he would have reveled at the feel of her soft hands on his wings.

  “I was going to tell you,” he began, not sure how or even where to start.

  “Tell me what, Jordan? What are you?” She took a step back as if he suddenly posed a threat to her. Jordan cringed at the last question.

  He made his wings shimmer out of view, thinking that perhaps if she weren’t so focused on seeing them right in front of her, it would make it easier to talk to her. She gasped again, and moved even further out of his reach. “I won’t hurt you, Brea, you know that.”

  “I know nothing,” Brea whispered, still looking at the spot where his wings had been.

  “Let’s go inside, and I’ll make coffee. We can talk…”

  “I don’t want to go inside.” Brea hugged herself. “Just tell me, what are you?”

  If ever there was a loaded question. Where did he start? What could he possibly start off with that wouldn’t make her bolt? He took a step back, trying to give her a sense of security through distance. It hurt him to think that she believed him capable of harming her.

  “Before I start, I need you to promise me something.” He leaned against the brick wall.

  “I can’t promise you anything,” Brea replied with a shaky voice.

  Cupid considered her words for a moment. “Fine, then at least try to hear me out—all of it.” He looked closely at her. She looked ready to bolt right now.

  “I—I can try.”

  It was something, Cupid decided. “I am often referred to in human history books as a god.” He paused, waiting for her to run, her eyes enlarged, but still she stayed glued to her spot. He didn’t know if it was out of sheer terror or interest. “I am an immortal, at least one type.” Maybe if she realized there were more supernatural creatures out there he would look a lot less frightening. Wrong, she paled even more.

  “How old are you?” she asked in a small voice.

  “Older than most civilizations,” he said with a wry grin. “Brea, come inside, this is not the place to—”

  “What are you?” She jerked her head, indicating the wings that were now absent.

  He couldn’t lie to her and her question was direct. There was no wriggle room in it whatsoever. Cupid sighed regretfully. Things were going all wrong, so fast. “I am what your history refers to as a Greek god. Though I go by different names, depends on the culture.”

  “Which one?” she said after a long scrutinous pause.

  Cupid stood straight then and walked the few paces toward her so she could see clearly. He turned his arms supine, so that what she thought were tattoos faced her. “The golden arrows are for inspiring love, the black to end or repel.” He shimmered his wings into view, displaying them proudly. “I am the god of desire.”

  Brea looked at him, her hazel eyes swam with unshed tears. “You are Cupid,” she said as the revelation swamped her. “What could you possibly want with me?”

  “That’s not an easy question to answer.” Cupid begged her with his eyes to give him a chance to explain.

  “It seems pretty direct to me,” Brea answered, her strong personality surfacing as she began to absorb the shock.

  “Seems pretty direct to me too,” came another annoying voice.

  The evening just officially got worse. He had made sure his house was protected to make sure no one could just drop in unannounced, unfortunately, they were outside and things were fair game. Cupid looked to see Psyche perched on the railing, running her fingers through her long tresses. Her green eyes stared at him with ill concealed jealousy.

  Brea turned as well, her eyes growing round at the sight of the woman who had quite literally come out of nowhere. “Who are you?” Brea asked the woman. “And where did you come from?”

  The woman jumped off the railing and smoothed her slacks. Her heels made a slight clicking sound on the patio. “I’m h
is wife,” she said cheerfully.

  “Ex-wife,” Cupid corrected her. “Get out of here, Psyche,” he warned her.

  “Oh, come on now, your little mortal friend here asked me a question.” She turned to Brea, flicking her shiny blonde hair over her shoulders. “Technically I just came from Mount Olympus. I was looking down at this through the scrying bowl, but thought it would be much more interesting watching it live. Like a play,” she squealed, clapping her hands together. “I must say, up close and personal you do look really pissed and hurt. Cupid can do that really well, piss people off. That’s kind of where you come in—”

  “Shut up!” Cupid roared at her surprising Brea with his anger, but not Psyche. Psyche giggled like a schoolgirl.

  “Oh, I think he’s really mad now.” Psyche waved her hand in the air to dismiss his anger. “He’ll get over it, now where was I? Oh yes, I was telling you about the trouble Cupid here got into.”

  “Shut up, Psyche, the Council won’t look on your interference too kindly,” he warned again, taking a step forward.

  “Oh please, they have bigger fish to fry, namely you.” She pointed at Cupid and smiled hard.

  “I won’t warn you again.” Cupid lifted his arm with the black arrow. “I will see to it that you never find love of any sort with anyone, for the rest of your immortal days.”

  “Oh, Cupid, you’re so dramatic!” Psyche giggled again, but clearly she had taken heed to his warning. “Oh well, I have to go. I have a dress to shop for.” She winked conspiratorially at Cupid. He looked at her with nothing short of disgust. “Don’t forget to tell her why you pursued her, and remember, you can’t lie.” Then she was gone.

  Brea just looked at him. Finally she cleared her throat. “This evening has been a bit much for me.” She inched toward the patio door that led into the house. “I need to think, I need time to digest this.”