He hesitated. She could see it in his eyes. But then he lowered the bow. The bow she was starting to almost be able to see. “No. If you love me already, that’s better.”
“I love you already. Whoever you are.”
Dion snorted. “What do you mean, whoever he is? He’s the fucking god of love. And when he—”
“Thanks, Dion,” Eros interrupted.
Dionysus grinned.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The man Eros and Dionysus swore was the Greek god of sky and thunder, father of gods and men and overseer of the universe, lived in a two-story row house on Ditmars Boulevard. It was small and tidy, tucked away in a row of other small and tidy houses some six or eight blocks from Annie’s apartment.
It didn’t look like anything special. And the woman who opened the door for them—middle-aged with thick, dark hair pulled into a heavy knot on the back of her head and a beautiful if severe face—looked like any number of other women one might meet on Steinway Street. At least until Annie looked into her eyes.
They were dark, set under heavy, straight brows, and they looked straight through and into her soul.
“Annie,” Eros’s voice intoned from far away, “this is Hera. Hera, Annie.”
Annie managed a curtsey. It had been decades since she’d curtsied, not since she was a little girl, but something about this woman seemed to demand it.
“Is he in?” Eros added.
Hera nodded and stood aside to let them into the house. It was dark and smelled of spices.
Dion and Ariadne followed them across the threshold, Dion with a grin. “Looking good, Hera. Not bad for five millennia!”
Hera gave him a stony stare. So stony, in fact, that Annie wouldn’t have been surprised to see Dionysus actually turn to marble. But that must be one ability Hera didn’t have, because the god of wine just kept grinning as if nothing was wrong.
Hera’s face softened a little when Ariadne came in. “Ari!” She switched into something that was probably ancient Greek, or maybe Cretan, if there was a difference. Meanwhile, Eros took Annie by the hand and pulled her down the hallway into a room on the left, where a man sat in an easy chair watching a soccer game on a big-screen TV.
He grinned in greeting. “Ross! Good to see you!”
“Likewise,” Eros said and pulled Annie up to stand beside him. “This is Annie. Annie, this is Zeus.”
She smiled tentatively and wiggled her fingers.
The father of the gods looked much like any other middle-aged Greek man in Astoria. Zeus looked to be about as tall as Eros, a bit broader in the shoulders and slightly thicker around the middle, but with the same short-cropped curly hair and olive skin. And it was easy to see what had allowed him to cut a wide swath through ancient Greece in the old days, seducing goddesses, nymphs, and mortals alike. He was handsome, charming, and exuded sex appeal, from the sensual set of his mouth to the twinkling dark eyes that examined her with appreciation.
“Another one?” he asked Eros.
Eros squeezed her hand. “This one’s the last one.”
“That’s what you said last time, too.” The god of thunder looked beyond them to Dion, just coming through the doorway on their heels. “Dionysus.”
“Zeus.” Dion’s voice was cautious, just as Zeus’s had been. Maybe Ross really had told her the truth about Hera and Silenus and Dion’s childhood. And the resemblance between the two men was easy to see: the square jaw, the straight brows, the powerful build.
At this point, she wasn’t entirely sure what to think. About any of it. Back there in front of The Plaza Hotel, Eros had seemed to do what he said he could do. Two very unlikely people—a short, geeky redhead and a tall, willowy, drop-dead-gorgeous woman; two people she had pointed out—had taken one look at each other and exchanged telephone numbers, right there on Central Park South. Something had definitely happened to them, and she had a hard time believing it was coincidence. Ross couldn’t have known she’d pick those two. She’d done her very best to pick the two least likely people she saw.
And he didn’t act like he was insane. The others didn’t, either. They’d answered all her questions in a very matter-of-fact way. There’d been nothing strange about any of it, and no red flags…other than the fact that they claimed to be the old Greek gods of Olympus—and Crete, in Ariadne’s case—living it up in New York as bar owners and matchmakers and—God save her—private investigators.
And now here they were, in what was supposed to Zeus’s house, to see if he’d marry them.
On the upside, if it all turned out to be an enormous, elaborate joke, she wouldn’t really be married after all. Not in the eyes of the law. There’d be nothing to keep her from packing up her belongings and heading back to Ohio.
Only Ross.
Yes, dammit. Because, God help her, in spite of everything—in spite of that fact that he might be as nutty as a fruitcake or might be having a grand joke at her expense—she wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of her life with him. Whoever and whatever he was.
“We want to get married,” Eros said.
Zeus looked at him. And at Annie. And at Eros again. “You said that last time, too. We both know how that worked out.”
“It wasn’t real last time,” Eros said. “This is different.”
“That’s what they all say.”
Ross clenched his fist, the one that wasn’t holding her hand. “It was the damned arrow, okay? This time it isn’t.”
Zeus lifted a brow. “Come again?”
“The arrow. I poked myself with the fucking arrow and fell in love with Psyche. This time I fell in love without the arrow. That means it’s real.”
“Who told you that?” Zeus asked, interest coloring his voice.
“Brita.”
“Ah.” Zeus’s lips quirked. “The fair Britomartis. Where is she?” He looked around, as if hoping to see Brita appear out of nothingness.
“Taking care of a mortal I had to shoot,” Eros said. “Twice.”
“Had to?”
“Long story. I accidentally shot her, too, while I was at it. Annie and I want to get married.”
“Yes,” Zeus said, “I heard you the first time. Give me one good reason why I should marry you again? I told you last time it wouldn’t last.”
“It lasted three thousand years!”
“Yes,” Zeus said, “but three thousand years isn’t very long, is it? I should know. I’ve been married a lot longer than that.” The look he shot at the door intimated that they hadn’t all been happy years, either. Or even happy centuries.
“I’ll give you a reason,” Dionysus said, and his father turned to him, wariness in his eyes. “If you don’t, I’ll tell my evil stepmother about that mortal you were cozying up to in the bar last week. Remember her? Pretty young thing with brown hair and long legs? A kindergarten teacher?”
Zeus’s eyes flashed. “You threatening your old man, boy?”
“She came back last night looking for you,” Dion said. “And if you don’t marry Ross and Annie, I’ll slip Hera her name, address, and phone number on my way out.”
Zeus stared at him in a way that made Hera’s look from earlier seem almost loving, but Dion didn’t even flinch. “So,” he said, “what’ll it be?”
Zeus turned to Eros. “You sure this is what you want? You just escaped three millennia of ball and chain.”
Ross’s voice was steady. “I’m sure.”
“You?” Zeus looked at Annie. She nodded, not entirely certain she could trust her voice.
“Speak up!”
“Yes.” Her voice wobbled, and she had to take a breath and clear her throat. “I’m sure.”
“Fine.” He waved a hand. “You’re married.”
Ross smiled. Annie blinked at him. “That’s it?”
“What did you expect, girl?” Zeus barked. “Thunder and lightning? Confetti raining down?”
He waved a hand, and on the television screen, there was a deafening clap of thund
er, and then rain pelted the soccer field.
Or maybe not rain. Tiny pieces of paper swirled through the air.
“I told you,” Eros said. “He’d ask a couple questions, we’d say a couple of things, and that’d be it.”
“But…” Surely it couldn’t be real, if all she’d had to do was say that she was sure?
“It’s what you make of it that matters, girl,” Zeus said. He glanced at Eros. “He trusts you. Don’t let him down.”
She shook her head.
“We’re going to need—” Eros began.
“Yeah, yeah.” Zeus leaned over and opened the cabinet under the TV. He fished out a wine bottle, but instead of handing it to Eros, he fixed the other man with a bright gaze. “How’s Brita doing, boy?”
“Brita’s fine,” Eros said, hoping he was right and that she wasn’t planning to strangle him with her bare hands tomorrow for accidentally hitting her with the arrow.
Zeus grinned. “Oh, she is. She certainly is.”
“Not like that.” You old goat.
“Sure, sure,” Zeus said, nodding. “Don’t suppose you’d consider putting in a good word for me, would you, boy?” He winked.
No way in Hades. Except…if Eros refused, Zeus wouldn’t give him the ambrosia. And he needed it for Annie.
Zeus glanced meaningfully at the bottle in his lap, and Eros gritted his teeth. Hadn’t he messed around with Brita enough lately? Surely he didn’t have to pimp her out to the god of thunder, too, to get what he wanted?
“Did I happen to mention the pictures?” Dion asked into the silence.
There was a beat before Zeus breathed in and out through his nose. Loudly. “Pictures?”
“Of you and the kindergarten teacher.” Dion grinned, but it wasn’t a very nice grin. “I had Alastor wire the snug with hidden cameras and microphones. Just in case. Welcome to the twenty-first century, old man.”
Zeus scowled, but he seemed to know when he was beat. “There.” He shoved the bottle at Eros. “Take it home and celebrate. I’m sure you can think of something to do.”
Undoubtedly. “Thank you,” Eros said politely. He turned to Annie. “Ready?”
She nodded.
“See you around,” Dionysus said, and headed for the door, “Dad.”
Zeus didn’t answer. His attention was already back on the game.
…
They picked up Ariadne on the way out—sans the sunglasses now—and Eros couldn’t help but notice that her eyes were more bloodshot than he was used to seeing them, and also a bit puffy. Lack of sleep last night, like the rest of them? Or was something more on her mind?
“Gimme that,” Dionysus said as soon as they were clear of the row house and back on the sidewalk. He made a grab for the bottle.
Eros let go reluctantly. “Careful. That stuff’s invaluable.” And if they broke the bottle and the invaluable ambrosia dribbled into the sewer, he doubted he could talk Zeus into giving him another bottle. Dionysus’s blackmail would only take him so far. Once Zeus figured out that Dion would rather keep the knowledge to hold over Zeus’s head than share it with Hera, the threat would cease to be effective. And that was if the pictures existed at all, and Dion hadn’t made the whole thing up.
“That’s why I want it,” Dion said and lifted the bottle. “Hmm.”
“What?”
“Trying to figure out what it is.”
“You know what it is.”
“Yes,” Dion said, “but I don’t know what’s in it. And I want to know. If I can figure out how to bottle this stuff, we won’t have to go to dear old Dad every time we need some immortal juice.”
He had a point. “Can you?”
Dion shrugged. “I can try. Just let me pour some off when we get to your place, and Ari and I’ll go get busy.” He grinned at her.
The look she gave him wasn’t as stony as Hera’s, but it was getting close. “Someone has to check on Brita and Harry. You can get busy with someone else.”
“You wound me,” Dion said, clutching at his heart with his empty hand.
She snorted.
At the agency, they greeted George—now that Annie had mentioned George Hamilton, Eros couldn’t help but examine the dog for any resemblance, and rather to his surprise, thought he could see one—while Dion poured some of the ambrosia into a cup with a lid. “I’ll take this to Alastor,” he said, holding it up to the light and peering at it, “and see if maybe he can help me figure out what’s in it.”
Eros nodded. “Let me know how it goes.”
“Oh, believe me.” Dion grinned. “If I can pull one over on dear old Dad, you’ll be the first to know.”
“Thanks for your help back there.”
“Don’t mention it,” Dion said. “I live for the opportunity to stick it to people. In all sorts of ways.”
Right.
The god of wine departed with his ambrosia and with the minor goddess of the labyrinth, and Eros turned to his wife. “How do you feel?”
She blinked. “I’m not sure. We’re not really married, are we?”
“We are, actually. You haven’t changed your mind, have you? Because it’s too late if you have.”
She shook her head, although she was biting her lip. “I thought it would feel more…real.”
“It’ll feel more real once we toast,” Eros said and turned to the cabinet. “Here. Take the glasses.” He handed them to her—two champagne glasses, like the ones they’d left behind at The Plaza Hotel three hours ago. The ambrosia poured out in an amber stream, thicker than champagne.
“What is it?” Annie asked, watching with fascination and a bit of wariness.
Eros glanced at her. “Nectar of the gods. You had a sip the other night, remember?”
She nodded. “What’s so special about this bottle? Why did you need him to give you this one if you had your own?”
“This is the good stuff.” The stuff only Zeus had. And Dionysus, if he and Alastor managed to come up with the secret recipe.
“The other stuff was good, too.” Annie licked her lips, and he lost his train of thought for a second. Then she added, “What does it do?”
“You’ll become immortal,” Eros said.
She stared at him. “You know, that’s probably what that nutcase said about the Kool-Aid.”
She had a point. The world was full of nutcases, and the story he’d told her wasn’t something you heard everyday. No wonder she had a hard time believing.
He put the bottle down. “You’re right.”
“I am?”
“You don’t have to drink it. At least not right now. Maybe you should think about it. We’re married. We can stay married for the rest of your life even if you don’t drink.”
“The rest of my life?”
He nodded.
“But I’ll die, right? If I don’t drink? I’ll get older and eventually I’ll die.”
No way around that. “Yes.”
“While you stay the way you are.”
He nodded. If nothing else, she seemed to have come to terms with his immortality, even if she was still struggling with her own.
She glanced at the glass, her teeth sinking into the plumpness of her bottom lip. “What happens if I drink?”
“We stay married forever,” Eros said.
She shot him a quick look before turning her attention back to the glass again. “Forever?”
“Well…until the world ends or you decide to leave me, whichever comes first.” And gods, he wanted that. To spend all his days with Annie and all his nights making love to her, until the end of time.
But he’d take what he could get. If that was the next forty or fifty years, he’d take it and be glad. His days of making up anyone’s mind for him or her were over. This had to be Annie’s decision, and hers alone.
Even so, he couldn’t stop himself from adding, “I love you.”
She looked up at him, startled, before her lips curved. “I love you, too.”
“I just want
to be with you. For however long you’ll have me.”
“Forever,” Annie said. She hesitated for another moment, and then she picked up a glass. And looked at him. “Now what?”
He took the other one and held it up. “Now we drink. To us. Together. Forever.”
“To us,” Annie said, and touched her glass to his. “Together forever.”
He lifted the glass to his lips and took a sip, watching as she did the same. It tasted just like the other ambrosia. With, perhaps, a little kick of something extra. Something like…anise seed? Licorice?
Whatever it was, it made Annie scrunch up her face and wrinkle that pert little nose. Ross could feel his lips curve. “Don’t you like it?”
“It’s all right.” She took another sip and made another grimace. “I liked the other kind better.”
“From now on, you can have the other kind.” He drained his glass and put it back on the counter.
“I don’t care,” Annie said. “If drinking this means I can have you, then I’ll drink it. Every day if I have to.”
She emptied her glass, too, and put it down on the counter next to his. “Now what?”
“Now,” Eros said, and caught her against him, “we celebrate.”
“How?” She was all big eyes and innocence, but he could tell she was laughing at him inside.
“Up here.” He boosted her up on the edge of the counter and stepped between her thighs.
“At least move the bow and arrows out of the way first,” Annie began, reaching out to do just that. And then those perfect lips formed a perfect O when she realized she could actually see them.
Eros chuckled. “Careful.”
She pulled her hand back. “Why?”
“Don’t want you to scratch yourself. You might fall in love with George.”
She glanced at the dog, wagging his tail at her from down on the floor. “I already love George.” She wound her arms around Eros’s neck. “I already love you, too.”
“Glad to hear it. I’ll put them in the closet later.” He skimmed his hands under her furry sweater and up. It was just as soft as he’d imagined, but nowhere near as soft as the skin underneath.
“Why?” Annie asked, arching into the touch.
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