Goddess of Light (Goddess Summoning #3)(40)

"I don't mind. I like to hear your mind flitting about."

"Well, that's" - she paused, watched him carefully for signs that he was being sarcastic or making fun of her - "unusual of you. Most men find it distracting."

"Really?" He shook his head. "I think I have already said that quite often men are fools."

"And I have already agreed with you on that point."

They smiled at each other. On impulse, she raised her glass to him.

"To a man who is not a fool."

"That is a toast I am pleased to join you in." He laughed and touched his glass to hers. "Now tell me about this sketch you created. Are you an artist, too? Or is it like understanding architecture - you must have a working ability of it to properly do your job?"

His question pleased her - it showed that he'd actually listened to what she'd said yesterday - as did the attentive way he waited for her to answer.

"I love to sketch, and I'm even passable with watercolors, but I'm definitely not good enough to be considered an artist. But you're right. It is like the importance of understanding the rudiments of architecture in my job. It's also important that I am competent enough artistically that I can create mock-ups for carpenters or upholsters, or even sculptors so that they can get a tangible grasp of what my clients want."

Slowly, both of Apollo's brows raised, and his gaze turned to the monstrous fountain in the courtyard before them.

Pamela followed his gaze, breathed a long-suffering sigh, and nodded. "Yes, you guessed it. This particular client wants a reproduction of that in the courtyard of his vacation home."

"Are you quite certain you heard him correctly?" Apollo stared at the gushing monolith. His eyes kept being drawn back to the atrocious copy of himself.

"More than quite. Actually, what I was doing today was trying to come up with a more tasteful compromise, but he insists that I keep Bacchus as the center statue." She shuddered. "I'm going to have to figure out some way to change his mind. I did manage to get rid of the awful side statues, though."

Apollo looked quickly back at her.

"You mean the statues of Caesar and Artemis and..." His voice faltered on his own name.

"Apollo," Pamela offered. "That one with the big head and the harp is supposed to be the Sun God."

Apollo was careful to keep his expression neutral. "Actually, Apollo is more accurately called the God of Light, and the instrument he is holding is a lyre, not a harp."

"Huh," Pamela said, studying the statue. "I didn't know there was a difference. That's right, you're a musician, aren't you? All I know is that it glows neon green when the horrid thing comes alive."

"Yes." He tried not to cringe. "So I've heard."

Eyes still focused on the statue, Pamela said, "I didn't know Apollo was called the God of Light. I thought he was the Sun God."

"That is what the Romans insisted upon calling him, but to the Greeks he will forever be their God of Light, bringer of medicine, music, poetry, and truth."

"Truth?"

"Yes, truth was very important to Apollo. He was one of the few Olympians who found dissembling and subterfuge offensive."

"I had no idea. I thought all of the mythological gods were supposed to be impulsive and self-serving. I think I remember one of my English teachers describing them as playboys and womanizers."

Apollo cleared his throat and shifted in his chair uncomfortably. "The gods are... were certainly passionate, and passion can sometimes lead to impulsive, self-serving acts. Also, you must remember that in the Ancient World it was considered a privilege to be loved by a god, particularly the God of Light."

"Oh, so what you mean is just because Apollo told the truth, that doesn't mean that he knew how to be faithful."

Apollo frowned and wasn't sure what to say. He wanted to defend himself, but he couldn't. Pamela was right. He'd been truthful but never faithful. He had never before had any desire to be.

"So, is mythology one of your hobbies?"

"I think you would call it more of a passion than a hobby," Apollo said with a slight smile. "I do know enough about it to assure you that the God of Light's lyre did not glow green when he played it, and his head was not that big."

Pamela grinned. "I'm glad to hear it. I don't know how he could possibly have been a womanizer looking like that."

"Did you know that some ancient texts report that Apollo found love?" He spoke quickly, before common sense caught up with his voice. "And that afterwards he was entirely faithful to his lover."

"I had no idea. Who was she? Some fabulous goddess?"

"No, he found the mate of his soul within a mortal woman."

"A mortal? Huh. I guess that's why they call it mythology. I can't imagine a real woman who would be stupid enough to take a chance on loving a god."

Apollo felt his chest tighten. "But look at what she gained. She took the chance and won her soul mate."

Pamela's smile was slow and sweet. "You really are a romantic."

"Yes," he said more fiercely than he'd intended and had to stop and take a breath to settle his raging emotions. "I haven't always been. Actually, I have been much like Apollo, content to find love where it seemed convenient or enjoyable and to think nothing more of it. But I feel myself changing." He shrugged and purposefully lightened his tone. "Perhaps that's why I understand the tales told about the God of Light so well."