Electric Idol (Dark Olympus #2)(64)

I eye what appear to be bare sticks situated on the left side of the cobblestone path. “Looks dead to me.”

“For someone who deals death on occasion, one would think you’d be better able to identify it.” She says it so casually, as if she doesn’t recognize the barbs attached to each word.

I’m a killer, and she needs to remember it. “Psyche.”

“It’s a reminder.” She’s not looking at me. She’s studying the sticks as if they hold the secrets of the universe. “Nothing lasts forever. Not the hibernation over the winter, but not the beautiful blooms of summer, either. There are seasons to everything.”

It doesn’t require much to understand she’s not talking about the garden at all. She’s talking about herself. I slip my arm around her waist, tucking her in against my side. We might be pretending for the barely concealed paparazzi shadowing us, but the truth is that I like touching her. As much as I’d like to stay in the safety of our penthouse and keep working to seduce her out of her pants again, I’m not about to miss this opportunity to dig deeper into the enigma that is Psyche. “Your sisters all seem to have some kind of endgame when it comes to Olympus.”

“Do they?”

We turn almost as one and continue wandering down the path, deeper into the sleeping garden. “Callisto would burn the city to the ground if no one stopped her. Hard lessons or no, Eurydice wants love. I thought Persephone would flee Olympus.”

“Circumstances changed.”

Circumstances. A strange way to say that Demeter essentially sold Persephone into a marriage with the old Zeus, sending her daughter fleeing over the River Styx and into Hades’s arms. The tightness in Psyche’s voice deters me from saying as much, though. That’s fine. I don’t really want to talk about her sisters. I want to talk about her. “You’re the one I’ve never been able to figure out.”

“Am I?”

I give her a little squeeze. “You damn well know you are. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were Demeter 2.0. You go about things in a very different way than your mother does, but the cunning and careful image manipulation is the same.” She tenses, but I don’t let her go. “That wasn’t criticism. It’s foolish to think honesty will get you anything but a knife in the back when you’re dealing with the Thirteen and their inner circles.”

“Maybe I’m exactly what I look like.” A little bitterness seeps into her voice. “A socialite influencer on the prowl for a rich and powerful husband. Maybe you’ve played right into my hands.”

I laugh. I can’t help it. “If that’s the truth, you’re an even better actress than I expected.”

“Thank you.” She turns in my arms, still smiling at me as if I hold her heart in my hands. “Time for a photo op, Husband.”

Husband.

Oh, I like that. I like that far too much.

I clasp her hips, bringing her as close to me as we can get with all the layers of clothing between us. Our exhales ghost the air between us, but for the first time since we got out of the car, I don’t feel the cold. How can I when Psyche is so close?

There’s no artifice in how eagerly I take her mouth. I’m not pretending to want her. She might be a damn good actress, but her little shiver and the way she melts against me aren’t pretend, either. I know what she sounds like, feels like, looks like when she comes now. She’s not faking her desire any more than I am.

She laces her arms around my neck and drifts her fingers over the sensitive spot at the nape of my neck even as she opens her mouth and lets me in. Psyche tastes like the fireball candy she had in the car, cinnamon and spice and too sexy by half. I lose myself in the stroke of her tongue against mine, in the way she fits against me so perfectly.

She’s the one to break the kiss, leaning back just enough to let loose a surprisingly happy giggle. “Gods, Eros. You can’t kiss me like that in public. You’re going to get us in trouble.”

True? Not true?

I can’t be sure. Not when I’m half a second from dragging her into the greenhouse and finding a private corner to make her come a time or three. But no, I can’t do that. We have observers, and the paparazzi in Olympus are relentless. No matter how giddy we’re supposed to be right now, I’m not about to let photos of me with my hand down Psyche’s leggings go public.

I press my forehead to hers, trying to get my body back under control. “I’m going to get us in trouble?”

“Yes.” Her smile softens a little. “Obviously I’m an innocent bystander.”

That’s the thing. She’s not entirely wrong. I don’t normally waste time with guilt, but that must be the strange stabbing feeling in my side, like someone slipped a dagger between my ribs. Psyche had a plan of her own before my mother decided to punish her, pushed over the edge by a simple act of kindness Psyche showed me. I was never part of her plan. If I’m enjoying the perks of this hastily put-together marriage—and I am—it doesn’t change the fact that it’s not her plan.

“I’m sorry.” I don’t mean to say the words, but I do mean them. Possibly for the first time ever. “For all of it.”

“You know, I almost believe you.” She laces her arm through mine and turns us down the path. “It’s a moot point now, regardless. We’re going to make the best of this situation.”