Electric Idol (Dark Olympus #2)(66)

She allows me to usher her into the booth and follow her in, her wide-eyed gaze on the wall. “Wow.”

“The owner is something of a collector.” I sit back and watch Psyche take in the objects crowding the walls. Glossy new posters of current productions sit side by side with ones faded from decades ago. A narrow ledge circles the room with glass cases filled with props and clothing, each painstakingly labeled with their production and year. The faint sounds of some musical soundtrack I’m not familiar with play in the background.

I should keep quiet and let her process, but I can’t help speaking. “It’s plenty busy now, but you should see it after the evening shows. The actors and actresses and stage crew come in, half of them still in some kind of stage makeup, and things get wild. The energy they bring is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. The shows are fine, I guess, but seeing the aftermath is a little like magic.”

She finally drags her gaze away from a particularly intricate white gown and looks at me. “I’d like to come here sometime and see that.”

“We will.” It’s a small promise, easily provided, but it doesn’t change the fact that it feels profound.

“This place is important to you.”

Of course she’d pick up on that immediately. She’s too smart not to read between the lines, and I intentionally picked this place so I could share it with her. I tug her hat off and drop it on our pile of coats on the other side of the booth. Her hair is a little frizzy, but I like it. “Yes, it’s important to me.”

“Thank you for bringing me here.” She smiles a little and smooths her hair down. “Thank you for sharing this with me.”

My chest feels too tight, but I can’t look away from her happy smile. “You shared the gardens with me. They mean something to you, right? A refuge of sorts.”

“I don’t know if I’d call it a refuge…” She sighs. “No, that’s a lie. Sorry, habit.” Psyche shakes her head, looking rueful. “Yes, the gardens are special to me. It’s not a secret that I go there from time to time, but the reason I do is because it reminds me a little bit of life before moving to the city. It’s nothing like the farm, of course, but growing things soothe me.”

The sensation in my chest gets more intense, until I can barely breathe past it. “That’s what this place is to me, too. No one here cares who I am or who my mother is. It lets me relax as much as anyone can relax in Olympus.”

Psyche starts to say something, but she’s interrupted when the bartender, a tall Latina whose dark hair is threaded with silver, heads in our direction with a smile. “What can I get you?”

I order my favorite red wine and Psyche asks for bourbon. She catches my raised eyebrows and blushes. “It’s the perfect winter drink.”

“I’m not arguing that.” I know better than to make assumptions based on drink orders, but I can’t help the surprise. From what I’ve seen, Psyche doesn’t seem to party, but when she does drink, it’s a very specific type of cocktail. “You don’t normally drink bourbon.”

“Correction: I don’t normally drink bourbon in public.” She gives a slightly bittersweet smile. “It’s part of the image thing. Public Psyche likes fruity drinks and wine, depending on the time of day.”

I shake my head. “The amount of thought you’ve put into your public image is staggering. I mean that as a compliment.”

“Thank you.” She shrugs. “It was necessary. You, of all people, understand just how effective armor a good public persona can be.”

“Yeah.” I stare out at the room. Instinct tells me to leave it at that, but I push past it. I didn’t bring her here to shut her out now. “When they hate you, it’s easier to pretend they hate the public version of you instead.”

“Yes, exactly.”

I glance at her. “You’re willing to let that persona slip a bit with me?”

“It’s a special occasion.” She smiles slowly. “And I make a tidy sum on sponsorships from several wine companies. It can’t hurt adding some whiskey sponsorships to the mix if and when we get photographed here.”

She’s intentionally navigating us back to safer territory. I appreciate it. The ground’s feeling pretty fucking liquid beneath my feet right now. I search for something to say that won’t toss us off the deep end again. “The wine sponsorships aren’t the only ones you have.”

Her smile widens. “No, they’re not.”

Likely another reason my mother zeroed in on Psyche. She’s so damn successful at what she does, even more successful than Aphrodite. And Psyche doesn’t have a team of people who’re paid solely to make her look good.

The bartender arrives with our drinks and leaves an appetizer menu before departing again, making the rounds to the handful of occupied tables. There are two groups of people, and they’re trying very hard to pretend like they’re not watching us closely, but they keep putting their heads together and whispering while shooting furtive looks in our direction. No doubt pictures of us will be gracing their social media before too long.

I watch Psyche sip her bourbon and shiver, the color in her cheeks deepening. An answering heat pulses through me. “Bourbon looks good on you.”

“Eros.” She leans into me, her expression happy even as her words are dry. “You really don’t have to say things like that. No one can hear you.”