Neon Gods (Dark Olympus #1)(41)

“I’ll stick around.”

“Suit yourself.” She waves me forward. “This way. Let’s get you measured and see where we stand.”

The next few hours pass in a blur. Juliette takes my measurements and then brings forth rack after rack of clothing for me to try on. I expect the gowns. I don’t expect the loungewear or the casual clothes. By the time she brings out the lingerie, I’m weaving on my aching feet.

She notices, of course. “Almost done.”

“I’m not here for that long. I don’t know that all this is necessary.” Not to mention that the prospective bill makes me cringe. I highly doubt Juliette functions on IOUs.

She shakes her head. “You know better. The peacocking might not be as blatant in the lower city, but if Hades is using you to make a statement, then you must make a statement.”

“Who says Hades is using me to make a statement?” I don’t know why I’m arguing. That’s exactly why Hades and I made our bargain.

She gives me a long look. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just insult my intelligence. I’ve known Hades years now. The man does nothing without reason, and he certainly wouldn’t steal Zeus’s fiancée out from under his nose if he didn’t want to stir the pot.”

I don’t ask how she knows that I’m promised to Zeus. The lower city has access to the same gossip sites that the upper city does; just because I haven’t looked at the headlines doesn’t mean they don’t exist. They’ll have reported on both my engagement and my disappearance. Maybe if Zeus and my mother weren’t so sure of me, it wouldn’t have come to this. Now we’re both painted into a corner and I’m determined not to be the one who blinks first.

I take a deep breath and turn to the last rack. “Lingerie it is.”

It’s another hour before I wind my way through the racks to find Hades camped out in the corner of the warehouse that seems to be solely for this purpose. It’s got several chairs, a television that’s currently set to mute, and a stack of books on a coffee table. I get a glimpse of the one in Hades’s hands as he closes it and drops it on top of the stack. “I didn’t take you for a true crime fan.”

“I’m not.” He pushes to his feet. “You look comfortable.”

“I’m going to take that as a factual statement and not an insult.” I glance down at my fleece-lined leggings and sweater. Juliette also gave me an incredibly warm coat to combat the temperature outside. “You promised to show me around.”

“I did.” He takes the coat from my hands, examining it as if to determine its ability to keep me warm. I should be bristling at his overprotectiveness, but all I feel is a strange sort of warmth in my chest. The feeling flares hotter as he settles the coat around my shoulders and looks down at me. He strokes the lapels, and it almost feels like he’s touching me instead of the cloth. “You look good, Persephone.”

I lick my lips. “Thank you.”

He glances over my shoulder as Juliette approaches, but he doesn’t step back, doesn’t drop his hands. “Charon will be by to pick up the order later today.”

“Of course. Enjoy yourselves, you two.” And then she’s gone, bustling several of the racks deeper into the warehouse.

I watch her go, unable to stop myself from frowning. “I didn’t pay.”

“Persephone.” He waits for me to look at him. “You have no money.”

Shame heats my skin. “But—”

“I’ve taken care of it.”

“I can’t let you do that.”

“You haven’t let me do anything.” Hades takes my hand and tugs me toward the front door. It almost slips past me how casual he is touching me now. It feels so natural, as if we’ve been doing this far longer than a few days.

Hades doesn’t release my hand when we reach the street. He simply turns and heads back the way we came. Boots or no, my feet hurt and exhaustion settles over my skin in a wave. I ignore both feelings. When will I get another chance to see the lower city, let alone with Hades leading the way? It’s too great an opportunity to pass up just because my body isn’t at one hundred percent yet.

And maybe I just want to spend some more time with Hades, too.

Halfway back to the house, he takes a right turn and leads me to a doorway with a mass of cheerily painted flowers on it. Like some of the other businesses I’ve seen on our walk, it has white columns on either side of the entrance. I haven’t been able to get close looks at the others, but these depict a group of women by a waterfall, surrounded by flowers. “Why do some of the businesses have columns and not others?”

“It’s a sign that this place has been here since the founding of the city.”

The sense of history staggers me. We don’t have that in the upper city. Or if we do, I’ve never seen it. History is less important to the people in power than presenting a polished image, no matter how false. “They’re so detailed.”

“One artist did all of them. Or at least that’s how the story goes. I have a team whose sole job is to maintain and repair these as needed.”

Of course he did. Of course he would see this sign of history as an assent instead of something to be smudged out and erased in favor of the new and shiny. “They’re beautiful. I want to see them all.”