Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 83786 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83786 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
While I’m spiraling, Perseus has come up with a solution. He kicks off his shoes and socks and pulls off his shirt. Even in my distracted state, I can’t help the little flip my heart does at the sight of his bare chest underneath these unrelenting lights. Of the scars I noticed last time. Scars that tell a story, even though I don’t want to witness it. And yet I don’t stop looking.
He takes my arm and tugs me behind him into the shower, still wearing his pants. “This only works if you stand exactly where I tell you and do exactly as I say.”
I don’t have the energy to make a smart-ass comment or push back. I merely nod and allow him to arrange me with my back against the tile wall, the water beating on my right side. At least for a moment. Then he takes the shower handle, adjusts the spray a little, and starts easing it over my body.
I jolt; I can’t help it. “What are you doing?” I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me to ask when he came into the shower in the first place, but apparently this is a step too far.
“You promised to come home tonight and do what I say.” He says it so mildly that I can almost convince myself there’s ice beneath his words, just like there always is. Almost. It’s not the truth, though. He’s being gentle with me—caring, as if I’m made of spun glass and he’s afraid of shattering me.
“Only part of that is true,” I finally manage. “I never promised to do what you say.”
“I know.” His lips curve, just the tiniest amount, but on Perseus it’s practically a boisterous laugh. “Can’t blame me for trying, though.” His expression falls back into more familiar, serious lines. “You can’t shower without the risk of getting your bandages wet, and even if they weren’t a factor, I wouldn’t leave you in here alone. You look like you’re about to collapse. Stand there and let me take care of you.”
Take care of me. The very idea is absurd. I’m the one who takes care of the people around me. Not always in the way they would prefer, but a sharp cut accomplishes a whole lot more than a soft word, especially in our world. Perseus has been consistent since the beginning of our marriage, cold and distant and unknowable. Even now, he’s awkward in his ministrations. His touch is tentative in a way I’ve never experienced with him—not even on our wedding night when we were new to each other. It’s as if he’s never done this before.
He’s never done this before.
The realization rolls over me, sending my mind into perfect blankness. When would he have learned comfort? My mother may be a particular way with the public, but the moment she stepped through the door into our family home, she put down the Demeter persona and became herself. Still sharp, still ruthless, but warm in a way that had nothing to do with manipulation.
My husband doesn’t do that. I had thought it was simply because I’m an enemy just like the ones outside the penthouse walls, but suddenly I’m not so sure. His home was hardly a refuge growing up. He would have learned there was no safe space. He was well and truly bereft of someone to comfort and hold him.
“Oh, Perseus.” The words emerge as a sigh.
He pauses. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”
I press my lips together hard, but it does nothing to steady me. “No.” I swallow past the lump growing in my throat, the burning in my eyes. “Don’t stop.”
“Okay.” He gently tilts my head back, supporting my head with one hand, and brings the shower head to wash the blood from my hair. The look of concentration on his face makes my stomach flutter. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, but he’s still doing it. For me. Because he…cares?
That can’t be it. He hates me as much as I hate him. And I do hate him. I’m sure of it. The feeling might be a little less ragged than it was several months—or even a week—ago, but it hasn’t gone away.
He’s the instrument of so much pain, the representation of everything wrong with Olympus. A nepo baby handed a title that has been used to hurt people for countless generations. Just because he hasn’t hurt anyone yet doesn’t mean he won’t in the future, given enough time and opportunity. His reign has hardly been without peril.
But even as I think of the words, they don’t feel fully true. Not anymore.
I close my eyes and let my husband wash my hair. Having his hands on me like this, in warmth and care, feels so good that I let him wash my body as well. The silence between us is charged with all the things left unsaid, but I don’t have the strength to cross that chasm. Not yet. It’s not until he shuts off the water that some of my old strength comes back. Or maybe it’s just desperation. I’m not going to be able to sleep, no matter how much my body needs it. I’m too aware of all the ways I’ve fucked up; my brain will not let me rest.