Tall, Dark and Divine (19 page)

“You all right, man?”

“I’m fine,” Eros said. “I just want to talk to him.”

“Not gonna beat the crap out of him?”

Eros gritted his teeth. “He hasn’t done anything wrong. Annie’s happy. I just want to find out where he stands.”

“You know where he stands,” Dion said. “He’s crazy about her. If anyone knows how those damn arrows work, it’s you. You spent years pining for that bitch you married and years mooning after she left you. That’s how Harry feels about Annie.”

Fuck. “I just want to talk to him,” Eros said. “Just in case something went wrong. Just in case—I don’t know—the dose wore off or something.”

“Dose? What dose? It isn’t ambrosia, man. It doesn’t wear off. How many years did you dote on the bitch?”

Millennia. “I just want to talk to him.”

“Uh huh.” Dion’s voice was dry. “Come by the bar after you’re done, Ross. You’ll need another drink by then. And some company.”

He probably would. Although he didn’t give Dion the satisfaction of hearing him say so. Instead he hung up the phone and took the stairs to Harry’s apartment two at a time.

When he first knocked on the door, Harry seemed surprised to see him, but that was soon lost in excitement. “Come in, man! What a great day, huh?”

“Sure,” Eros said and stepped across the threshold into Harry’s place. Down on the floor, Fiona sniffed his shoe and gave a sharp yip.

“You have a dog?” Harry asked.

Eros blinked. “Actually, I do.”

“What kind of dog?”

Small. Brown. Barrel-shaped. “Just a dog. You know. Four legs and a tail.”

“Sure,” Harry said. “Fiona’s a pure-bred schnauzer. So what can I do for you? Wanna sit down? Have a beer? Shoot the breeze?”

Not really. “I just spoke to Annie.”

“Oh, man!” Harry’s face lit up. “I’m so glad you kept at me about that. I know it took a while, but I’m totally onboard now. She’s great!”

Yes, she was. “She said she had a good time tonight.”

“She did?” Harry’s eyes behind the glasses were lit with something resembling religious fervor. “Man, that’s great! Because I did, too. I had a really, really great time. She’s so easy to talk to. And so pretty. Wasn’t she gorgeous tonight?”

Yes, she was.

“I can’t believe she’s interested in me,” Harry burbled. “I mean, I know I’m nothing special. But I can take care of her, you know. I make good money. And I’ll make sure she has everything she wants. But she could have anybody! She’s so great, anyone would be lucky to have her. I can’t believe she wants me!”

Eros couldn’t, either. “So what are your plans now?”

Harry stared at him. “Are you kidding?”

“Annie said something about breakfast?”

“Brunch,” Harry corrected. “Champagne brunch. At the Plaza Hotel.”

“Champagne?”

“Can’t drop the ring into just anything, can I?” Harry smiled.

Chapter Twenty-One

For a second, it was as if the world tilted. “Ring?” Eros said.

“Here.” Harry waved him into the living room and over to the table, where he picked up something small and dropped it into Eros’s hand. “It used to be my mother’s. You think she’ll like it?”

He waited eagerly while Eros examined the offering, sparkling on his palm.

Annie would probably love it. It was a slim gold band with a square cut diamond, and the thought of seeing it on Annie’s finger—Harry’s ring, Harry’s badge of ownership—made bile rise in his throat. “You’re asking her to marry you?”

“Of course,” Harry said, taking the ring back and beaming at it.

Eros clenched his fists inside his pockets. “Isn’t that a little…rash?”

Harry looked at him as if he thought Eros might have lost his mind. “I’ve found the only woman I’ll ever love. What’s the point in waiting?”

When he put it like that… “Aren’t you afraid she’ll think it’s too soon?”

Harry obviously hadn’t thought about that, because his eyes looked worried behind the glasses. “You think she will?”

“You’ve only been on one date.”

“Two.”

“But the date last night didn’t go very well.”

“Fiona liked her,” Harry said. “And she liked Fiona.”

“I’m just not sure it’s a good idea to propose so soon. You haven’t known each other very long.”

“Two years,” Harry said. “I’ve been going into the bakery for two years to buy dog biscuits. Annie’s been there that whole time.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s smart to propose to her after two dates.”

Harry thought about it. “You’re the expert, I guess.”

Some expert.

“But I don’t see that it can hurt. I mean, she can say no if she wants to. If she does, I’ll just wait until she’s ready. But what if she says yes?”

“What if she does?”

“Then I get to marry her,” Harry said. “Right away. And we’ll be together forever. Mr. and Mrs. Harry Mitchell.” He beamed.

“Lovely,” Eros said, his voice half choked. “I hope you’ll be very happy.”

Harry grinned and slapped Eros’s back on their way to the front door. “I’ll make sure you get an invitation to the wedding. Best man or something. After all, this wouldn’t have happened if it hadn’t been for you.”

No, it wouldn’t. He had only himself to thank.

Idiot.

By the time he made it back to Dionysus’s bar, it was late enough that the place was winding down for the night.

Dion must have gotten what he wanted from the school teacher—or she’d gotten what she wanted from him—because she was nowhere to be found. Dion was behind the bar, and so was Silenus, lending a hand with the cleanup. It was just the immortals who were left in the place. Ariadne was sitting at a table in the corner with Iris and Carrie, while Brita was hanging out at the pool table. Alastor, the minor god of vengeance, and Adonis were playing a vicious game of pyramids, and the goddess of hunting was cheering them both impartially. It was impossible to tell whether she planned to go home with the winner or whether she was just having fun.

When Eros came through the door, everything stopped for a moment. Alastor straightened with the pool cue in his hand, and Silenus stopped wiping the counter. Ariadne, Iris, and Carrie all turned to look at him.

Adonis broke the silence with a grin. “Hiya, Ross. You wanna play?”

Eros shook his head. “No, thanks, Donnie. I’m just gonna get a drink.” Or ten.

“Sure.” The Greek god of male beauty nodded sagely. “You let me know if you change your mind, okay?”

“I’ll do that.” He turned his attention to Dion, who was already bringing out a bottle of ambrosia.

“What’ll it be, friend? Wine or shooters?”

“Shots. No. Never mind. Just give me the bottle.” He reached for it.

Dion held on. “Wait a minute. What happened?”

“He’s proposing,” Eros said. “Tomorrow morning. Over champagne brunch at The Plaza. He has the ring and everything. It belonged to his mother. Now give it to me.” He wrested the bottle out of Dion’s hand and lifted it to his mouth.

Dion took it back and filled a shot glass to the brim. “Here. Pace yourself. Isn’t that a little rash?”

Eros tossed back the shot and slammed the glass on the counter. “Fill it up again. Yeah, that’s what I said.”

“He didn’t agree?”

“He said,” Eros said, and tossed back the second glass of ambrosia, “that he’d make sure I got an invitation to the wedding. Since it’s because of me that he’s found the woman of his dreams.”

“Ouch.” Dionysus winced. Then he brightened. “That doesn’t mean she’ll say yes, though.”

“Sure it does. She told me she’d enjoyed sleeping with me, but she couldn’t keep doing it. Not if she wanted this thing with Harry to work out.”

“And does she?”

“She says she does. Since I was stupid enough to tell her I wasn’t ready to move on.” Idiot. He resisted the temptation to thunk his head against the bar, but just barely.

“You win.” Dion relinquished the bottle. “Knock yourself out.”

“Thank you.” Eros set to work getting good and drunk. Drunker.

Over the next hour, while he was busy accomplishing that goal, the place emptied out. Alastor and Adonis finished their game and left, taking Iris and Carrie with them. Brita joined Ariadne in the corner and so did Silenus, after the cleanup was done. Eventually the minor god of drunkenness headed upstairs to bed, leaving the four of them alone. And that was when Ari and Brita came over to the bar and took up position on either side of him, while Dion leaned his elbows on the counter and just watched Eros determinedly trying to drink himself into oblivion.

Nobody said anything. They just watched.

Eventually it got to be too much. “Somebody got something to say?”

“We’re just waiting for you to slide off the stool,” Brita said, “so we can catch you and take you home.”

He shot her a glare. “I’m not gonna fall off the stool.”

“Clearly you’re not drunk enough yet. Maybe you need help.” Dion brought out another shot glass and filled it up for himself. He lifted it—“To Harry”—and tossed back the contents.

Eros growled. “I don’t need help. And we’re not drinking to Harry.”

Dion filled the glass up again, and filled Eros’s while he was at it. “What are we drinking to? Annie?”

Definitely not. “I don’t care about Annie,” Eros said and took the shot. The ambrosia burned all the way down to his stomach, or maybe that was just the lie scoring the inside of his chest.

The statement was so blatantly untrue they must all have been dumbstruck that he had the gall to utter it, because no one spoke. They just looked at him. And because he couldn’t handle the sympathy in their eyes, he focused on the ambrosia. “I need a bigger glass.” He wasn’t getting drunk fast enough. He was going for oblivion, and it wasn’t coming.

“Why don’t I just hit you over the head with the bottle?” Dionysus suggested, reaching above his head for a lowball glass. “It’ll knock you out sooner. And you’ll wake up with a headache tomorrow either way.”

“This is more fun.” He took the glass and grimly filled it up. But before he could lift it to his mouth, Ari’s cool fingers wrapped around his wrist and stayed his hand.

“Ross.”

“What?”

“Instead of drinking yourself into a coma, why don’t you try to figure out a solution?”

“Solution to what?” He flicked her hand off and lifted the glass. “I did what the fucking god of love does. I put two mortals together.” He took a swallow of the ambrosia.

“And now you’re drinking yourself into a stupor because you want one of them for yourself.”

“I don’t want her for myself.” He threw back the rest of the ambrosia. It went down like cut glass, or maybe that was the lie, too.

“Why would he want her?” Dion said to Ari. “He’s already had her. Several times, from what I understand. She even kept her shoes on once. And she couldn’t have been that good, not if he’s been working this hard to set her up with Harry.”

He took a sip of his own ambrosia.

“Don’t talk about her like that!” Eros growled.

Dion glanced at him. “Why the hell not?”

“Because I fucking said so, that’s why!”

“Oh, sure,” Dion said. “You fucking say so, so we’re all supposed to listen? Who died and made you a god?”

“I’ve always been a fucking god, you fucking moron!”

“Right.” The god of wine and debauchery drew the word out sarcastically. “I forgot. You’re the fucking god of love. The fucking god of love. Who fucked himself over so badly the woman he wants is now gonna marry someone else. And you call me a moron?”

“You are a moron, you fucking idiot. Listen.” He tossed back what was left in the glass and slammed it down on the counter. “Three or four or five thousand years ago—who the Hades can remember anymore?—I scratched myself with that damn arrow and fell in love with Psyche. And you weren’t around then, so you don’t remember what happened, but between her and Aphrodite, they made things damn difficult for a while. Aphrodite was jealous because Psyche was so pretty, and nobody would give me what I wanted. It took years to work things out. Eventually, I got Zeus to agree to let me marry her, but it was against his better judgment.”

“What better judgment?”

“He told me it wouldn’t work out,” Eros said. “That gods were gods and mortals were mortals, and nothing good came from marrying them.”

There was a pause. “That’s rich,” Dion said, “coming from him.”

Eros nodded. Zeus had almost single-handedly sired the entire Greek pantheon, many of them—like Dionysus—with mortals. The demigod of wine and debauchery came by his proclivities honestly; his father had had a hard time keeping his tunic buttoned, too. “Anyway, he won’t let me make Annie immortal. I know that without asking. He said never again. And if Annie’s mortal and I’m a god, that’s not gonna work out very well. She’s better off with Harry. At least they can grow old together.”

“Looks aren’t everything…,” Ari began, and Dion turned on her.

“No offense, sweetheart, but I don’t think that’s what he’s saying. Remember that guy you thought you were going to marry? The one who dropped you off on that island and sailed off without you, after you saved his life?”

Ari’s face closed. “Yes.”

“Ended up marrying your sister, didn’t he? And they lived happily ever after—or as long as mortals live, anyway.”

Ari nodded.

“Imagine that he’d stayed with you. And while he got older and older, you stayed the same.”

“I wouldn’t care,” Ari said. “If I loved him, it wouldn’t matter what he looked like.”

“It’s not about the way he’d look,” the god of wine said. “That’s the least of it. Although imagine going somewhere with him and having people think he was your grandfather. Imagine Ross taking Annie out on their anniversary, and someone asking if he’s taking his grandmother out for her ninetieth birthday.”

“I wouldn’t care,” Ari said stubbornly.

“You may not, but I bet Annie would. I bet she’d look at Ross—still young and handsome—and wonder if he didn’t wish he were with someone else. Someone younger. And I bet what’s-his-name would look at you and wish he’d just die, so you could get rid of him and move on. Because you deserved better. I know I would.” He shook his head. “Ross is right. It isn’t fair to either of them.”