“Just do it, Apollo,” Artemis said. “You can protest all you want, but admit it—you’d do anything for us.”
“Youlooooooooveus,” Geri sing-songed, then waved her hand and made whipping sounds.
“Arggh!” Apollo shook a fist in the air…and then marched toward the kitchen anyway. Before heading in, he glanced back at his mate and sister—the two most important women in his life—and smiled to himself.
Chapter Nine
Geri
A couple of months later…
Geri could hardly feel her feet as she stood hidden behind a screen of flowering myrtle at the edge of the Garden of Hesperides. Sunlight spilled like molten gold over the leaves, turning the golden apples in the distant trees into tiny suns glinting through the branches. The air smelled of orange blossoms and something bright and sharp, like new beginnings.
Somewhere beyond the hedge, she could hear the gathering crowd: the rustle of fine robes, the quiet shifting of sandals on marble, and the low, excited hum of voices. The immortals were assembling, and with them, the Council of Olympians, Hera in her majestic finery, and Aphrodite, whose laughter floated now and then above the hush like a bell.
This was her Golden Apple Ceremony: Hers and Apollo’s.
The thought made her stomach twist with nerves and delight in equal measure.
She exhaled slowly, trying to steady her racing heart. It felt surreal to think that she’d been pruning plants in her New York shop only a year ago, the idea of standing beside a god—her god—utterly impossible. And now, here she was, about to walk a ceremonial path through the Garden of Hesperides, to stand before Olympus and have her bond with Apollo blessed and officially recognized. In mere moments, she would leave mortality behind, stepping into the realm of gods as an immortal herself, a future she had never imagined, yet one she felt ready to claim.
A soft rustle beside her made her glance to her right. Persephone stood there, radiant in a gown the color of spring leaves, her hair woven with tiny blossoms.
“You’re trembling,” Persephone said gently. “Are you nervous?”
“A little,” she admitted. “Okay—a lot.” She let out a shaky laugh. “It’s not every day your relationship gets turned into a divine spectacle.”
Persephone’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “I know the feeling. But you’re stronger than you think, Geri, and you’re right where you’re meant to be.”
Before she could answer, a fanfare of trumpets rang out from the far end of the garden. The conversations beyond the hedge fell instantly silent.
“That’s your cue,” Persephone murmured, reassuringly squeezing her hand.
Geri swallowed hard. She felt as though the ground might vanish under her feet—and yet, she also felt a fierce spark of joy.
“Ready?” Persephone asked.
She lifted her chin, fingers brushing the soft fabric of her pale green gown. She took one last deep breath and nodded.
“Ready.”
She blinked against the sudden flood of golden sunlight as she and Persephone stepped from the myrtle hedge. The garden opened before her in perfect symmetry, an avenue of white marble stretching between lush, fragrant trees heavy with golden apples.
At the far end of the avenue, Apollo waited. He stood tall and radiant in flowing robes of white and gold, his hair gleaming beneath the sun. His eyes found Geri instantly, and a soft smile curved his lips, as though he could see no one else in the world.
Geri felt her breath catch. She was certain the glow in her eyes was visible all the way across the garden.
Slowly, they began walking toward each other. The hush around them was absolute, broken only by the rustle of leaves. When they reached the entrance to the inner garden, they stopped, just a few steps apart. She could see the fine tension in Apollo’s shoulders, the way he restrained himself from closing the space between them. The gods loved spectacle, after all, and this moment was for them as much as it was for Geri and Apollo.
Between them, a high priestess stepped forward. She wore robes of deep crimson edged with gold, her hair bound in braids twined with threads of silver. Lifting a slender staff tipped with a tiny golden apple, she began to chant, her voice carrying clear and strong over the garden:
“Hear us, O Immortals, dwellers of Olympus!
Bless this union of mortal and god,
Grant wisdom, grant courage, grant steadfast hearts.
May the golden fruit yield its gifts
