All I knew about Melissa Archer came from overheard conversations—whispers between my father and Cupid. From what I gathered, Cupid had actually been married to Melissa. He’d divorced her only because she didn’t want him to give up his life as a god. But I was pretty sure Cupid was still madly in love with her. And he’d always been part of Roman’s life.
I envied Roman for that.
Why hadn’t my father done the same for me?
He didn’t even marry my mom—his supposed true love. Technically, he was already married to someone else, so I guess that would’ve made him a bigamist. Honestly, it kind ofmade him a pig. Not that he and Psyche were married in any mortal sense. But still, for all intents and purposes, my father was a cheater.
And I was a love child.
I tried not to think about it too much.
One day, I’d probably have to unpack it all in therapy with Hestia—assuming this quest thing actually worked out and I got to return home.
If not, I was going to need more than therapy when my past got stripped from me.
“We are so happy you accepted.” Melissa gave her son a meaningful look.
I was pretty sure there was no “we”in that equation.
Melissa nudged him when he didn’t say anything.
“Yeah, thanks for coming,” Roman mumbled, eyes fixed on anything but me.
Melissa grimaced, then flashed me a mom smile—the kind that warms you from the inside out and makes the world feel a little less cruel.
I missed those kinds of smiles.
I missed my mom.
“Please help yourself.”
I reached for a warm breadstick dripping with butter and garlic. The scent alone was enough to make me swoon.
“This looks amazing. If I had a love language, bread might be it.”
Maybe that was the solution to my problem. I’d fall madly in love with bread. What love was truer than that? If only it could reciprocate.
Melissa laughed.
“You’re silly.” Junie giggled next to me and grabbed her own breadstick. “Cheers, Daddy,” she said, tapping her breadstick against his. “Do the funny thing where you make the breadstick your mustache.”
This I had to see. I peeked at Roman. His ears were turning red. He looked torn—caught between dignity and daughterly devotion.
Was he embarrassed? I hadn’t thought his ego would allow for that emotion.
“I don’t think our guest needs to see that,” he coughed out.
“Oh, she does,” I assured him.
“Come on, Daddy,” Junie egged him on.
“All right,” he sighed, but he smiled at Junie all the same.
Admittedly, it was adorable to watch this man, whom I’d pegged as arrogant, crumble to the wishes of his daughter.
Roman stared at me as if daring me to mock him while he placed his breadstick between his upper lip and nose.
“Do you love my mustache?” he asked Junie. “It’s all the rage in Italy,” he teased her.
