Page 55 of Curse the Flame

Especially after I kissed him…

The memory makes my cheeks flame as I twist the fruit from the branch.

Aiden has been almost painfully careful with me since that night. He kisses me now, but only when I move first or when I tilt my face toward his and make sure he knows that I want him. His hands settle at my waist, my back, sometimes my face. Never lower. Never anywhere that might make me feel like he’s pushing me for more.

It amazes me how he still looks so darn surprised every single time I touch him.

The funny thing is that, despite existing for as long as he has, I don’t think he knows what to do with happiness. I’m beginning to think I want to teach him.

I want him to be happy.

I want him to be happy with me.

And maybe that’s why the pomegranate tree bloomed after all. All along, Aiden has gone against his own nature, against his own god, in order to give me all of the choices. At last, I think I’ve finally made one.

Only I’m not choosing the Underworld. I’m not choosing a palace or a crown or a role in someone else’s story.

I’m choosing the man who waits until I fall asleep before pulling me into his arms. The man who calls me Blossom as though the word belongs only to him. To us. The man who has spent eighty years waiting for someone he knew would return, but expected to leave him as soon as they got the chance.

And maybe that was me. Maybe that was Willow. But before I fell through that mirror by accident, I longed for love, for romance, for nature, and for adventure… and wouldn’t you know it? With Aiden Murphy—and, okay, Hades, too—I get just that.

My stomach growls again, louder this time.

I wait for my brain to panic and yell “stop”. Or maybe Persephone will pipe up, adding her two cents.

Sometimes she does. Sometimes she doesn’t. She has been quiet more often lately. Not gone, exactly. I can still feel her deep inside of me, a steady presence beneath my thoughts. But she no longer… nags, I guess is the best word for it, though I’d never admit that to the goddess herself. She doesn’t try to steer me toward Aiden, leaving me to learn to love him in my own way.

It’s as though she understands that whatever happens next has to belong to me.

It’s my choice.

And I make it.

Turning the pomegranate in my hands, I begin to open it before I talk myself out of it. The skin splits beneath my thumbs with a soft crack, and all I see are countless ruby-red seeds gleaming inside, nestled among the rind.

My mouth waters so fiercely that it hurts.

There is no more deciding. That was done the moment I broke open the pomegranate. Cradling the fruit, I pluck one of the seeds free, holding it between my fingers.

This is the point where I’m supposed to hesitate.

Where some sensible voice reminds me of New Jersey, my apartment, my work. Of everything waiting on the other side of the mirror. I should think about what I’m giving up.

For a moment, I do. But then I think about what I might be gaining—forever with Aiden—and, welp, here goes nothing.

I put the seed in my mouth.

The flavor bursts across my tongue, sweeter than I expect, with a sharpness beneath it that makes my eyes close.

For the first time in three months, food gives me pleasure. Food has meaning. It makes my body hum, and I could easier sprout wings and fly than put the pomegranate down and stop eating its seeds at this moment.

So I do. I eat another seed, then several more, scooping them out with my fingers before I can even try to pretend I’m going to stop. Juice stains my fingertips red. A few seeds spill into my palm, and I lift them to my mouth without counting.

Six would be traditional. Twelve is what the original Hades expected of his bride.

Me? I eat the whole freaking thing.

Then, when I’m done, I sit there for a moment, holding the empty rind and… nothing happens.