Page 63 of The Gods Forbid

“Whenever you’re ready,” Aren said, trying to get Sebastian’s attention.

He heard her, I could tell, but he didn’t really acknowledge her. He looked down from his perusal of the architecture lining the entrance to the gallery and turned to me. “Where did you want to go?”

Aren, in all her annoyingly perfect glory, decided it was appropriate to cut in. “I thought we’d start in the main hall, where some of the more famous pieces are displayed, then onto the special collections.”

Sebastian turned to her, giving her a slow, slightly confused once over before returning his attention to me. “You didn’t tell me we had a tour guide, love.”

I would find no satisfaction in the way Aren freezed up when Sebastian called me love. It would be weird to explain to her that he only used that term of endearment to get a rise out of me. That was the only reason I was okay with her believing there was anything behind that word.

Sort of.

Even though I wanted to kindly tell Aren to fuck off, even though I had never told a soul that in my entire life, I kept a smile on my face. Whatever mental breakdown I was having didn’t give me a free pass to be rude. Even if I wanted to. “If Aren would like to give us a tour, that would be great,” I said, pleased my words sounded kind and polite. Mostly.

Sebastian made an odd sound in the back of his throat that made my cheeks feel hot on instinct. Almost like he’d caught me.

Aren’s eyes were on Sebastian as she said, “I’d love to show you around, Lord Apollo.”

Did she really expect me to just leave them alone?

Wait, maybe that was what Sebastian wanted. Part of this was giving him the freedom to do what he wanted, and that included taking disturbingly flirtatious museum curators up on offers to tour a gallery, no matter how much that thought soured my stomach.

I was clearly losing it.

Sebastian crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m afraid Persephone and I are quite attached at the hip.”

Aren swallowed thickly, her shoulders rolling back. “Well, I would be honored to give you and Persephone a tour.”

It was then that I’d realized, far too late, that I’d been letting Sebastian call me Persephone for several weeks. I didn’t let anyone call me that.

It wouldn’t be appropriate to address it, so I simply followed Aren into the gallery as she began her tour, Sebastian close behind.

We’d never actually touched in any real capacity, other than when he’d healed me in the old cells, but his hand was so close to my lower back that it might as well have been a physical caress.

It was so intense that I barely heard a word Aren said, understanding nothing more than the fact that her lips were moving and there were probably sounds that followed.

There was also the pesky little fact that I was getting annoyed. I hated that feeling, and then hated that I was feeling a feeling that I hated, which constituted a lovely little cycle that had my shoulders pinching back and my jaw clenching.

I had plans, and she was interrupting them in all her flirting-with-Sebastian-glory.

Bad Persy, jealousy is not allowed, I had to remind myself. I was simply having fun thinking about Aren tripping for an entirely different reason.

After the second gallery that Aren took us to, chatting Sebastian’s ear off, my annoyance eclipsed my desire to be amenable. I would always be polite, that was just who I was, but I also didn’t let people mess with my plans.

And I had plans with Sebastian, damnit.

Aren paused to take a breath, her eyes never leaving Sebastian even though he was looking at a painting over her shoulder.

“I really appreciate the tour, Aren,” I said calmly, keeping my shoulders set even though her eyes narrowed on me. “But I must request I take over.”

Aren frowned, crossing her arms over her chest. “I figured you’d want an expert leading this tour.”

“You’ve been so great,” I said, even though I hadn’t digested a single word she’d said, “But we have some things to discuss privately.”

Aren, to her credit, didn’t give it up. “But we’ve seen so little of Lord Apollo recently.”

Ah, there it was. The public didn’t know about Sebastian’s overthrow attempt or the real reason behind his stay at Prometheus. There had been a statement given to the news that he was taking time away from the public eye to help me at Prometheus, but people were used to him being a forward-facing god.

Sebastian knew. I’d sent him the paper with one of his meals early on in his unfortunate confinement in the old cells.