Page 55 of Seph

Simeon suddenly cackled. “Listened to Smutty S.C.’s Audio-Erotica Podcast, did you, Van Helsing?”

Damn it.“Just to hear if you sounded evil,” she covered lamely.

“Well, it’s an act to keep getting narration jobs. I’m the faithful, patient sort. Like Hades. He knows in his heart. Don’t matter what everyone else thinks.”

Emily gave him a searching look as they waited at the red light. “I think I know why he gave you this job, Simeon. You’re a lot like him.”

They were moved in a crush of bodies as the light switched to green, but Simeon’s supernatural strength and her years of training kept them together, arms like an iron gate. People spilled around them, unable to go through them.

When they reached the other side of the street, Simeon paused on the gritty corner, black boots twisting as he slid closer to her. “D’you like him? Hades?”

Emily could hear the thinly veiled hint in his voice. If she compared him to Hades, and she liked Hades, then she must like him. As if this morning wasn’t proof enough. Still, she knew what it was like to be starved for affection and never feel reassured. She leaned into his shoulder and whispered, “He’s growing on me. I like you better.”

She pushed herself under his arm, and they walked like any other couple in love through the streets of New York.

“Oh. You don’t have an appointment...butyoudon’t need one,” assured a woman with narrow, almond-shaped eyes and luxurious waves of thick black hair arranged around a pearl-encrusted comb.

Emily paused in the doorway, a Bambi-in-the-headlights look of fear on her face. “I was just browsing.” She quickly dropped the hem of the purple silk gown that she would need two years’ salary to pay for.

“You’re here for the boss. Hera!”

“Thank you, Penelope.”

Emily’s head swiveled to follow the sound of the second voice, eyes weaving through acres of marble columns and an occasional platform with a chic model draped in white. Emily swallowed. She’d been in clothing stores around the world, even a few fancy boutiques, but never in her wildest dreams would she picture a store like this.

This place wasn’t just a shopping mecca; it was some kind of temple, and Hera was the high priestess.

Well, duh. Goddess of Marriage, right?

Hera emerged, and Emily revised her opinion. Okay, not so much a priestess, but more like a cool, efficient tycoon in an expensive and understated white dress with minimal gold accessories. Her hair was frosted blonde and swept into a complicated pile on her head with a single strand escaping (on purpose) to draw attention to her icy blue eyes.

“You’re lucky I had a cancellation. Not even a companion of the immortals can hop in here without an appointment. Sit. Champagne? Tell me, who’s the lucky man?”

Emily found herself sitting on a pristine white sofa in front of a curtained-off dressing room, a flute of champagne in her hand.

But I didn’t even move. Didn’t walk. What the hell?

“Companion of the immortals?”

“Let’s not fuss about names. You’re not one of ours, but you’re with someone—” Hera’s nostrils twitched subtly, “who doesn’t walk the line on this mortal coil. At any rate, I’m flattered you’ve chosen our pantheon to handle your bridal needs.” She smiled, her long, thin brows drawing up as she did so. A look of surprise crossed her features, which Emily figured was quite a feat. Everything about Hera radiated control, so surprise must have been a problematic emotion.

“Not just one immortal. You smell of magic and supernaturals. Where do you live?”

“Pine Ridge.”

“Of course. And who are you here with?” Hera sniffed the air and circled her hand in front of her face as if wafting a fine perfume towards her nostrils. “A vampire! My goodness. An unusual choice... but again, I admire that you’re honoring the tradition of marriage, despite wedding one of the unholy ones. Mind you, I know that’s a stereotype. So. What were we thinking? A night wedding, I assume?”

Married. To Simeon?

She’d had visions of a gray courthouse and pouring rain as she dutifully pecked the lips of the man her father picked out for her, breeding stock for the Van Helsing line.

Weddings instilled nothing but dread.

So why could she suddenly see herself in a much simpler gown, sleek, with a tiny train at the back, swooping around the floor on his arm, staring into his eyes, knowing he would never have to leave her unless unnatural causes took them away? In the distance of her imagination, Mr. Minegold dabbed his eyes. J.J. raced around a ballroom filled with gold and white balloons.

“You need no additional adornment. Your beauty is impeccable. I’d let the bride shine, my dear. Penelope, something from the Celestial line, please.” Hera snapped her fingers, and her assistant scurried.

“I’m not actually here to choose a dress,” Emily spoke up as Hera began to rise.

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