Page 34 of Loved By Aphrodite

Hephaestus’s laugh was warm, the kind that made her heart ache with something unnameable. “Wouldn’t expect anything less.”

And so, they danced, the unspoken questions lingering between them, their steps guided by the unseen hand of the house, as if it, too, was waiting for them to figure out what came next.

The first rays of morning filtered through the windows, the faint light bouncing off the walls of their enchanted room. Aphrodite lay on the oversized bed the house had produced after their impromptu dance the night before, her back firmly turned toward Hephaestus. Her body was stiff, her mind wrestling with the overwhelming sensations crashing into her like waves.

Even with the block she had cast, she could still feel the mortals’ prayers this morning—a relentless deluge of gratitude and devotion. They prickled under her skin, buzzing in her ears, a persistent reminder of her divine nature and the cost of it.

A sharp pulse of pain rippled through her, and she clenched her teeth to keep a whimper from escaping. She couldn’t let Hephaestus know. She needed to deal with this herself.

Her thoughts scrambled for distraction, replaying the events of the night before. The dancing, the laughter, the easy warmth that had somehow seeped into the cracks between them—it was unlike anything they’d had in a long time, maybe even ever. Andnow, here they were, sharing a bed, albeit separated by the space she’d intentionally kept between them. She didn’t want a repeat of the other night. She couldn’t stand the awkwardness after, especially now that it seemed like they had managed to get past it.

Another wave of pain struck, and this time, a small, involuntary whimper escaped her lips.

“Aphrodite?” His voice was low, tinged with concern, and she cursed under her breath.

She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping he’d let it go, but the bed shifted as he moved closer. A warm hand gently touched her shoulder, his touch both grounding and inescapable.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, softer now, closer.

“It’s nothing,” she said quickly.

“It’s not nothing. Tell me what’s going on.”

She turned her head into her pillow, her jaw tightening. “It’s just…the prayers. They’re stronger than usual this morning. It’s not a big deal.”

“Stronger? I thought you blocked them.”

“I did. But it’s not enough.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

She hesitated, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone. For a moment, she considered brushing him off again, but the weight of the prayers and the pain made her pause. “Just…stay here,” she said finally. “It helps. Somehow.”

He moved closer, his hand rubbing her back, “Is this okay?”

“Yes,” she nodded, leaning into it.

The pain didn’t vanish, but it ebbed, dulled by the strange comfort of his company. And for a while, they lay in silence, the tension of the morning giving way to an unspoken truce between her and the mortals’ prayers.

“Lucky you,” she quipped. “You don’t have mortals overwhelming you every second, begging for their soulmate orcursing their ex. Love’s the one thing they always want, so my work hasn’t stopped, not even for a breath.”

“I can’t imagine it ever would. Love’s a constant. For better or worse.”

“When’s the last time you remember getting a prayer?”

He was quiet as if trying to recall. “It’s been a while,” he admitted. “They come at random, usually when I’m in the middle of a project. Honestly, most of the time, they’re just a blip on my radar.” He paused, then added thoughtfully, “But if I really think about it, they haven’t stopped entirely. Manufacturing’s a big deal for mortals these days, so prayers come in now and then. Though a lot of them are sad. Mostly asking for help. But sometimes they’re thankful.”

“That’s all they pray for?” The prayers she was blocking felt distant, so she could finally breathe, but she found herself wanting to talk more with him.

He snickered. “Not always. Whenever there’s a volcanic eruption, I hear mortals praying to me.”

“What could possibly be amusing about that?”

“One time, someone prayed for me to ‘please stop being angry’ and promised they’d never skip church again. Another time, a farmer in Santorini swore he’d name his first goat after me if I calmed the mountain.”

She burst out laughing, her shoulders shaking. “A goat? That’s the bribe they thought would work?”

“I think I got an offer for a pizza oven once, too.”

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