Page 48 of Loved By Aphrodite

She sniffled, letting out a small, bitter laugh against his shoulder. “Yeah, ’cause you’re such an asshole.”

He chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest, knowing she meant the opposite. He slowly pulled back, just enough to place a finger under her chin and tilt her face toward him. “Can we talk now?” he asked softly.

Aphrodite’s eyes locked with his, searching his gaze as though she could pull the answers she needed directly from him. Her expression softened, the usual fiery edge dimmedby something gentler, something vulnerable. He held her gaze, letting her take the time she needed.

Finally, she nodded and reached for his hand. And, without a word, led him toward the couch. The tension in her movements eased slightly as they sank into the cushions together. She curled into his side, tucking herself close, her head resting just under his chin.

He wrapped his arm around her instinctively. Neither spoke, the silence stretching like a bridge between them, unspoken emotions weaving into something fragile but real.

“Okay,” he began, “hear me out.”

She shifted slightly to look up at him, her eyes wary but attentive. She gave a slight nod, signaling for him to continue.

“I’ve been thinking about this. I could tell the council it was me. I was the one working on the app, and something went wrong—mortal tech malfunctioned, and the matches went haywire.” He paused, his gaze fixed on hers. “No one would believe you had a part in it. You don’t exactly have a reputation for tinkering with tech.” His lips quirked into a wry smile, trying to lighten the moment. “Besides,” he added, “they already know we’ve been working together. It wouldn’t be a stretch for them to believe it was my fault.”

She tensed against him, her fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt. Gently, he loosened her hold, twining his fingers with hers instead. He traced circles on her palm with his thumb, a silent reassurance as he waited for her response.

“That makes sense,” she finally said hesitantly, as though weighing every word. Relief began to creep in, and he started to smile, but then she shook her head, dashing his hope. “But I can’t agree to it.”

Her grip on his hand tightened, her knuckles white. “It’s crazy that they voted to make me talk about it. Who knows how bad the punishment will be.” She looked at him, hereyes shimmering with unshed tears. “But it’s just too much. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if anything happened to you.”

He swallowed hard, his throat dry as what she said carved through him. She was always so fiercely protective, but hearing it said aloud made his chest ache, like something inside him was splintering.

She took a shaky breath. “If Zeus were still around, I wouldn’t be scared about what would happen to you or Eros. I could’ve called in a favor to him.”

He blinked in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Aphrodite’s eyes widened, and she hesitated for a moment. “Oh, you know,” she said, waving a hand as though dismissing the subject. “I was constantly doing things for him.”

Something about the way she said it set him on edge. It didn’t sit right, and his gut told him there was more to this than she let on. He leaned forward slightly, his voice firmer, “Tell me, Aphrodite.”

She sighed, the sound heavy with resignation, and looked away before meeting his gaze again. “The reason Zeus gave us a divorce so suddenly,” she began, her voice low, “was because he wanted me to fix a situation he was in.” She paused, deliberate now, each word measured. “He wanted me to make a mortal princess give in and fall for him.”

He stiffened, his jaw tightening as her confession sank in.

“I don’t even know why he needed me for it,” she grumbled. “But for some reason, he wouldn’t let up. He brought it up again on the day of Eros’s golden apple ceremony.” She let out a mirthless laugh. “I thought it was perfect timing. So, I asked him to grant us the divorce so you could be free to live your life without me and Eros. Those fifteen years were too long to be tied to us when you could’ve found love and been with someone you chose to be with.”

She exhaled, her shoulders slumping as though she had finally set down a burden she had carried for far too long.

He stared at her, his thoughts a chaotic storm as he processed what she said. Of all the things she could have said, this revelation hadn’t even crossed his mind. He tried to search her face, but she wouldn’t meet his gaze, her eyes fixed on their intertwined hands as though bracing for the worst.

Finally, he found his voice, though it felt thin and unsure. “You did that?”

She nodded, her shoulders tense. “Yes. I felt bad all those years. You’re such a great guy, Hephaestus. You took care of us when you didn’t have to, and I thought it was the right thing to do.”

He fell silent again, the echo of what she said lingering in his mind as he tried to unravel the mess of emotions threatening to overwhelm him. Betrayal, gratitude, affection—they all jumbled together, leaving him unsure of where one ended and another began. He shook his head slowly, letting out a soft breath.

“We really should be better about talking about things,” he said at last.

Her head snapped up, her eyes wide. “You’re not upset?”

He shook his head again, this time with a small smile. “No. Because I was thinking the same thing—that we were just together because Zeus arranged it. That you were trapped.” He hesitated, his voice softening. “But during that time, I came to care about you and Eros. More than I should have.

“That wasn’t something I expected when we were thrown together, but it happened. What I wrote in the book about our truths from Thessaly—those weren’t just words. I meant every one of them. We weren’t just two gods stuck in an arrangement. We were…a family. And I cared for you in ways I didn’t even know I was capable of.”

He paused, running a hand through his hair. “When Zeus granted the divorce so quickly, yeah, it surprised me. But it didn’t erase what I felt for you. It wasn’t enough to make me forget the way you loved so fiercely, the way you protected Eros, the way you carried yourself with this strength that could shatter mountains if you wanted to. How could I forget that? How could I forget you?

“I tried, you know,” his gaze met hers. “For millennia, I tried to ignore those feelings. And it worked, mostly because I avoided you like my sanity depended on it. But now—seeing you again, working together, spending time with you—it’s impossible to push it down anymore.

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