Page 4 of The Perfect Matchmaking

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never shared more than two words with her after the whole Trojan War ‘wipe a whole damn city off the face of the Earth over a dumb apple’ debacle.”

“Well sure, you wouldn’t know. You married a total oaf in Hephaestus and then dumped him for his equally under-intellectually-developed brother Ares. Nah, Goddess of Love you may be, but as I said, taste in men… really sus.”

“Fine, fine, let’s just move on from my appalling taste in spouses.”

“Well, maybe if you had mated more, you’d have developed better taste? You and I had our fun days in the sun, didn’t we?”

Aphrodite had to laugh at that. Trust Erato to remind her of one of her favorite memories. It had been wonderful. They had been wonderful. Especially coming after several traumatic relationships with gods and goddesses that had left her reeling, broken and bruised. Erato was gentle and joyful and had shown Aphrodite kindness and laughter and pleasure. That sex wasn’t abattlefield and that it could just be fun. Pure unadulterated fun. And best of all? They’d stayed close, and their friendship didn’t suffer. On the contrary, it was enhanced by their past intimacy.

Aphrodite shook her head. “Be that as it may, we need to ensure that the Convention runs as smoothly as possible. Since I really don’t want to speculate about why Zeus is insisting on a family meeting in the middle of the city of sin and debauchery, we can only do so much, and what matters most is to have everything under control.”

Erato chewed on her cuticle and wiped her fingers on the tight leather of her pants.

“Yeah, yeah, control what you can. So make sure the cupids are squared away, matching is tip-top. Maybe bring some adult entertainment, ‘cause one can only sit through so many of those true love blah blah workshops…”

Erato continued to blabber on, but Aphrodite tuned her out.Control what you can. Cupids squared away.The past three years had been rather unpredictable in terms of said squareness though. With different winners of the Queen of The Perfect Match crown each year, chaos reigned. She needed a ringer. Someone she trusted not to ruin the ceremony, the Convention, or the whole damn thing for her, while she was trying to figure out what to do about the descending hordes of Olympians.

“… I dunno, strippers could be the ticket, boss. But classy like…”

“Sabine Goddard!”

“You want to make Sabine strip in Vegas at the Convention? I mean, that would be a hot ticket to get, but are you sure?”

“What?” Aphrodite finally looked at Erato and was met with astonishment and not a little lust and anticipation.

“Oh, wipe that drool off your chin. She’s been happily married to her sweet Abby. No, no, we need her to come back from retirement and win the Perfect Match crown so I don’thave to put up with all the idiot cupids causing a ruckus at the ceremony as they did for the past three years. Do you remember Maddison St. James winning two years ago?”

“Oh, yeah, she got so excited her boobs nearly jumped out of her corset. Though I’m not sure that wasn’t by design. I enjoyed it anyway. The speech she gave still rings in my ears: ‘Shoot those arrows, shoot as many as you can, good hunting!’ I see how you’d want the classy and scorching hot Sabine to be there and steady that ship.”

Not really needing reassurance but still happy to have gotten it, Aphrodite reached for her phone, tapping away quickly.

“So you asked her? To come back from retirement? Isn’t she like doing something really boring these days? She might be mad at you. Might not come.”

“I’m the goddamn Goddess of Love, Erato. She’s a cupid, she’ll do as I say. And no, I did not ask her. I told her. So there.”

Erato actually grabbed a napkin and wiped her mouth and chin.

“Hot. Just now. With the telling and whatnot. But seriously, maybe ask her nicely? You know how these cupids are, they can be devious.”

“And what is it she can do to me, Erato?”

“Famous last words?” Aphrodite knew the glare she aimed at Erato could have melted steel.

The muse shook her head and raised her hands in surrender as Aphrodite watched the message she’d sent being received and read. No reply came in, but she knew Sabine would never defy her order. Say what you want about the longest reigning Queen of The Perfect Match, but she was reliable. Reliable to get the crown even if there were only two months left, and reliable to always answer Aphrodite’s call to arms. She’d pick up her quiver.

With darkness fallingon the snow-covered streets of Paris, Aphrodite found herself with another glass of wine at one of the windowsills of her magnificent Montmartre penthouse overlooking the city sprawling before her. The city of love. Her city. She had chosen it herself, helped forge and shape it. She knew every street, every corner, every crevice, so why did nothing seem familiar anymore? Why the growing unease and the recent inability to find peace, even here in her very own playground?

Turning the conversation with Erato over in her head, she remembered how the ever sexually active muse—who even now was probably bedding some unsuspecting woman—had casually thrown it out there that Aphrodite was undersexed. Maybe she was.

“And so what?” Aphrodite thought morosely, cursing Erato and her occasional spot-on observations. Maybe if she allowed herself the freedom her muses did, she’d be less undersexed. Maybe if she’d been brave enough to have long-lasting relationships beyond foolish men.

Because despite the lightness of her adventures with several goddesses and nymphs and Erato herself, women scared her. Their utter irresistibility, their understanding of her and their constant demand that she give her all… Gods were simpler, less dangerous. But then also less appealing. And always, always somehow thrust into her life by hook or by crook. The chief crook being Zeus himself.

Suddenly, a frisson of premonition shook her.

Gods thrust upon her.

Zeus. Hera. The whole goddamn family descending on Vegas. Were Zeus and his scheming ex-wife trying to marry her off again, to satisfy yet another game of thrones? After all, her first marriage had had no purpose other than to placate the angry Hephaestus. She had been nothing but aninsignificant pawn in Zeus’ hands. Her divorce had upset the balance on Olympus, especially since she’d thrown over her husband for Hera’s other son. But Ares, in turn, had been such a disappointment as a true mate, arrogant, reckless, and ultimately weak. And so they too had failed.

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