Page 56 of The Prince of Hidden Shadows
With curious eyes darting from stall to stall, he assesses each ingredient, his mind sketching recipes as he goes. I follow in his wake, watching him, sighing at my good fortune, and marveling at how far he’s come since we met back in Princedelphia, Oregon. Admiration aside, I curse under my breath that his coat conceals his sumptuous ass. Not for much longer.
I concentrate on our upcoming visitors to tamp down my raging hard-on, although my white long coat wouldn’t betray much. Unsure of how wearing a coat sits with me, I grunt in frustration. Théo’s constant proximity heightens sensations that once felt foreign to me: human sensations. Months have passed, and many of them I’ve grown to welcome, yet the chill of the cold continues to unsettle me. The Underworld was damp, and heavy with humidity, a far cry from this biting weather.
Swallowing the naughty thoughts of what I have in store for him later, I say, “I still can’t believe you enrolled in that school.” I check the pear variety at a stand before remembering we have some left at home. “You didn’t pick any culinary school, but the renowned Cordon Bleu Institute of Culinary Arts. I’m so fucking proud of you, babe!”
My boyfriend side-eyes me, mirth flashing in his gaze. “You mean you can't believe you talked me into it.” He picks up a bundle of fresh herbs, discusses the price with the vendor, andpays his due. Only then does he snatch my hand, his thumb grazing my skin.
Quivering at his touch, I’m grateful that he doesn’t acknowledge my whispered curse, my standard reaction to our connection, which occurs more often than not. I’ve embraced my freedom at last; the fallout with my father seems to have unleashed my foul mouth, but let’s not dwell on that.
I fall in step with him. “Maybe,” I concede with a wry grin. “But look at you—practically a professional.”
“Two months of training didn’t turn me into a pro.” He shakes his head, but there’s a smile playing at his lips. “It’s weird, though. Going from... well, my previous line of work to this. Baking is different.”
“I bet. I’m glad you got a taste of it at Café Magnifique. It highlighted your potential, and you realized you could thrive and turn it into reality.”
“True dat! And you get to enjoy my attempts atpatisserieswhile ensuring that I follow your ulterior motive to a T.”
He’s right about thepatisseries. “I am lucky to stuff my face with your sugary delights,” I confirm, pressing my lips to his cheek. The bare jaw under my touch sharpens the awareness of the stubble I miss, most of all in the bedroom. He shaved it off, deeming it unprofessional for his new school. I promised him I’d get over it soon, as long as mine remains. “As for your change of course, it’s the right decision.” I bring his hand to my mouth and deposit asoft kiss on the inside of his wrist. “But remember that if you ever stray from it, I’ll scrub you down with holy water.”
Every time the subject comes up, he claims that I’m not a selfish bastard, but I’m not convinced. He’s too important to me. I can’tallow his soul to be corrupted and risk losing it again, let alone forever. Cleaning his act means cleansing his soul. One day at a time. It’s the surest path to guaranteeing that it will return to me, giving us another shot to bask in the insane bliss we share. I want it back eventually, and I trust my plan will be enough.
His anonymous contribution to the Princedelphia Vocational Center the night of the Victorian ball filled me with immense pride.
Oblivious to my inner rambling, Théo snorts while adjusting the strap of the canvas tote slung over his shoulder.
Part of me carries guilt for bringing up the fact that he’s mortal and I’m not. That won’t change, but we’re not doomed: We’re bound to meet again, and again, and again… Contrary to Willem—my first love—Théo meets the idea with disarming ease.
“Holy water?” Théo wiggles his eyebrows. “Yeah, you do that, Z… I know I’m irresistible, and you can’t get enough of me,” he brags.
I flash him a wicked smile. “Guilty.”
I watch Théo inspect a few blocks of stinky cheese before deciding which one to get for our guests, who should arrive in an hour or so. Earlier, I helped him dice zucchini, eggplant, red bell peppers, and onions to get a head start on the ratatouille that will be paired with filet mignon. Even after that, he insisted on visiting the market to add a few things to the menu. “Food is a vital component of my heritage,” he’d explained, and I complied without arguing.
He laughs at my admission, shaking his head as he hands a few euros to the vendor. The conversation shifts as we continue strolling through the market, his tote bag filling with ingredientsfor the next meal he’ll experiment with. He favors baking, but his cooking suits me as well.
Moments later, we stroll back home, his hand locked in mine. Thank goodness, we didn’t buy much, so everything fit in his bag.
Princedelphia and the Renversé Hotel slip into the conversation, as they do whenever nostalgia grips us. “I swear, if Eros hadn’t meddled, we’d be trapped in that endless dance around each other,” I say.
Théo grins. “And dance, we have, in more ways than one. I’m glad you talked me into going back to Princedelphia to attend the ball with you. It was amazeballs and marked a new beginning for us! As for Eros, I couldn’t be more grateful to your clever friend. He recognizedme... I mean—” My man pauses, on the verge of correcting himself, ready to speak of his soul. Yes, Eros recognized the connection between soulless me and the soul my man holds, but changes nothing for me. Instead, he surprises me by saying, “He knew.”
I hum in agreement, my hand fussing with the empty bag. “He sure did. Pretty sure he sensed we were meant to be right after you ended up in the Underworld by mistake. It’s been a wild ride. I wouldn’t want it any other way since it led me back to you.” I appreciate that he no longer scrunches his nose when I blurt out Willem’s soul and not his, as they are one and the same. “Did I tell you that Eros is working his magic in Paris at the moment? A few of his assistants are with him, so we might see them sometime soon.”
“That’d be great.”
“I also forgot to tell you that Nathan texted me yesterday. He’ll be holding a calligraphy seminar with his best friend, who’s also a calligrapher. They’ll be here around Valentine’s Day.” I avoid keeping him updated on the odd relationship between my mortal friend and my best friend, immortal Hecate. It’s none of my business, but I can’t imagine my father approving; I’ve come to realize that Daddy Dearest knows everything that unfolds in his kingdom. I wouldn’t want his wrath aimed at Hecate. He’s so narrow-minded that he might assume that her bond with Nathan arose after witnessing his son’s connection to a mortal.
As if reading my mind, Théo gives me a pointed look. “What about your father? Have you heard from him since your last visit?”
The lightheartedness of our conversation dims a little. I exhale through my nose, my gaze settling on a display of fresh baguettesat theboulangeriewe pass. Aiming to prolong the exchange, I stop before taking a left on his street, Rue Nicolas Flamel.
“Nope,” I snap, stopping right in my tracks and pulling my hand from his. “I’m so fucking mad at him… far from ready to forgive him. Trust me, some distance for a lifetime or two will do us good.”
I can’t believe that my farewell turned into him spilling the truth. My former grief rested mainly on his actions. He exploded when I told him I was moving in with the mortal I love. He dared to call it a waste of time, pathetic—all the usual bullshit. He should have understood that it wouldn’t push me to abandon my godly duties, but simply force me to take a step back. Instead, the asshole hinted at why I forgot the soul I was waiting for—to focus on work, to resist mortals. In the end, he confessed wanting me to forget the grief, the painting, everything.
Hades used his might to trick my mind. Ages ago, I remembered Willem and his radiant soul, but according to Father, sorrow left me weak. He sees everything—or at least he pretends to—but I missed my demand that Hecate intervene. In response, Father suppressed the inevitable yearning in my soulmate and me. The drive to move mountains to reclaim Willem’s soul vanished, and my miserable self reported to work, hollowed, memory fractured; pieces of the puzzle lost to me. And because of my request of Hecate, Willem’s soul was barred from the Underworld. I’m not certain how Hecate’s efforts and Hades’s interference intertwined. It doesn’t matter. Théo is back by my side, rooted inside my heart. Théo’s careless theft of my golden obol changed everything—for the better.
“I’m sorry.” His voice wavers, threaded with pain.
