Page 37 of Gilded Gods

As I close the door, I miss his body heat. I want those inked hands on my body again, and I hate myself for how much I crave him.

I try to forget about Atlas and strip out of my clothes, setting aside the jeans and blouse on the bench. The first two dresses are okay but not flattering. Peach is a definite no and goes in the pass pile. Dusty rose is another no and looks nearly see-through on my stomach. Even if they were darker colors, my cleavage falls out of the low-cut tops.

What is Athena thinking?

I got my boobs from my mom. It’s not like she doesn’t know the women in my family have big breasts. The dark mauve is pretty, and so is the cabernet. I know those will be my favorites. Most of my clothes are darker colors.

I slip into the mauve dress first, then the cabernet. Atlas was right about this wedding not being about us. Even if we don’t like it, our parents are happy. And if my mom wanted them to be together after her death, then who am I to deny them?

I love my dad. Athena has never done anything other than treat me like her daughter. So, it’s time to set aside my feelings and be happy, even if I have to pretend, even if my heart breaks watching them say their vows.

It’s not about me.

I choose the A-line cabernet dress and reach behind me to zip it. But my arm isn’t long enough, so I do a weird dance that goes nowhere.

Annoyed, I give up and open the door. Of course, Atlas is drawing in his book, his fingers zipping across the page.

I clear my throat.

He looks up.

“Can you help me?” I feel stupid but turn around anyway, pointing at the back of my dress. “I can’t reach.”

He slips the charcoal pencil behind his ear and leaves the sketchbook on the chair. His hand falls to my back, pushing me into the dressing room.

The door shuts.

My breathing quickens.

Atlas zips the dress, and I look at him in the mirror, his eyes carefully taking in my body as if he likes what he sees.

“You look beautiful, Ophelia.”

“I look acceptable,” I joke.

He spins me around, pushing my back to the mirror, and then his hands are on my face. His fingers stroke my cheeks. “Stop worrying about what people think. A woman as beautiful as you should feel comfortable in anything.”

Atlas is good with words.

He rarely uses them, but my heart does a summersault when he does. I feel special when we’re together.

Powerful.

Sexy.

I still think about what he said when he handed me the sketch I framed. Every day since, I have looked at my picture and wondered how he could see me like that. How could someone else see something I never could?

I suck in a deep breath and look away from him. He leans forward and strokes the pads of his thumbs across my cheeks.

“Look at me, Ophelia.”

My eyes meet his.

I expect him to say something. To tell me I’m beautiful again. Instead, his lips lightly brush mine. My lips part for him, but he doesn’t push his tongue into my mouth or even try.

Atlas smells like charcoal, champagne, and mint toothpaste. It’s an unusual mixture, but I like his scent because it’s unique to him. A chill runs through my body as his lips touch mine once more.

He licks along the seam of my mouth, his movements the exact opposite of his brother’s. Ares claims me like a king trying to conquer a new land. But not Atlas. He wants to take his time and explore.

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