Page 12 of For the Gods' Sake

My fingers looped under the delicate crystal strings, pulling up the dress. It was a soft copper color, more of a warm nude than anything, and was covered in small crystals that made the entire dress look like a singularpiece of shimmery fabric.

The bust was carefully crafted and the skirt fell in a perfect line down to just below my knees, if Adrian got my measurements right.

Who was I kidding? He probably knew what I wore to bed at this rate.

“I guess I’m wearing this tonight,” I said, voice hoarse.

“That is what you were told to do, yes,” Titus responded.

My head whipped to him to find the card in his hands, his eyes tracking the words.

I snatched it back. I hadn’t even been able to read it yet. My eyes dropped to the card and my breath caught.

Adrian’s neat scrawl was inked into the crisp white paper.

A dress almost as beautiful as the woman. Wear it for me tonight.

Love, Adrian.

By the way, I woke up on Olympus and my first thought was that I was wrong. She has nothing on you.

I wasn’t sure I was still breathing.

Fake, I reminded myself.

Wear it for me, Adrian’s voice repeated in my head, the tone of his voice somehow already burned into my brain after one conversation.

Whatever question was about to burst out of Titus was cut off by the screech of tires on the stone of my front drive.

“You’re not off the hook,” he said, pushing off the counter to go greet my father.

Of course, it was him. He treated his sports cars like they were daring him to drive as irresponsibly as possible.

My father was alone, because he would never drive like that with my mother in the car.

Quickly—almost shamefully, really—I folded the dress back up and tucked the card safely inside, placing it out of view. I didn’t want to tell my father yet.

At that moment, his booming voice sounded in my entryway. “Where is my wonderful daughter?”

“In the kitchen,” I returned.

I steeled my spine, readying myself for my father’s presence. It wasn’t that we had a bad relationship, it had just grown weary over the years.

It was hard to catch up about life when your life inherently involved discussion of what you did for work.

And then his feelings on the subject would inevitably surface and we’d be right back to tense conversations that my mother often had to break up.

My father rounded the corner, wearing his classic button-down shirt and sport coat, even though the weather was still far too warm.

But sport jackets made him look put together, so that took precedent.

He smiled, extending his arms for a hug. “Reyna.”

I walked over, accepting it. Just for a moment, I felt like a kid again. One who was raised with two loving parents, one a little harsher than the other. It was a life without pressure.

“Hi, Dad,” I said, while he passed his hand twice over my back.

I pulled back, smiling at him. “Would you like sometea or coffee?”

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