Page 6 of Perfectly Matching Again

Demeter glided into the cabin, all gorgeous curls and golden eyes, and Erato damn near swallowed her tongue. Fates, she was breathtaking. Realizing her jaw was hanging somewhere in the vicinity of her belt, Erato once again tried to school her features. It was harder this time.

Hades crossed her arms over her chest.

“Mother, you’ve only just arrived on board this morning. Maybe some rest?”

“Maybe you leave me and the muse alone… Run along, Hades and take that mut with you. Sepphie has been feeding him too much ambrosia.”

Hades looked sheepishly—as sheepish as the Goddess of the Underworld could muster to look—out the open door where her dog was basking in the sun, clearly zonked out on the food of the gods before giving Demeter a half bow and Erato a “I’m warning you” glare and disappearing.

Erato raked her fingers through her hair and desperately searched for something to say. After all, she had taken an entire week to think things through in Rome. When nothing came to mind, she went for her most winsome smile. Demeter’s words were cutting.

“Whoever told you it’s some kind of lethal weapon, lied to you, Muse.”

But Demeter’s voice, rich and low, caressed her like velvet. Erato’s smile widened. She knew the intonations in this voice. She knew the tone and the expressions. The notes that ran from ecstasy to restless calm before the storm. And she always knew when a woman was faking it. She might be a lowly muse, but this particular knowledge was her stock in trade, no matter how much Hades sneered in her direction.

So she took a step closer and licked her lips. When Demeter took a deep breath and visibly braced herself, Erato leaned closer.

“Hello, lover.”

Just outside of the cabin door, Erato heard someone fall and Persephone call for someone to help revive her passed out wife.

3

WHERE FORCED PROXIMITY TROPE IS ENACTED AND BONDS ARE TIED (THE MUSE IS INTO IT, MOSTLY)

As Hades was dragged away, presumably to be revived by either Persephone or one of the multitude of Olympians on hand, Erato gave Demeter a long once over. She made it a leer. Still, from under her—longest and lushest on Olympus, thank you very much—lashes, she carefully catalogued the small changes the glamour applied couldn’t hide.

Tired eyes, a chipped nail, a slight tremor in the hands hanging tense at the Goddess of Harvest’s sides. And a visible weight loss. Erato knew every single curve on this wonder of a body and the thinning of the cheeks was telling. She didn’t know yet of what, but something wasn’t quite right.

Demeter allowed her the leisurely exploration of herself for a moment longer before she pushed past Erato and made a beeline for the liquor cabinet. The generous splash of what looked like brandy in one of those fancy ass tumblers Hades probably stocked in every corner of this place, was another tell. Again, Erato had no clue of what exactly. She was getting tired of playing catch-up.

Demeter continued to ignore her, but Erato was determined.

“Not even a hello?”

She sauntered—as one intent on fixing things did, hips swaying and all that—closer. Demeter ignored her and sipped her brandy. Erato smirked. Demeter frowned. Erato lifted an eyebrow. Demeter tsked. Then, just as Erato was about to say something unquestionably foolish, Demeter narrowed her eyes and broke the silence.

“Whatever you’re here for, you aren’t going to get it, Muse.”

Well, strike one, Erato supposed. But then she was still at bat and she rarely stroke out. Striked? Stroked? Struck? The grammar eluded her and none of the words sounded right anyway. So she tried again. Erato cocked a hip, watched Demeter’s gaze follow her move and employed her best drawl.

“What if I am not here for anything in particular?”

The roll of those golden eyes was so profound Erato was afraid Demeter would sprain something.

Then Demeter sighed and said, “I cannot believe… I just cannot believe it’s you!”

Erato stared uncomprehendingly.

“Me what?”

Demeter threw back the tumbler and poured herself another.

“You! And your blue eyes and your absence of morals and your mouth and your horrid sense of humor and your eyes and all of this…” Demeter gestured vaguely about Erato’s still hip-cocked stance before taking a gulp and proceeding with her enumeration. “Out of a thousand cupids and gods and fucking muses, it had to be you and your mouth.”

Erato furrowed her brow.

“Well, for one, I am the actual Muse of Fucking, if you will?—”

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