Page 116 of The Good Duke
But horribly, selfishly, desperately,shewanted that future with Simon. And that he’d know it instead with another woman who was not Persephone cracked open a heart she’d already believed long broken, and by another.
Tears stung her eyes. Angrily, she blinked them back.
This is what she’d sit here weeping over and lamenting? Not her very uncertain future but rather the fact she and Simon were moments away from meeting his future bride.
For there could be no doubting the two would ultimately marry. She, Aphrodite. Simon, Adonis.
And me, Persephone, goddess of the underworld…the Greek queen, also farcically charged with looking after Apollo.
All dreams of a hopeful, secure future might be dead to Persephone, but irony was certainly alive, well, and thriving.
A small giggle, laced with bitterness, bubbled past her lips.
Persephone felt Simon look at her for the first time since they’d boarded the carriage, but he didn’t say anything. He just returned to his study of streets he’d undoubtedly traveled hundreds of times before, and she to her ruminations.
In the end, Aphrodite and Persephone had both fallen madly in love with Adonis, with the resolution reached that they’d share him and his affections, each woman receiving him for half of the year.
There’d not, however, be any sharing of Simon. He’d belong to another.
No.
In actuality, he’d belonged to another before Persephone had even arrived. Until now, however, that woman had just happened to be a faceless, nameless stranger.
Now, the one who’d possess him in body, name, and soul had a name—Isabelle.
Or, she will, unless the rumor gets out of your former relationship with the marquess, in which case your past sins will sully Simon’s future.
As focused as she’d been on her own woes and her own misery and keeping a secret from Simon, she’d not given proper thought to the fact thathedeserved the truth.
Simon shouldn’t find out from Silas. Rather, he should have that information from his former best friend and current matchmaker’s lips. She owed him that. No, she owed him more than that. The least, however, she could do was inform him of her past scandal, which would have disastrous implications on his plans to find—and wed—a Diamond.
A pressure built at Persephone’s temples, and she pressed her palms to that place where her head throbbed and rubbed.
“We’re here.”
Startled, Persephone’s hands fell to her lap.
With a little yelp, Astrid hopped onto the floor.
From under his thick, lustrous, golden lashes, Simon stared at Persephone with an opaque gaze. At her silence, he quirked an eyebrow and tipped his head left.
Befuddled, she blinked slowly and followed that gesture to the window.
Her stomach sank, and her heart fell along with it, which was for the best. Hearts were horrid organs that only brought pain far greater than any physical hurt one might suffer.
“I see,” she said, her voice flat and emotionless to her own ears.
“Do you? Because we’ve been sitting here for five minutes?” Simon’s query contained a teasing note that, any other time, would have raised a smile.
He moved his gaze over her face. His grin faded, and his expression grew serious. “Persephone, what is it?”
“Nothing,” she said tightly.
“Because if it was nothing, you wouldn’t be silent and angry.”
“I’m not angry,” she snapped.
“Of course, you aren’t,” he said and made another futile attempt at making her smile.
