Psyche and Eros

Snooping

After our first breakfast together, my mystery husband-to-be announced he would be going to work. Doing what, I have no idea, but I can only imagine. For all I know he's Apollo and the sun doesn't even rise without him. 

Or perhaps, he's Hermes...rushing all over the place all day long, amusing himself by playing a trick on me by night. Who knows at this point. I've only been able to rule out Zeus at this point. I couldn't ever imagine him using the invisible trick on me over an animal. He wouldn't need to conceal his identity either...

I don't think he's Poseidon either. Nor Hephaestus...or Ares - definitely not Hades. God no. That narrows it down a tad, but barely. I'm ashamed to say he may be a God I'm either overlooking or simply don't know...

I spend the day exploring while I wait for him to return. Every delicate hallway, every hidden closet, the perimeter of the garden outside. A fountain sits in the middle, a statue in its centre, of a Goddess. Another mystery. Not many defining clues on who she is either. Her significance is another imperative clue too. He designed every inch of this place, after all.

I tried my best to scout clues out of his own belongings but I saw scarcely any. Everything here is intended for me. Or us.

I find another master bedroom aside from the one I woke up in. In there I find a dresser with his clothes, proving he does wear clothes at least. Does he ever walk around naked though?

Which only makes me go back to our previous conversation. This bedroom is much larger. Is it intended for the two us?

Riffling through his clothes only encourages my train of thought to go back to what's to come. Where I might end up.

In this room.

It sounds from what he said, anything would be my choice.

Which only brings me more pause. Not knowing what I want isn't something I'm used to. I usually know, or have some kind of idea...but this not seeing him part...I'm ashamed to say it's still bringing me a lot of hesitancy.

How vain am I right?

I wish this wasn't an issue. I suppose it only means I have to find another substitute to spark an attraction to him. That's reasonable enough to start with, I think.

I've daydreamed and fantasized of romance for years, but that included looking up at him as this theoretical man kissed me...among many other things. I have to rethink that part of the equation, and I suppose I will have to see exactly how challenging that turns out to be. 

Maybe he'll surprise me. And I'll surprise myself. 

Beside the dresser there is a lounge chair, and on it, lays a discarded white shirt. It spikes my curiousity and I walk over to it. After a second of questioning myself, I pick it up and hold it a small distance from face. 

I give a light sniff. 

Even for the short period of time I have known him, I know it smells exactly like him. Feeling creepy enough with that alone, I swiftly put it back and escort myself out of the room. It's nearly time for dinner and perhaps, it's my turn to cook...

We'll see how this goes. 

My mother rarely cooked, but she did it was a soup or stew of some kind. A few of those times I would watch over her shoulder, handing her ingredients, stirring when she had to leave the room. My mouth would water the whole time. I would even sneak spoonfuls out of it when her back was turned - which usually resulted in burning my tongue. My way of punishing myself, she would tell me. 

When I got older, she stopped inviting me to cook with her though. To stop encouraging me from engaging in with the servants. She kept doing it however, because she loved it so much. She used to cook with her mother, you see, when she grew up poor. Before she made it and met my father. 

It's like she was so close to knowing how much it would mean to me to spend more time with me like that, given her own experience...only to forget entirely. She passed up making more memories like that with me, and only took me to social gatherings to intermingle with other royalty. She would barley even speak to me at those things. Aside from that, little talks at the dinner table don't amount to much bonding time. That's all we had for a long time...

Which reminds me, I would like some other kind of bonding experience with him besides having dinner together. 

Still, I think I can remember how to make her favourite soup. So I will. A silent goodbye to her...I guess you could say. Or a way of making a new tradition, or the start of my own cooking journey. I will have lots of time to teach myself, after all. 

I'm halfway through my soup endeavor when he returns home. He announces his presence. "Psyche, I'm here!" 

I smile to myself as I sense him coming closer. I like the sound of his voice, I realize. 

He stops when he sees what I'm up to. "Oh wow. That smells absolutely delectable." 

"Are you hungry?" I give him a huge smile. "I was hoping I'd time this right for you. I'm nearly done." Which wasn't a complete lie, but I can stall for just a bit longer until I remember the one last ingredient I'm missing...

"Starved." He answers, rounding the island in the center of the kitchen. "Let me boil that for you." I see the pot move just a tad, and begin to simmer under his touch. 

I scoff. "Now you definitely have no excuse not to cook if it's that convenient for you." At least he doesn't feel the need to hide his powers from me...which one of them is going to be the final clue that will make everything click...

I guess we'll make do without that last ingredient...hopefully it's good enough as is. 

He laughs lightly. "You really didn't have to do this for you me." 

"Why not?" I ask defensively. "I can be useful too. Your little show off bath this morning made me feel quite inadequate in my abilities. I want to do things too." I pause for a moment, not want to say aloud that I can't imagine how bored I will get soon if I don't find a hobby. 

"You can do whatever you wish, as long you know it isn't necessary." He adds. Filling the bowls for me. 

I smirk as I follow behind him to the table. "Oh, don't worry. I won't do anything needlessly."