Daughter of Aphrodite

Chapter Three: Beloved

"Absolutely not," Paris seethed, "no way am I letting that jerk near my kid sister." He pointed an accusing finger at me. "How long have you known about this inane infatuation?"

I shrugged. "Bold words coming from the coward who won't even man up and tell his crush how he feels; it must run in the family. Who am I to judge who she does and doesn't like?"

Paris glared at me, but there was hint of betrayal, maybe even hurt. "How long have you known, Charlotte?"

"Two months," I pouted. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you, Paris. Percy asked me to keep it a secret. You know I never break a promise."

Paris looked away to focus on his classwork, not speaking to me. I continued working on our math homework before guilt started to weigh on my conscience. Dammit. I let out a small growl, reaching down to rifle through my backpack, picking up three different colored strings from a bracelet kit Paris had gotten for my birthday my freshman year. I took the purple, blue and green and cut them so they could fit around his wrist, and quickly started braiding them together.

I was by no means an artist. I could do makeup and hair like a pro, I could find the best clothes, even in thrift shops, but a simple three-strand braid was the best I could ever do on bracelets. Paris had tried to teach me the more beautiful crafts that he was able to do so easily, but alas, I couldn't bring myself to keep up with him. It was a hopeless cause.

When I finally finished the bracelet, I took Paris's wrist and tied the bracelet around it. "I'm sorry about keeping that secret from you," I muttered, hoping that his still hand meant that he was thinking of forgiving me. "I care about letting you know what's important, and I know that you're positive that Percy's business has to be yours, but maybe not all of her business has to be yours. Besides," I chuckled, nudging him a little, "you know she wouldn't have the guts to actually make a move on him; you Trents are too timid for that."

It took a full minute of me working studiously on my homework for Paris to stretch his hand over my page, reaching for my organized notes. To mess with him, I slid the notes further away, hoping that I'd still be able to peek at the formula, though I didn't really need it, only a reference to special cases.

Finally, Paris let out a sigh of defeat. "Fine, I forgive you," he hissed urgently. "Now can you please help a brother out?"

I put my notes in between us with a quiet smile. When he did ask questions as to how I organized my notes, I muttered the answers distractedly as I finished the last problem on my sheet. When I opened my folder to put it away, Paris snatched it from my hand and my mouth popped open and before I could scowl, he muttered, "Thanks, Char. Love you."

"As long as you understand the homework," I griped, watching him copy my work with a traitorous smile on my lips. Stupid kid knew I could never actually hate him. "Love you too, Pear."

Hate just wasn't in my blood. And for that, my father always called me Beloved.