Aphrodite's Flame

32.

Lipari is the perfect place for a wedding, really. I always thought I'd have a great formal ceremony with every god and goddess I know present. Hundreds of heroes and half-gods would attend the less formal half afterwards. There would be more nectar than even Dionysus could drink, more food than any could stomach and I'd be so happy and smiley throughout the day.

It's not like that at all.

A script was brought to us by Hermes, which we had to sign. It took no persuasive power to get Hephaestus to make it a bit more special. Hundreds of candles light the way to a garden terrace which is now thickly covered in snow. With the crystal clear lightness of the snow everything looks even more magical.

I wear a white and silver dress, my hair hangs down in loose curls. My groom shaved and washed and even had his hair cut, because of course he knew how I hate his man bun. He did tell me he would grow it out again after the ceremony.

Together we walk up the winding candle lit path, hand in hand. I never held his hand before. It feels strong and secure. I wonder whether mine is just as confident.

The moment we arrive at the little terrace, one of the golden ladies hands me a pen. Heath and I don't say anything to each other. There are no vows and no declarations of love. I put down my name where it belongs, give him the pen and watch him write down his name.

And that's that. We're married.

As the severity of the situation dawns on me, I turn to face my husband, who is studying me closely. He can see my soul. He knows what I'm feeling. If he knows what I'm feeling, he knows what I'm thinking. There is no turning back now. My name is on the piece of paper. We could have torn down Olympia together. Instead we complied. Why? Why was it so easy for us to just do whatever the Hades Zeus wanted? Were we dumb and foolish? Or was it what he said - we can be happy regardless of what they force us to do? If I look at Zeus and Hera, I know I don't want a marriage like that. If I look at Hades and Persephone, I know I don't want a marriage like that either. Sure, they're the perfect couple - but only when they're together, and half the year they're not.

'Stop overthinking this,' Hephaestus says in a brisk voice which brings me back to Earth right away. I almost snap my neck in looking up at him. It's not that the situation feels surreal, its feels overly real. Like I am perfectly aware in conscience, unconscience and subconscience what is happening, what I'm feeling, what I'm thinking.

Help, I'm going into a panic.

That is also the moment he cups my face with his hands and leans in to kiss me. I can smell his cologne, I can feel his rough hands, I can see the pain and determination in his eyes. I lean in, too, and kiss him before I change my mind. He tastes like smoke and figs, it's sweet and also darkly suffocating.

Slowly I lose myself in him, moving my hands toward his neck, pulling myself closer to his body as I wrap my arms around him. How and when did he become such a great kisser? The hands that cupped my face are combing through my hair, pulling it gently. His lips move firmly and decisive, the tiniest moan escapes my mouth and I feel him smile against my lips. He lets go of me and takes a step back, leaving me a little wanting and confused.

'You're getting cold. Let's go inside.' This time he holds out his hand and waits for me to take it. Smiling, I oblige and follow him back down the snowy path toward his little castle.

It's nice and warm in the comfort of his home. I curl up in a big chair in front of the hearth and wait for the God of Fire to sit with me. His limp is tiring him out. I can tell as he drops down on his sofa, resting his legs in front of him, massaging his calves.

I get up and kneel in front of him, putting my hands on his. Peeling them away, I start massaging his sore legs. I'm surprised that I can actually feel the deterioration of muscle that belonged here, and yet he looks so strong all the time. How far does the hurt reach? I dare not look up at him as I knead his flesh and move my hands up and down. His eyes are burning through me, but I resist looking up as I relieve the stress from his legs.

'Is it - is it just the legs?' I ask. He cocks his head to the side. I can't find the right words, a gentler way of putting it, and I clear my throat. I look up to find him laughing at me.

'You want to consummate the marriage?'

'No! I - stop laughing like that!' He takes my hands in his and gets me to stand. I thud down next to him on the sofa. His arm moves across the back rest and his hand finds my shoulder. I automatically lean into him.

'Do you?' I ask him, watching the dancing flames.

He smiles. 'I won't give you any children. The Fates told me so.'

'I have more than enough children,' I tell him, looking up. His dark gaze meets my blue eyes. 'But does that also mean...'

'No, Aphrodite. I can still have sex.' He leans over to me before adding in a whisper, 'you want to try?' I laugh at him. I am not the blushing kind. Looking him straight in the eyes I tell him,

'I never opposed the idea.'