Page 27 of Ungodly Rich

“You have a Manet?” It was enough to momentarily distract Julia. “Was it handed down through the family?” She would have heard if a Manet had been on auction recently.

“Nah. I stole it,” Percy said blithely.

Julia stared at him a moment, then burst out laughing. “For a second there I almost believed you!”

The sudden sound of a chime cut through the hum of conversation. A man in a crisp white suit was striking a metal triangle. “Please, find your assigned seats,” he called out.

“Julia!” Harry hurried over. She couldn’t help noticing that he was no longer with Hector. Was it her imagination, or did she pick up on an unexplained tension hanging between the brothers?

“Just in time,” he declared as the chime sounded again. He held out an elbow to escort Julia to the table, and she smiled at him.

As they walked to dinner, Julia swore she could feel the stare of that woman, Valentine, as tangible on her back as a physical touch.

Chapter Eleven

Hera

Hera had always loved hosting a formal dinner.

She relished the choreography of it all, the intricate dance of making sure everything ran smoothly, down to the very last detail. And she’d put in so much work for tonight’s event. There were the new linen cocktail napkins, monogrammed with the family crest in sage green to match the floral arrangements. Thomas Keller himself was in the kitchen making his salmon cornets, simply because they were Zeus’s favorite. And the seating chart was a masterpiece, particularly given how many gods were feuding, or flirting, or—like Aphrodite and Ares—had to be kept apart for their own good.

Tomorrow afternoon the Olympian Twelve would retreat to the council chamber on the mountain and begin their endless annual discussions. Hera secretly dreaded it. She much preferred this part of the weekend: all the gods together, celebrating their own immortality. At least here everyonepretendedto get along.

When dinner had ended, the guests all drifted to their feet once more, clutching espresso martinis or glasses of wine. The moon was apale sliver overhead, but the stars were especially bright on Olympus, and scattered lanterns cast a flickering glow over the lawn. A lone violinist played beneath an archway woven of flowers that Hera was certain she hadn’t ordered. Persephone’s work, most likely. Hera would have scolded any other goddess for interfering in her décor, but it was too lovely to complain about.

As always, Hera and Zeus lingered near the elaborate stone firepit at the edge of the terrace. Minor gods flocked around them, showering the couple in flattery and thanks.

“Mother?” Ares came forward, bowing his head like a supplicant in a temple.

“What is it?” she asked.

“I’d like to request an audience with you.”

Hera blinked, caught off guard by the formal language. It wasn’t like Ares to use the old protocols. Athena and Hephaestus, yes, but never her youngest.

Zeus was a few feet away, talking to Poseidon, swirling the wine in his glass with casual nonchalance. But Hera knew he was tracking their conversation in his peripheral vision. Zeus was always aware of what happened around him—and usually, what happened far from him, too.

“Why don’t we take a walk?” she suggested. Her husband didn’t need to know everything.

Hera led her son across the grassy lawn, where servers had already cleared the remnants of dinner. Olive trees stood sentinel around the entrance to the gardens, which were lit only by scattered torches.

The shadowed path was lined with sculptures every few yards: marble busts, and fountains, and a sundial carved from a single block of marble, shaped like a massive seashell. Hera paused, noticing a jagged crack that traced along the curve of the shell. When had that appeared?

She rested her hand on the fracture and closed her eyes. Ares shuffled his feet restlessly behind her but remained silent. He knew how much Hera loved this—using her powers for good, to fix what was shattered. To heal what was broken.

When the marble gleamed once more, smooth and perfect in the moonlight, Hera stepped back and gave a satisfied nod.

She led Ares around another corner, then paused at a gate and pressed her fingers over the lock. The gate hummed in contentment at her touch and swung open. Hephaestus had created the lock, which opened for Hera alone.

“I’m so glad you’re back, Ares,” she said as they stepped inside. “I worried about you.”

“I’m fine, Mother,” he assured her.

It was true that she’d worried about Ares, but if she was being honest, Hera had feared for Hephaestus more. Shestillfeared for him. He was the one with a cheating wife. Ares had made a mess of things, had nearly broken their family when he betrayed his brother, and then he’d run away. Leaving the rest of them to pick up the pieces.

If only hearts could be mended as easily as a fragment of marble.

Ares met her gaze, his blue-gray eyes intent. “I wanted to talk to you about Julia.”