Page 28 of Ungodly Rich

That mortal woman? Hera had hardly spared her another thought since she’d banished the girl to the bird room. Which had been a little petty of her, perhaps, but Hera had never cared for beautiful mortal women.

They all reminded her of Zeus’s paramours.

“All right,” Hera said slowly.

Her son hesitated, choosing his words carefully, and Hera realized with a start that he had changed. The Ares she knew was always speaking—or acting—without forethought. But there was a new steadiness to his movements, as if the sharp edges that once defined him had been smoothed over.

“I was planning to ask Julia to marry me, and would like your blessing.”

Hera drew in a breath, surprised. Most gods conducted their mortal affairs without the added complication of marriage, primarily because most gods moved on rather quickly. Occasionally, though, a god did wed a human. It signaled to the other gods that this was more serious than a typical dalliance. In marrying Julia, Ares promised to provide for her for the rest of her mortal life, to love her even as she grew old and wrinkled while he stayed forever young. He would recognize thedemigod children they had together, grant them whatever powers and status he could.

“I realize you haven’t had a chance to get to know her yet, but she’s really wonderful,” Ares was saying. “When she met me, I was still in a dark place, after—…”

“Of course,” Hera said quickly, to keep Ares from speaking it aloud.

“Julia drew me out of it,” Ares went on. “Even after everything that’s happened to her, losing her mother at a young age, she’s got an innate and contagious sense of joy. She’s strong, and brave, and she makes me happy.”

Happy.What a mortal word. The gods didn’t speak of happiness the way humans did, as some kind of goal to be reached. They sought pleasure, certainly. And they were motivated by many of the same things as humans: power, vengeance, passion, anger. Buthappinesswas a human word, elusive to the gods.

Or perhaps it had always just felt elusive to Hera.

“Then I’m happy for you,” Hera forced herself to say. “Julia will sign a prenup, of course. And you know that once you reveal the truth, you’ll need to bind her under one of Apollo’s unbreakable vows. Youaregoing to tell her before the wedding?” she added, watching her son’s expression. “Julia should know what she’s committing to.”

“I’ll tell her when the time is right,” Ares promised. “It’s just been a lot for her, learning that our family is wealthy. I don’t want to overwhelm her.”

Hera understood Ares’s desire to put off a painful conversation. But if he really wanted to marry this woman, he would need to tell her the truth sooner or later. Eventually, Julia would realize that her husband wasn’t aging at all.

Ares would tell Julia who he was, and then Apollo would seal her tongue with one of his spells, silencing her from ever revealing what she’d learned. The alternative—wiping Julia’s memory of their entire relationship, if she refused to accept the truth—would hurt Ares far more.

“You can have the villa in Italy, if you think Julia would like it,” Hera went on. “Surely you don’t mean to live in New Zealand forever?It’s hardly a place to raise children. I imagine that Julia would enjoy Italy as she grows old, surrounded by grapes and fresh air and sunshine.”

Ares’s expression darkened. “I really care about Julia. I don’t want to lose her.”

Hera’s heart ached for him. “I know. And I’m thrilled that you’re committing to marriage. But, sweetheart, youaregoing to lose her,” she said gently. “That’s what will happen in the end. Just try to enjoy the time you do have together.” It was something countless gods and goddesses had faced over the centuries. Athena, in particular, was known for falling head over heels for intelligent men—Newton, Cavendish, Montaigne—and setting them up with inventions and wealth, then wildly mourning them once they passed. As they all did, in the end.

Ares stared down at the roses that lined the garden beds, his brow furrowed.

“What if I could have forever with Julia?” he asked softly. “What if I could make her a member of the family?”

Hera swallowed against a sudden dryness in her throat. “You can’t mean…”

“I was hoping to make Julia a goddess.”

Deify a mortal. The last time they’d done it was for Aphrodite.

Hera fumbled to reply, unable to hide her shock. “Ares. You do know that apotheosis is a massive undertaking? It requires great power, and a vote of all the Olympians in council. You’d need two-thirds agreement to make it happen.”

It was rare enough to gethalfthe gods to agree to something, let alone eight of the Twelve. They were often of a dozen different minds on any given topic.

Ares nodded emphatically. “I know, but we got the votes before.” For Aphrodite, he meant.

Hera stared at her son, blindsided. He didn’t understand the sheer magnitude of what he was asking.

It was one thing for Hera to bless their marriage—not that she had much choice in the matter, as thegoddessof marriage. It was another thing entirely for her to agree that Julia should be with them forever. She knew nothing about the woman.

“You do realize that if Julia joined the Olympian Council, someone would be demoted,” Hera reminded him. There was only ever room for twelve gods or goddesses among the inner circle.

“I assume that Father will make that decision,” Ares replied, apparently unperturbed. They both knew that he wouldn’t be the one demoted—that, if history was any precedent, a goddess would have to step aside for another goddess. Perhaps Artemis, Hera thought; she had grown irrelevant in recent centuries.