Page 48 of Ungodly Rich

“This is Julia Dodds, Harry Ellene’s fiancée. She works at Lucy Keller’s gallery downtown.” Hermes saw Julia flinch at the introduction and belatedly realized why. He’d given her romantic credentials first and mentioned her job as an afterthought.

Well, she had better get used to it. These people would value her association with the Ellenes far more than her little gallery job.

Allison’s face lit up with curiosity. She stared baldly at Julia, taking in her sad black dress, her lack of real jewelry. “You’rethe girl Harry met! We’ve all been wondering about you! Arthur, this is the woman Tara’s son is marrying,” she explained, elbowing her husband.

“I see.” Arthur shrugged and took a sip of his Negroni, a cocktail that the museum had begun serving at these events specifically because it was his favorite.

Allison looked back to Julia. “Please tell Tara how disappointed I am that we won’t make the engagement party in London. We have a wedding that same weekend in Carmel.”

Hermes could see from Julia’s expression that she hadn’t realized the Gordons were invited to her engagement party. He doubted she knew most of the names on the guest list.

He started to answer, but Julia beat him to the punch.

“I’m sure Carmel is lovely this time of year,” Julia exclaimed. “Do you have a home there, or will you be staying at the lodge?”

You had to hand it to Julia: She might not have dressed the part, but she sure as hell knew what to say.

Allison stared at Julia as if trying to take the measure of her. “We have a house on Seventeen Mile Drive, though we’re members at thelodge, of course,” she said slowly. “Julia, you work at a gallery? What do you think of all these sculptures?”

Julia nodded to the closest one, a multifaceted white sphere. “I think this might be my favorite. Did you know that it’s made of aluminum originally intended for automobiles? It’s such a lovely meditation on the different paths life can take, how there are multiple ways to the same destination.”

“And here I thought it looked like a giant golf ball,” Allison replied, making a face.

“I like that interpretation,” Julia replied without missing a beat. “But only if it’s the golf ball that won the Masters.”

Arthur surprised them all by choking out a laugh. Allison stared at her husband in surprise, then turned back to Julia. “It’s nice to have someone else here who knows about art. I always have to drag Arthur to these things. He never takes art seriously enough!”

“Art is too serious to be taken seriously,” Julia quipped in reply. When they all stared at her, she smiled pleasantly. “I’m afraid I can’t take credit. That’s an Ad Reinhardt quote.”

For once, Allison seemed at a loss for words. She murmured something in reply, then tugged her husband away, still staring at Julia over her shoulder.

Hermes waited until they were across the party before elbowing Julia. “Look at you, putting Allison Gordon in her place with a one-liner! And what was that nonsense about the aluminum being sourced from cars?”

“That’s true,” Julia told him. “I downloaded the exhibit guide before we came.”

“Little Miss Harvard, can’t resist the chance to do her homework,” he teased, though he was impressed in spite of himself. Few people were both intellectual and quick-witted. Even fewer dared to stand up to billionaires the way Julia had just done. Perhaps she could hold her own in this family after all.

They wandered to the edge of the roof and stared out over the city. It was a tapestry of a thousand small lights: the golden glow of officebuildings, where worker bees still tapped frantically at their laptops; the lights of a million apartments, of cars and taxis and Broadway marquees and billboards. And before them lay Central Park, a vast square of darkness. Underneath it all, Hermes felt the web of subway tunnels connecting the city, like the tentacles of some chthonic beast stretching out into the boroughs.

“This view never fails to make me feel small,” he mused aloud. “Remind me, you didn’t grow up in a big city, did you?”

“No. Did you?” Julia neatly turned the question back on him.

Hermes gave an airy laugh. “I’m a citizen of the world; I’ve lived all over.”

Julia cast him a surprisingly sympathetic glance. “I loved my time on the cruise ship at first, but it got old after a while. There is something about constantly moving that feels…” She hesitated, searching for the right word. “Isolating. No matter how many people you meet, you know you will always have to say goodbye to them soon enough.”

Hermes was surprised at the insight. “Enough about me,” he said swiftly. “You grew up in Texas, right?”

“Georgia, actually.”

Time to speed things along. Hermes reached for the magic that lay coiled within him and coaxed it into his next question.

“With your parents?” The words felt slick on his tongue, as if he could taste the compulsion that he’d woven around them, viscous like a soap bubble. Compulsion was one of his signature tricks. Hermes Dolios, they used to call him—which might be translated as Hermes the Deceiver, or Hermes the Cheat, or his favorite, Honey-Tongued Hermes.

Julia shot him a look. “You sound a little funny. Are you feeling okay?”

Holy Fates above. Was this womanimmuneto compulsion? Was that even possible?