Page 82 of Ungodly Rich

She would find out soon enough. That was why she’d brought Julia here, after all. It was time to take matters into her own hands.

Julia had clearly never visited a luxury spa, from the way she stared at everything: the chandeliers, the white marble counters, the bucket of ice where chilled cucumber slices were arranged in a circle. In the hallway behind them, curls of steam advertised the thermal baths and cedar-planked sauna.

Once the attendant had opened their lockers and retreated, Hera gestured to the glass dish inside the locker. “You should put your rings in there. You know massage oil isimpossibleto clean from jewelry.”

Julia bit her lip. “Are you sure it’s safe?”

“No one is going to steal from you here.” To prove it, Hera untwisted all her own rings—which were worth a great deal more than Julia’s—and placed them in her own glass dish with a resoundingclink.

To her relief, Julia followed suit, taking off her engagement ring and then the simple gold one on her other hand.

Hera tried not to sound too curious as she asked, “I don’t remember seeing that ring when we first met.”

“I know it’s plain, but it has sentimental value.” Julia sounded a touch defensive. “It’s the very last present my mother ever gave me.”

“What a lovely story,” Hera said soothingly. “Have you always worn it?”

“I started wearing it again in Greece, after Harry and I got engaged,” Julia explained. “I think a part of me wanted to feel close to my mother, with all the changes happening in my life.”

Or, if Hera was right, Julia might have known on some deep, subconscious level what the ring was for. She’d put it on to protect herself.

“I’m sure your mother would be very happy for you,” Hera said softly.

When they’d changed into the spa’s robes and jelly sandals, Hera led Julia to the courtyard at the center of Trellis, where women in fluffy robes usually sipped herbal tea and awaited their treatments. Today, however, they had the garden to themselves. Hera had specifically arranged for this, had rented out the entire spa for the day.

It would have been hard to hide a Well of Truth from other spa visitors, even the Xanaxed Upper East Side wives who came here.

Apollo had dug the well for Hera that very morning, after endless negotiations about what she would owe him. In the end, she’d promised power and influence for a new musician he was obsessed with—typical Apollo, always getting worked up about some human or another. Hera had felt the power surging around him as he’d struck the ground with his staff, a heavy bronze thing carved with intertwined laurel leaves.

Moments later, water had bubbled up from the earth.

Now, as they stepped into the courtyard, Hera saw Julia’s gaze cut straight to the Well. Perfect.

“Oh, youmustcome drink the natural spring water,” Hera exclaimed. “It’s said to have healed more people than the waters at Bath!”

“Really?” Julia asked skeptically. “Right here in New York?”

Hera approached a table where glass tea mugs were arranged next to dried fruits and gluten-free cookies. “I always drink from the natural springs when I’m here. It’s one of the secrets to looking eternally young.” Before Julia could protest, Hera knelt and scooped a bit of water into one of the mugs. “Here, try!”

Julia hesitated, but then her eyes glazed over as she registered the beauty of the water. It was crystal clear and so very cold, as if it had come from a pristine mountain lake.

Water from the Well of Truth was intoxicating to humans. Whether they looked into its surface—and caught glimpses of prophecy, as did the Oracle at Delphi—or whether they drank from it, they were inadvertently forced to tell the truth. The water contained a colossal amount of power. Apollo only dug a Well on rare occasions, which was why a god always had to supervise any human who imbibed from it. Any more than a glass would be fatal to their mortal body. Just look what had happened to that young man Narcissus. He’d stumbled across anabandoned Well, one that Apollo had forgotten to fill in after he’d finished with it, and drank so much that he died.

Humans could only handle so much of the truth, couldn’t they?

Julia lifted the mug to her lips. Her first sip was slow, tentative, but the moment she tasted the Water of Truth, she began to tip back the glass like a frat boy chugging his first beer.

“Slow down, there.” Hera quickly reached for the glass.

The mortal’s face was relaxed into a dreamy smile, her eyes unfocused. She looked frighteningly high.

“Why did you get involved with my son?” Hera asked, cutting right to the chase. “What are you planning?”

“I’m planning to marry him.”

A maddeningly curt answer, but the Water couldn’t force mortals to elaborate, only to tell the truth. Hera tried a different tack. “Tell me, who are you, really?”

“Julia Dodds.”