Page 46 of This Divine Revelry

Dionysus grows positively radiant. ‘Ariadne.’ Even the way my name is spoken is laced with that infuriating, teasing warmth. ‘Don’t worry, you can run your fingers through this just as well.’

I narrow my eyes, trying to get a hold of myself. ‘You think you’ll so annoy me I’ll resort to pulling your hair?’

‘If you ask nicely.’

I bristle, which I imagine is precisely what Dionysus wanted.

‘So, you … How are you … That is to say …’

‘Who knew a haircut could have you so flustered.’ Dionysus closes the space between us. ‘I should have done this weeks ago.’

‘Are you still … costuming as a man, then? Is that how you want me to think of you?’

‘Think of me however you like, just as long as you think of me.’

‘Dionysus, an answer, please.’

‘Still playing dress-up as a man, yes,’ he confirms. ‘Accessorizing as a woman. Throwing in a few things of both and neither, sort of all at once. I contain multitudes, darling. So I really don’t mind how you think of me – just as long as it’s Dionysus first and everything else second.’

‘So you’ll be my … husband? My partner? Something else?’

Dionysus shrugs. ‘Ariadne, are you alright? This seems like it shouldn’t be the thing on your mind before we marry.’

My fingers reach for his hair almost of their own accord, and he lets me brush them against the shorn strands. Slightly uneven. Like he did it himself. I might have enjoyed the longer curls, but this frames his face so well I could cut myself on his jawline or whet a blade against the jut of his cheeks.

‘I know this is a ruse, but it still matters to me,’ I say. And then, more earnest: ‘You matter to me. So if I’m to tie my destiny with yours, I’d like to know you as authentically as I can.’

The cockiness falters, just a little. ‘Dionysus. That’s how you know me. Husband. God. All those gendered terms are just language to explain a person. Which is important. I don’t mean to dismiss what certainly means a great deal to many people, including those who experience the world as I do. But personally I see it as a part of the ruse and, frankly, however you refer to me doesn’t change what I am. I’m not sure any language can encapsulate that. So describe me as you wish, and know me as the person I am.’

‘Dionysus,’ I agree.

‘Ariadne?’

‘Hmm?’

‘You can stop playing with my hair now.’

I realize I’m still toying with the strands and my hand falls abruptly to my side.

Dionysus’s eyes shine with delight. ‘You’re nervous.’

‘I’ve never got this far before,’ I admit. ‘I’m normally abandoned by now.’

‘Well, I’d been considering it, but then you swanned in here looking like you arose straight from the baths of Aphrodite and I’ve decided to give this marriage thing a shot.’

It takes me a moment to realize he’s complimented me. He’s gazing at me steadfastly, as though daring me to deny it, or to brush it off with an insult tossed back in his direction.

My mouth feels suddenly dry, caught in the gaze of those verdant eyes. They shine bright – a promising kind of green: sun-drenched meadows and unruly forests and the sort of vegetation I once clung to when washed up on these isolated shores.

Why are you denying this? It would be oh so fun.

I bite my lip, like that might alleviate the pressure of wanting to press them against his.

Because I can’t trust this feeling. Look where it led me last time …

That’s the problem, isn’t it? When they told us to protect ourselves, to resist temptation and arm ourselves against the promises of lovers, I always imagined it as just that: a fortification to build. Defences to stack. When boys came, laden with desire, it would be a campaign of siege. Something to withstand until, finally, with enough perseverance, the battered walls of our resistance might crumble.

There was never any mention of the fact we might want to. It was their desire we had to resist; ours was non-existent, the sort of thing well-bred young girls would never even have to consider.