Accidentally in Love with…a God?(Accidentally Yours #1)(46)
Author: Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

See you at eight.

G.S.

I read the note three more times. Was he for real? And why did I suddenly feel like I was being buttered up? It was bad enough that he’d rejected me. I could understand why—I was a child in his eyes—but it was insulting that he didn’t trust me enough to ask if he wanted something.

Questions whirled through my head. The more I thought about it, the more I needed to extract the truth from him, once and for all. What was I to him? His duty? A friend?

If I didn’t find out, I’d never be able to move on, even if I released him.

***

For once, my hair decided to play the role of ally. My strawberry curls hung past my shoulders in perfect spirals. My skin was smooth and soft from the hour-long sauna, and since I’d barely eaten in the past week from nerves, my little black dress couldn’t possibly look better—it was the only consolation I had, so why not enjoy it? I’d even managed to buy a fantastic black satin bra during my spree that made my respectable B’s look and act like very naughty C’s. Thank you, underwires.

I didn’t have any fancy jewelry, so I just wore Tommaso’s necklace and tried not to be angry at it. It wasn’t the necklace’s fault that he’d ditched me for “stuff” all day.

By eight o’clock, I looked like a new woman. Complete with shimmery pink lip-gloss, smoky eye shadow, and thick black lashes. It seemed silly to take time out to play dress up, but I sorely needed to have a break from the drama. So, as the saying goes, when in Rome…

Right on cue, Guy entered and time seemed to move in slow motion. He wore a tailored black suit—Italian, no doubt—with a turquoise shirt and tie that matched his iridescent eyes. His hair fell in loose black waves, framing his high cheekbones and perfect full lips. All of it sensuously complimented his cinnamon dusted skin. Even for a man his size, he looked lean and elegant. A refreshing change from deadly and annoyed.

He gave me a hungry look and mouthed a word—was it “mine”?—while his eyes lounged over my body. “You look absolutely lovely tonight,” he said, then swallowed.

“Thanks for the dress.” I said coldly. Just because he looked mouthwatering, didn’t mean I wasn’t still angry at him for rejecting me so coldly the night before, or for the years of torment.

“So?” I said, raising one brow, expecting answers.

“I’d hoped we could have dinner first and then talk. I don’t want us to be interrupted, and unfortunately, the dinner begins in ten minutes.”

I resisted kicking his shin. More waiting? “You must really hate me, or really want me to hate you.”

“I promise, it’s neither. I’m ready to tell you anything you want to know, but after we eat.”

I could see that the stubborn man had made up his mind and wasn’t going to change it. “Fine. What’s the dinner for anyway?” I asked.

Guy stared appreciatively at my chest before answering. “We will honor the dead with a celebration feast. The Uchben do not believe in funerals.” He held out his arm. “My return is also being toasted. Shall we?”

“Fine. But when we come back, you and I are having a long talk, and I want answers.”

“You, my sweet,” his eyes ran down the length of my body then looked at my face, “can have anything you want.”

***

Dinner was held in a giant medieval-looking ballroom on the compound. The open room was dimly lit by several wrought-iron candelabras and rustic sconces mounted in between life-sized portraits of men who apparently earned their places of honor by looking or being virulent and brutal.

There were paintings of a blood-spattered redheaded Viking standing on a cliff, an Attila the Hun looking guy, and even one of a bare-chested Aztec wearing a feather and jade headdress, gripping a severed head in his hand.

Classy. Where could I get prints for my living room?

Speaking of heads, the headcount easily exceeded two hundred tuxedo-clad men of all ages and their dates. So naturally, Guy and I were precariously seated smack in the middle of a long, U-shaped table where we could be easily seen. And stared at. And talked about like live centerpieces or animals on exhibit at the zoo. Awk-ward.

After the nerve-wracking meal, which Guy ate none of with the exception of dessert—cookies, oddly enough—there were toasts and cheers, ceremonies and songs for the recently deceased. It was like a giant antediluvian frat party.

Somewhere between the wrap up dinner speeches, I noticed Tommaso enter through the side door and take an empty seat. He shot a tiny twitch of a smile my way when he noticed me glaring at him.

Not surprisingly, he looked fashion-shoot unbelievable. Tailored dark gray suit, black shirt and tie, and hair combed neatly back. Absurdly, I found myself wishing they’d had an Uchben Ken doll like him when I was little; my Barbie would have been way happier.

I noticed he too was trying not to stare, but it was almost impossible not to look my way; Guy was at my side being the boisterous center of attention, laughing and playfully heckling the speakers with his deep velvety voice that filled the room. When Guy stood up and told one final story about his time with Buddha—I had a hard time with that one—I had to admit, even I was fascinated by this new, crowd-pleasing side of him.

Afterward, everyone moved into the larger hall next door for after dinner drinks and music—compliments of the live orchestra. I think an additional five hundred or so showed up, and Guy was obviously the guest of honor. I was clearly his arm-candy since he kept me pinned to his side. I tried to keep up, politely nodding and shaking hands with face after face, but it was impossible to remember everyone’s names, except for the Alexanders. There were at least fifty of those.

“Why so many?” I asked Guy.

“I asked the chiefs the same question when I reviewed the new soldier roster,” Guy explained. “Apparently, he is—was―our most famous Uchben.”

“What did he do?”

“He killed Hitler,” he whispered.

“Oh. I thought Hitler committed suicide.”

Guy practically glowed with pride. “The Uchben are impressive. Yes?”

What an odd yardstick this man carried. “Hey, since you and the other gods have been locked away, who’s been giving them orders?” I asked.

“They have directives they follow at all times,” he replied. “That’s what the chiefs’ roles are for, enforcing them. It’s a very efficient system. We only provide occasional oversight, and the directives can only be change by a unanimous vote of the gods.”