"Later." Cupid clapped his hands, then he and Psyche vanished in a puff of golden smoke.
Grace took a step back, her mind whirling. She couldn't believe what she'd just heard and seen.
"I have to be dreaming," she whispered. "Either that or I've watched one too many episodes of Xena."
Grace stood still as she struggled to digest all she had seen and heard. "That couldn't have been real. It had to have been some sort of hallucination."
Julian sighed wearily. "I wish I had the option of believing that."
"My God, that was Cupid!" Selena said excitedly. "Cupid. The real thing. The cute little cherub who hands out hearts."
Julian scoffed. "Cupid is anything but cute. As for handing out hearts, he's more likely to rip them out." "But he can make people fall in love." "No," he said, tightening his grip on the necklace. "What he offers is an illusion. No power from above can make one human love another. Love comes from within the heart." There was a haunting quality to his voice. Grace met his gaze. "You say that as if you know." "I do"
She could feel his pain as if it were her own. She reached out to touch him lightly on the arm. "Is that what happened to Penelope?" Grace asked quietly.
His eyes tortured, Julian looked away from her. "Is there some place I can get my hair cut?" he asked unexpectedly. "What?" Grace asked, knowing he was changing the subject to keep from answering her question. "Why?"
"I want nothing to remind me of them." The grief and hatred on his face was tangible.
Reluctantly, she nodded. "There's a place in the Brewery."
"Please take me there."
Grace did. She led him and Selena back into the Brewery to the salon.
No one spoke again until after the beautician had him firmly planted in the chair.
"You sure you want me to cut this off?" the woman asked as she raked adoring hands through the long, golden locks. "It sure is gorgeous. Most men look like crap with long hair, but it really becomes you, and it's so healthy and soft! I'd love to know what you use to condition this." Julian's face was impassive. "Cut it." The petite brunette looked over her shoulder at Grace. "You know, if I had this to run my hand through at night, I think I'd be a little ticked that he wants to whack it off."
Grace smiled to herself. If the woman only knew. "It's his hair."
"Okay," she said with a wistful sigh. She cut it to his shoulders.
"Shorter," Julian said as she pulled back.
The beautician looked skeptical. "You sure?"
He nodded.
Grace watched silently as the beautician cut his hair into a becoming style that curled around his face, reminding her of Michelangelo's David.
If it were at all possible, he was even more dazzling than before.
"How's that?" the woman asked him at long last.
"It's fine," Julian said. "Thank you."
Grace tipped the woman, then paid for the cut.
Looking up at Julian, she smiled. "Now, you look like you belong here."
He snapped his head to the left as if she'd slapped him.
"Did that offend you?" she asked, concerned that she had inadvertently hurt him somehow. Heaven knew, that was the last thing he needed.
"No."
But inside, she knew better. Something about her innocent comment had wounded him. Deeply.
"So," Selena said slowly as they headed back into the crowd in the Brewery. "You're the son of Aphrodite?"
He cut a sideways glare at her. "I'm no one's son. My mother abandoned me, my father disowned me, and I was raised on a Spartan battlefield under the fist of whoever was around."
His words cut straight into Grace's heart. No wonder he was so tough. So strong.
She wondered if anyone had ever held him lovingly in their arms. Just once, without demanding he please them first.
He walked on ahead of them. Grace watched the sinuous way he moved. Like a deadly, sleek predator. He had his thumbs tucked into the front pockets of his jeans, and seemed oblivious of the women who gawked and sighed as he passed.
In her mind, she could just imagine what he must have looked like in his day, wearing battle armor.
Given his arrogance and moves, he must have been a fierce fighter.
"Selena," Grace said quietly. "Didn't I read in college that the Spartans beat their sons every day just to see how much pain they could endure?"
Julian answered for her. "They did. And once a year, they held contests to see who could endure the harshest beating before crying out."
"And a number of them died from the contests," Selena added. "Either during the actual beating, or later from the wounds."