God of War: An Enemies to Lovers Marriage Romance (Legacy of Gods Book 6)
God of War: Chapter 14

“I should probably bow out now before it’s too late.”

I pace the length of the boxy changing room for the hundredth time, the round hem of my French tulle dress dragging on the floor behind me.

Ari fingers old framed photos of the artists who’ve passed through this venue throughout two centuries. Artists whose vicinity I have no business existing in when I’m such a failure. “You’ve done this before. You can do it again, Ava.”

“If by ‘done this before’ you mean I made an epic fool out of myself, then sure, I’ve totally done that before.”

She trudges toward me in her killer black leather skirt and white top, then grabs my shoulders. “You’re different from two years ago. You might feel like only a few weeks have passed since that last competition, but it’s been years. People forget.”

“Well, I don’t.”

“This is your chance to. Maybe try to remember those competitions you won as a teen?”

“Those seem like a lifetime ago.”

“Maybe. But you looked like a goddess, sis. You still do whenever you touch the cello. I’ve never seen you shine so bright as when you play.”

A shaky breath escapes me as I nod. “Okay. I’ll try.”

“Yes!”

“Mama and Papa don’t know about this, right?”

“Nope. You said you didn’t want the pressure.”

“Yeah. At least if I screw up, you’ll be the only one to witness it.”

“You won’t screw up anything. Trust me.”

“Thanks, little Ari. I’m glad you’re here.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world. And FYI, I’m not little anymore. I will soon get married to Remi and pop out beautiful children before you and Eli get around it.”

“Be my guest.” I plaster an automatic smile that hurts.

The last thing I need in my current jumbled state is to be reminded of my dear husband, who’s not only been away from the house for an entire week, but also shoved Gemma my way as if we’re tight buddies.

I told her the date of the event was tomorrow in an attempt to create some distance. She’s not a welcome guest today. Besides, I haven’t missed the heart eyes she automatically shows whenever she brings up Eli, and Sam also caught her snooping near his bedroom.

The nerve.

Even I have never snooped in his bedroom, but then again, there’s no love lost between me and the husband I’m stuck with.

Gemma, however, would be delighted to warm his bed and act as his mistress if given the chance.

Maybe I should present her with the option so I can regain my freedom and stop obsessively thinking about the man’s presence—or the lack thereof.

The only hint of him I’ve seen has been in the form of either Leo or Sam. The latter accompanied me today and is sitting at one of the tables up front so she can report my failure in HD detail to her boss.

Eli’s actions have no business affecting my mood anymore, but the fact that he hasn’t checked on me, offered me his company, or asked how practice has been going is fouling my mood more than it’s supposed to.

And no, his limitless black card and Sam’s emotionless face are no substitute for his lack of interest.

Ari releases me and stares at me expectantly. “Is he really not coming to watch you?”

“Why would he? He never has before and there’s no reason he’d start now.”

“But you want him to?”

“Absolutely not. He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named’s presence would only sour the atmosphere.”

She flops onto the worn-out faux leather sofa. “You’re still a horrible liar.”

“Am not.”

“Are, too. You’ve been checking your phone and staring at the door since we got here.”

“It’s about Sam. She’s not a joy to be around, but she’s a marvelous listener and basically a close friend at this point. I wouldn’t survive in that house without her.”

“Uh-huh. More like Sam’s boss.”

I throw a pillow at her, but she catches it and giggles away like a know-it-all. While I love my sister, I’d like to strangle her right now.

At the same time, I’m grateful to have her by my side when everything seems to be falling apart.

Cello is the only thing that makes sense and while I did consider abandoning it in the past, I’d never have been able to do it. That would be no different than discarding a part of my soul—the sane part that’s not brimming with bizarre hallucinations and decisively sickening coping mechanisms.

“You know…” Ari trails off as she stands, ready to take her place in the venue, possibly beside Sam so she can annoy the hell out of her.

For the first time, I feel sorry for the woman.

“Hmm?” I check my nails, even though I made sure they’re not too long to get stuck in anything.

“I could call Eli and chew him out for being a horrible husband and not supporting his wife in her special endeavors.”

I look up. “And make me look desperate?”

“So you are desperate.” Her grin could match the Joker’s.

I stand up, grab her by the shoulders, and push her out. “Go away.”

She slams her feet together like a soldier and salutes. “Will fight in your corner, sis.”

I can’t resist laughing as I close the door and sag against it.

A knock startles me and I pull the knob, ready to give Ari a piece of my mind. Instead, I find a small woman smiling at me. “It’s time, miss.”

I return the smile even as a dozen knots form in my belly. “I’ll be right there.”

With a heavy heart, I walk to the vanity and check my makeup, then touch up my hair. A vibration makes my phone dance on the table before it lights up.

I pause, my heart dropping to my stomach when I find a text from none other than my husband.

TIN MAN

Breathe. You’ve been playing the cello since you were five years old. With nearly two decades of experience, you ought to conquer the instrument, not the other way around.

ME

Someone hold me. Is the mighty Mr. King offering words of encouragement right now?

I’m offering facts. And I’m the only one who can hold you. There will be no someone who’ll offer the service.

You’re awful.

So you’ve been telling me. Back to the topic, imagine no one is there. It’s just you and your cello.

I’ll try.

Show them what you’re made of, Mrs. King.

*GIF of three men saluting while drowning in a boat*

I slide my phone onto the vanity and leave with a smile on my face. For some reason, the knots ease little by little, and even though they don’t disappear, I can breathe properly.

Thankfully, this is neither a competition nor a recital. With a sharp inhale, I walk to the podium that’s decorated with white and red roses and approach the white leather chair against which my cello lies.

The hustle and bustle of the attendees remains alive. They don’t all go silent because I’m the main attraction—and possible ridicule—of the night. Everyone is mingling about the tall tables, sipping drinks and chatting.

Still, the sheer number of people present sends a tinge of nervousness through me.

I bow anyway and smile at Ari and Sam, who are standing by one of the front tables. My sister offers me two thumbs-up and Sam smiles at me, which I know took effort because it looks as creepy as a serial killer’s.

Every swallow is exceptionally dry as I slide onto the chair and grab the neck of the cello with clammy fingers. I fine-tune the pegs, although I’ve done it a thousand times already.

My hand stiffens and I pause, knowing full well that if I start playing, I’ll break a string. The need to run away beats beneath my skin like a one-eyed monster.

Maybe I should spare myself the humiliation again⁠—

I lift my head to check the crowd and pause, hugging the cello tighter when I see the two men standing beside Sam and Ari. Leo and, surprisingly, Eli.

He looks sharp in his black suit, studded cuffs, and that unreadable handsome face that should be studied by neuroscientists—and artists.

Despite his usual indifferent expression, his presence charges me with hollowing relief.

He raises a glass of champagne in my direction and I offer a tight smile. Not because I don’t want to smile, but because my muscles aren’t entirely cooperating.

I close my eyes for a brief second and breathe deeply, then when I open them, I hit the first energetic note of Kodály’s Sonata for Solo Cello. I could’ve gone with something more modern that doesn’t require much focus on technique, but I’ve been a classical cello junkie for relatively all my life.

If I don’t challenge myself, who will?

I focus on my breathing as the passion of the allegro fills the space. The second note follows. Then the third…

Soon, I let the cello play itself, the melancholic music spreading through me like a healing balm.

For a moment, all the noise and people disappear. It’s just me and my cello. Like it’s always been my entire life.

But in the middle of the black darkness, a maddening enigma of a man with frosty gray eyes stands—tall, unmoving, intimidating.

And, for some reason, his presence sends a chill of apprehension through me.

I’m not playing for any of these people, judges, or critics.

For the first time, I’m playing for me.

However, I want him to see me at my brightest. I want him to look and regret everything he’s done to me.

I want him to realize that he’s lost me. And while he’s exponentially allergic to feelings, I hope it stings a little.

Or a lot.

Or enough to allow me to stitch my infested wounds.

I hit the final note of the sonata’s first and only part I’m playing tonight with an ardent breath.

Scattered applause fills the hall before it transforms into louder and louder noise. I slowly peel my eyes open to people applauding and shouting “Bravo,” led by Ari.

Only, now, Eli isn’t with her.

My inner monologue from seconds ago plummets to the floor as a stronger emotion hits me. Rejection.

I stand on unsteady feet and bow a few times, mainly to hide the trembling of my lips.

As I straighten to leave the stage, my heel stutters on the floor and my lips part.

Eli walks toward me, carrying a massive bouquet of beautifully arranged pink flowers.

I blink twice, trying to shove myself back to reality, but all I see is my husband eating the distance with his long legs and then offering me the flowers.

“You’ve done well.” His cool, rough voice carries in the air like a lullaby.

“Who are you and what have you done to my cruel, unfeeling husband?”

A small smile touches his lips. “Enjoy this version while you can.”

“You mean before your evil twin enters the chat?”

“Something like that.” He places the flowers in my hands and I’m acutely aware of the camera flashes. “I’ve never doubted you.”

“That makes one of us.” I can feel my cheeks flushing a shade of pink darker than the flowers, despite my every attempt to remain unaffected. “I’m ready to go home and have some soup, then make Sam’s ears bleed by talking nonstop.”

“Nonsense. We should celebrate.”

My lips fall open for the second time in a minute before I recover. “I won no competition. This doesn’t call for a celebration.”

“You’re comfortable with the cello for the first time after a long time, I believe that’s reason enough.”

“Will Ari join us?”

“No. I’m pitching her back to your parents’ house as we speak.”

Sure enough, Leo is trying to drag a mildly pissed Ari, who keeps chattering away.

No kidding. My sister and I can talk for entire nights. Neither of us has the physical ability to end a conversation and simply shut up.

I smile. “Pretty sure she’s sullying Leo’s prim-and-proper ears with more profanity than he can endure.”

“Henderson could use some real-world education.” He places a hand on the small of my back and guides me down the stairs, his touch sending a shock wave through my clothes and heating my skin. “I’ll see you at the car in fifteen?”

I stroke one of the flowers as I stare up at him. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were asking me on a date.”

He stares down at me with those cryptic eyes that somehow feel too familiar now. Too raw. Years ago, Eli was an idea, a deity, and a nonsensical idolization.

For the first time, he feels real. Close enough to touch and smell and breathe in.

“Do you want a date, Mrs. King?”

“Maybe I do.”

“Then maybe I’m making your wish come true.”

He releases me by the entrance to the hallway, and the lack of his touch is electrifying. I open my mouth to say something but close it when I realize I’m speechless.

As soon as I’m inside the changing room, I grab my phone to take pictures of the flowers.

I pause when I see another two texts from Eli from around the time I walked on stage.

TIN MAN

You look stunning.

My wife is many infuriating things, but she’s undeniably beautiful.

I hold on to the chair as heat slithers through me and wraps its greedy fingers around my neck like a noose.

What is he doing?

What’s this complete change from a certified bastard to…a flirt? An actual husband?

This doesn’t play in favor of my latest revenge plan.

Maybe he’s also plotting something himself? Like breaking me to pieces once and for all?

If that’s the case, I’ll drag him with me to the depths of hell even if it’s the last thing I do.

My phone vibrates again and I hold my breath but release it when I see my sister’s name.

ARI

I can’t believe that bully actually kicked me out before I got to congratulate you in person! Sending your performance video to Mama and Papa as we speak. You were the bomb, sissy! So proud of you!

ME

Thanks, Ari. I’m lucky to have you.

It’s the other way around, silly. Also, should I come back in there and teach my brother-in-law a lesson or two? But, like, bring Lan for backup?

Drop the act. I know you like Eli and that the two of you talk all the time behind my back.

How…do you know that?

I pause. Right. How do I know? Before the accident, Ari was always an annoying little shit that neither Eli nor anyone aside from Bran, Cecy, and Glyn gave the time of the day. I would’ve never accused her of liking Eli when she conspired with Lan to start a small fire in his car after he rejected me. When she was barely fourteen.

Truth is, I’d have to recall something in the last couple of years to make that allegation.

My sister comes to the same conclusion.

You remember something?

No, not really. I’m not sure why I thought that. I have no actual memories to back it up.

That’s fine. I’m glad you’re getting there little by little.

Me, too.

I love you, Ava. You know that, right?

Love you, too, Ari.

Would still kick Eli for you. Want me to come back?

That’s okay. I think it’s time I properly face my marriage.

I don’t tell her that while I’m finally accepting this wretched marriage, I’m doing it for very wrong reasons.

Once I’m done with Eli King, he’ll regret ever marry

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