Aphrodite's Crime

Chelsea

I like to think gods were just like us: quirky, high-powered people with flaws. Zeus couldn’t keep it in his toga. Hercules had horrible luck with women and worked too much. Athena had to always be the best at everything…

And if I were a goddess, I would be the Goddess of Love.

I loved to pay my rent late. I loved working two jobs to pay for my one-room apartment. I loved adulting.

Nope, that’s a lie.

But the person I did love was my best friend, and this weekend she was getting married!

I was running late—not fashionably or charmingly late—just late in the way that screams the chaos of blown tires and a last-minute dry shampoo job.

The salty breeze off the coast whipped at the hem of my dress as I half-jogged, half-tripped across the parking lot of the luxurious waterfront resort. My heels were borrowed, one size too small, and my suitcase had a broken zipper I’d held together with sheer willpower and duct tape. By the time I reached the front desk, I was sweating through my breezy dress.

“Hi,” I panted, leaning on the counter like I was about to order a drink instead of checking in. “Reservation for Chelsea Turner. I’m with the Mavros-Vale wedding party.”

The woman behind the desk blinked at me, then smiled like she was trying very hard not to judge. “Ah, yes. You’re in Room 216. Welcome.”

I muttered a thank-you, grabbed my key, and practically sprinted upstairs. The room was beachy-cute—Aegean blue walls, seashell-shaped soap, and curtains that fluttered with the ocean breeze. I freshened up in record time, slapped on mascara, cherry lipstick, and somehow made it to the welcome dinner just as Persephone was climbing onto a chair to give her speech, Jason steadying her with one hand… on her ass unapologetically.

I slipped into the back of the crowd, snagging a champagne flute from a passing tray. String lights glowed overhead, the Atlantic glittered just beyond the lawn, and Percy looked… happy. Radiant. The kind of happiness that made everyone else believe in forever—or, in my case, renewed it.

“Chels! You made it!” Percy squealed, catching me in a hug after her toast, and the food was being served.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world!” It was true. Come Underworld or high water, I would’ve been here. I pulled back, smirking, eyeing her tight, innocent-looking sundress. “Isn’t white reserved for Vestal Virgins?”

She laughed, feigning innocence. “Are you saying I’m not?”

Jason appeared at her side, placing a possessive hand around her. “Miss Turner.”

“Don’t use your sexy professor voice on me,” I teased, looking at the bride. “And, Percy, don’t pretend like I didn’t walk in on your two naked in bed. There was no tutoring happening in that room.”

Persephone shrugged, “Shh, my dad doesn’t need to hear that.” She grinned wickedly though, owning it, while Jason’s expression didn’t change—classic, unapologetic Jason.

I hugged him anyway, knowing he detested it, making a show of it while he grumbled at me in Greek.

After we graduated from college, Persephone moved on, having fallen in love with her professor, and built something dangerous, but stable, which is more than I could say for myself, still… drifting and scrambling. Always scrambling.

I told myself I’d be fine, that I could stand among glittering crystal flutes and sequined gowns without anyone noticing the cracks in my life. My car in the parking lot had more warning lights than working parts. My bills were overdue, and my landlord called more than my mom. The dress I wore set me back, but if I was going down, I was going to look fabulous doing it.

Regardless of the mess I was trying to forget, this was Persephone’s big weekend. My best friend had always glowed, but tonight she was radiant—marrying the man she’d once whispered about in half-dreamy, half-conspiratorial tones. Hades claiming his Persephone. A reformed mafia man turned university mythology professor with darkness clinging to him like a tailored suit.

And some of his “family” had come to celebrate.

Jason moved through them with quiet authority, but I gave them a wide berth. I had seen enough crime thrillers to know never to look one in the eye. However, there was one lawman present, but he scared me in a different way…

“Well, now. If it ain’t Chelsea Turner.”

I spun towards that deep southern drawl, and there he was, standing there in navy slacks and a vest, with his white dress shirt rolled at the elbows. He had the same broad shoulders I remembered. Same sharp jaw dusted with stubble. Same dangerous stillness, like he was always bracing for impact or daring the world to try him.

“Detective Alec Watson. I guess they’re just letting anyone in here.”

He smirked, lips moving to one side of his face. “Right back at ya, darlin’. And it’s ‘Marshall’ now.”

Our eyes met, and two years vanished, just like that.

Obsidian hit me all at once—the pulsing bass, neon lights, and the way Persephone had gotten me there on a challenge because some brooding, recently-dumped hunk needed “company.” I’d found him at the bar, whiskey in hand, looking at me in my red dress like I was a matador teasing a bull.

I kissed him before I even knew anything beyond his name. Bold, reckless, and free. Very me.

And now, he was here as Jason’s Best Man.

I could tell the memory sucker-punched him instantly, too, followed by something hotter. His eyes darkened, just a fraction, but I saw it. I felt it. That same pull, curling low in my stomach like it had been waiting for a second chance at us.

Fate always had a twisted sense of humor.

Alec smiled, but his head tilted slightly like he was reassessing me—taking in the dress, the lipstick, the version of me I’d rebuilt from the college senior he met at Obsidian. He wisely kept his distance, moving to lean against the bar. “So, what wild adventures have ya had since graduation?”

I forced a cheery smile. “I’m just living one day at a time, enjoying the thrill of never knowing what’s going to happen next.”

Those sharp gray eyes narrowed, and his eyebrow raised. “Right, so you got your fancy degree, but you’re still broke even after workin’ two jobs and eatin’ ramen for every meal.”

“Yupp.” I popped the ‘P’ on the word. We shared a laugh, because it was better than crying. “How could you tell?”

“I was a detective, Chels… And Percy asked me to stop hotel security from towing that thing you call a car. How the fuck did it even pass inspection?”

I rolled my eyes. “You sound like my mom when she actually gives two-shits.” He gave me a sour face, but I waved a hand as if I could take back what I said. “How do you like being a US Marshall? I guess that means you’re doing more traveling?”

His slightly cleft chin jutted out with pride. “No complaints. I know Jace likes it, not havin’ to listen to me goin’on about bein’ the third-wheel all the time.”

I felt a spike of annoyance thread through me. “You could’ve, I don’t know, called me? We have mutual best friends.”

“Chels…” Alec postured tensed, and he cocked his head like a warning. His words from that night of Obsidian surfaced in my mind. It took a bit to get him past the 15-year age gap, my open brand of love, and his own demons, but the whiskey helped.

I cut him off before he could dump his excuses on me. “Buy me a drink for old times' sake?”

He snorted, the smile spreading warmed his temperament. “You bet. You still like—”

Out of nowhere, he was swarmed by two women who looked like they had just gotten done filming for Sex In The City. Their manicured hands were all over him, and their lips pouted for him to follow them despite his protests.

I smiled like I was unbothered, ignoring the pang of annoyance in my chest because it was stupid. He didn’t call or text—hell, I’m not sure he ever asked after me.

“Uh, raincheck on that drink, Chels—” he could hardly finish as they tugged him away like a couple of Sirens.

I mock saluted him and turned back to the bar, glaring holes into the swordfish mounted on the wall. There was something special about that man that drew me to him, and I had yet to figure out what. I reminded myself this weekend wasn’t about me or my love life, but my best friend, who was eyeing me with an all too knowing look. Giving myself a mental slap, I went into Maid of Honor mode, never leaving Persephone’s side for the rest of the night.

The next day, under the setting sun, Hades married Persephone. Watching the ceremony, I was overcome with all the feelings declarations of love invoke, crying like a baby while Persephone laughed at me. Their vows were short, but powerful, and they kept the ceremony short. The gods made them for each other; anyone could see it in the way they lit up around each other, like an undying flame.

These two had a love story of mythological proportions. Their love overcame multiple barriers, and that kind of ‘love conquers all’ tale enthralled everyone who heard it—well, those who could swallow a professor who married his student.

With the reception now in full swing, I slipped outside for air, heart racing like it always did when I thought too much about how far I’d fallen since senior year. The night was cool, heavy with salt from the nearby sea. The stiff ocean breeze whipped up my hair and dress, but I closed my eyes, soaking in the sounds and smells.

And that’s when I heard it.

Low voices, sharp words, and a man begging frantically. I froze just beyond the garden arch, half-hidden in the shadows of tall sea grass.

“A debt’s a debt,” one of them said, voice like a lifelong smoker. “What luck runnin’ into you here. Saved us the trouble of hunting you down.”

“You won’t kill me, I’m too important—” The sound that followed wasn’t human. A crack, a gasp, then silence broken only by the crashing waves.

I stumbled back, but my heel snapped against the flagstones. The noise echoed while I held my breath. The three men turned, their faces washed in moonlight, and they zeroed in on me.”