There was a dress waiting for her in the morning, neatly folded and placed on the chaise longue at the foot of the bed with a handwritten note.

Come down to the kitchen when you wake up—Eros.

The dress was her size with the tag still on. A foregone conclusion? Or one of his powers? Thoughtful, however. Carl just let her walk around in his oversized shirt. He liked the sight of her in his clothes, using his things. Different men, she thought. Neither unpleasant, but the memory of the latter left a bitter aftertaste in her mouth.

She went for a quick shower and ended up with a longer one. Eros' marble bathroom was fit for a god. The shower large enough to fit four people comfortably was equipped with six jets on four walls, an oversized rain shower, and a waterproof speaker with voice control. She had to admit not having paid much attention to these gadgets enough to put them in her own bathroom, but damn, these jets were divine. The bath, she had a peek, was a semi-outdoor space with floor-to-ceiling folding doors that opened into another private zen garden. The circular freestanding tub was large enough for two. It made her wonder how often he used it and with whom. You could tell from the towel, the books, the half-full crystal bottle of cognac how often it had been used. Carl didn't like baths, not unless they were on vacation somewhere.

There was a sense of serenity everywhere in this estate, and every space seemed to have been created with intimacy in mind. Top-notched technology was integrated seamlessly into the contemporary, cozy decor with obvious attention to detail. Everything was impressive but not vulgar, and never too much.

You could tell a lot about a person walking through their homes, even one built centuries ago. There was always a touch of the person, no matter how small. An expensive family room that was never used. An armchair that stayed new or worn out with books around it. Mismatched decorations that told of the owner's and the designer's clashing taste. Beautiful things placed there for show pushed off to the sides to make rooms for functionality. You could always tell how much a man—or a woman—had been involved in the creation and how the house was used—or not used—if you looked carefully enough. Carl used half the space in all his homes—very personal ones and then the ones he worked in. He worked most of the time. Carl's discipline was spotless and everything was always in place. He had a habit of putting things back into place.

Eros used every corner of this house. Every room felt occupied, had evidence of life and pleasure in it. Fresh flowers on the small table by the fireplace, a throw draped over an armchair in the corner, a pair of loungers out on the balcony with worn-out cushions, the zen garden with footprints on the stone tiles. He left things everywhere, out of place, moved them to accommodate his convenience, but every room, every corner had been designed for use—and used regularly—not a single one for show. The house was full of life. Of love, even, judging from how every space was meant to be used by two people, never one. One could admire—even fall in love—with the man just looking at where and how he lived.

The kitchen was Italian, modern, with stone and wood decor as opposed to stainless steel. It filled a space large enough to build a four-car garage, equipped with everything one needed to host a cooking show. She could imagine a family of four, perhaps even six, all packed in here in the morning. Children running around making a mess and getting in the way. The island overlooked the garden and the pool, with another set of floor-to-ceiling folding doors that could open all the way for an outdoor feel when needed. A barbecue stove stood outside nearby, ready for a sunny day grill. Eros liked his garden and open spaces a lot, it seemed.

And he cooks.

That, most of all, surprised Gia. 

He was alone in the kitchen, wearing a pair of light blue loose-fit linen trousers and a crisp white linen shirt with sleeves folded to his elbows. Flour and measuring cups littered the island, a black apron stained white from baking draped over one of the stools. When she walked in, he was standing over something he'd just taken out of the oven, checking them with an expression of a professional at work. He looked good, doing that. People always looked good when they were concentrated on achieving excellence.

"You are the first male billionaire I know who bakes his own bread," she said, walking over to have a look at the tray. "I'm impressed."

Eros turned to her and smiled. His hair was a mess. An adorable post-sex mess that looked like he'd run his hand through it several times. "Good morning. How did you sleep?"

"Did we even?" She snickered, reached over for one of the delicious-looking, perfectly shaped scones. He moved out of the way and let her, leaning on the counter watching quietly, tentatively, as she took a bite out of one. She had to admit she half wanted him to fail miserably (despite how perfect these scones looked) mainly because she couldn't bake to save her life and it did sting a bit. "Gods, I hate you." It wasn't even reasonable how good the thing in her mouth was.

Eros smiled, his straight white teeth showing. He must have been reading her thoughts, or it was that obvious on her face, or the orgasmic sound she made in her throat just now had been plenty. "Wait until you taste my Creme Brûlée," Eros said with a wink. "You'll marry me if that's your favorite dessert."

She laughed, stuffed herself another mouthful of the scone. "I'm considering marrying you for this. And your dowry, of course," she said, still chewing. Something about Eros made her forget her manners.

"That's really flattering."

"You should be. This is amazing."

"Not that," he said, catching her gaze with his godly blue eyes, brought something to life in her stomach. "The something about me making you forget your manners part."

She gave him a sidelong glance. "Back to mind reading again, I see."

"Every cook wants to know the truth about his cooking." He shrugged. "But do I?" Eros asked, casually wiping his hands on a towel. His fingers, Gia realized, were very long. "Make you feel like you could chew with your mouth open around me?"

She scrunched her nose. "Isn't it suppose to be disrespectful?"

"That you consider me someone above judging people over how they look, sit, eat, walk, and talk? Of course not."

Interesting. "You find it a compliment when people don't go out of their ways to please you?"

"It means they see me as a person, not a walking wallet."

True. In a way, it was probably because she wasn't after anything from him that she was standing in his kitchen talking with food in her mouth, eating off her hands.

And not wearing make-up.

Did she even brush her hair or did she finger it into a bun just now?

That thought horrified her for a second, made her look around for a reflective surface to see which animal she looked like at that moment.

Eros laughed. Really laughed. "I admit, yes, you look like something that just came out of a watering hole, and I do prefer you with makeup. But really, I have been looking forward to seeing how you look in the morning stuffing random food into your mouth licking the crumbs off your fingers."

Which was what she had been doing, quite precisely. "That's why you're still here? To see the animal side of me?" Having breakfast together was usually considered a bit too intimate for most men.

"I have seen the animal side of you," he said, chuckling. "Now I want to see how you like your eggs, take your coffee, what it means when you tuck that strand of hair behind your right ear."

She brought that hand down immediately. "Espresso, no sugar."

Eros grinned, pushed himself off the counter, and headed to the professional-looking espresso machine no one should have in their home kitchen. She nibbled on more scones as she watched him pull her coffee with a practiced familiarity of a professional barista. It wasn't a normal sight. People in her circle had help, they didn't brew their own espresso, or, for the very least, not the hard way. "You always brew your own coffee?"

"I like to choose what goes into my mouth," he said, his eyes narrowed as he watched intently the color of the small stream being dispensed, a hand poised over the knob ready to turn it at any second, "where I go, how I spend my time," he paused, turned off the water, waited for the last drop to drip into the cup and looked over his shoulder, "who I fuck."

She smiled at that. A strange compliment, but one nonetheless. "A discriminating man, I see."

"When it comes to pleasure? Always," he said, turning back to the machine to make himself another one. "The value of life is measured by how you live it. Anything used without care is always going to end up worthless. If you're going to live, live well."

It explained the house and how he did things. She remembered how careful, how attentive he had been last night. It wasn't even a desire to please—she didn't think they'd gotten there yet—but more of a need to excel at what he did, that he'd wanted to be good at it. A lot of a man to take in, with a lot of pride, and justifiably so.

He came around with two cups of espresso in his hand and seated himself by the island, pulled out a stool for her to do the same.

The morning was quiet, save for the sound of a few birds in the garden. It was a good home and Eros was a good company. She wished she had time to linger.

"Then linger, Gia," said Eros, looking at her from the rim of his cup as he sipped. "Stay. For as long as you like. I'm not going anywhere."

"Don't you have a meeting or something?" It was Monday. Most successful CEOs were workaholics unless the wealth had been something handed down, and Eros didn't strike her as one of those. She also had something going on at ten if she remembered correctly.

"I canceled one this morning," he said casually, tasted a scone, and grimaced as if he still found something he didn't like in these heavenly things. "I can also take the day off."

"To make scones?"

"I don't know, Gia," he said, curled his lips a little. "What would you like to do with me?"

She caught herself tucking the same strand of hair behind her right ear and rectified it immediately. Wished he didn't see it. "I wish I could. These are important."

He had, though, judging from the grin. "Sure, you can," he said. "The world's not going to end if you miss a few meetings, even a week. What's the point of having enough money to live five generations if you can't even take a day off?"

He had a point.

"Of course, I do. You're human. Don't forget that. Your clock is on a countdown. When pleasure finds you, don't waste a moment of it. These things don't come that often in life."

There was a touch something there, a hint of regret, a wound. "Perhaps."

"The question is," he placed the cup down, caught her eyes, "are you happy? Here, now, with me?"

She wondered sometimes, how he could always say these things so effortlessly, without reserves, and in the most casual tone possible. Eros could be counted on to blurt out what he was thinking like a child who hadn't been taught to lie, to pretend, to conceal his feelings, or he simply didn't care.

Was she happy, here, now, with him? She sipped the coffee, put it down. It was perfectly brewed. "The espresso, at least," she said, "is worth staying for."

Eros smiled at that and settled back into his seat, just watching her, like he was thinking about something. She wondered what it was.

"I'm thinking," he said, mildly, "that you don't smile like that very often, that I liked the expression, and would like to see it again. I'm thinking," he paused, hesitated for the first time about what he was about to say, "that I want to kiss you, but you might find that unwelcoming."

It brought butterflies to her stomach. More than one. "Eros," she said, "you do realize we'd just fucked all night. I think we're beyond kissing."

The laugh was light, unrestrained, adorable. "It doesn't mean I can kiss you whenever I want. You'd have to be lovers to do that."

True. "And we are not," she said.

"And we are not," he said. "Not yet anyway."

She sipped her coffee, rubbing her thumb on the cup, wondering if she should ask.

"Ask," Eros said.

"Have you? Been in love?"

It forced him back a step, a stumbling step, even, if she read him correctly. For the first time that morning, he looked away, fingering the coffee cup in his hand for a moment before turning back to her. "Sure, I have," he smiled, playfully. "I've been living forever. It's bound to happen some time."

"What happened to them?" She asked, and realized a little too late she might have overstepped her boundaries. "You don't have to answer that."

Eros picked up the cup, finished the coffee, and pushed himself off the stool, heading back to the espresso machine to brew another one. He had his back to her, intentionally, as he waited for the beans to grind and then locking the portafilter a little harder than he had to. "They died. Eventually."

She swallowed, thought of something sympathetic to say, and then realized she didn't need to, not with this man, this god. He wanted her honesty. "They were humans?"

"I like humans," he said, took his time before turning back to face her. He stayed, however, on the other side of the counter. "There's a finality to their lives that makes everything more precious, the knowledge that it could end at any time makes everything more meaningful. The way they treasure every moment like it might not happen again. You don't get that from a god, or something that lives forever."

Sometimes he sounded like he despised what he was. There were stories behind that. Perhaps too many than one mortal could hear in a lifetime. Still, to choose to love something knowing exactly how it will end... "You're really sick, you know that?"

"For loving something that will die before me? Or for still welcoming it?"

"I think I would be afraid of falling in love again," she admitted. It must have been painful. It was painful, probably more than what she was feeling for Carl. He loved them. It was why he was standing there, holding a distance, found an excuse to turn his back on her just now.

"I have a long time to live Gia." He smiled, a little melancholically. "A life without love is really quite lonely, especially an eternal one."

She thought then, that he looked like one of the sculptures she often saw in museums. A smooth, near-perfect face of hard alabaster, smiling from one angle, filled with grief and emptiness from another. His eyes told stories after stories, too many and buried too deep for her to dig up. For the first time ever, she was convinced she was looking at a god, an immortal who had lived for thousands of years, and not in a good way.

Her phone rang. She looked at the screen, read the caller ID, and put it on silence. A few seconds later, a text message arrived. She drew a long breath before reading it, aware that Eros had been watching her from the other corner of the kitchen.

"I have to go," she said, finishing the coffee and rose from the stool.

"I thought you were staying," he said. A barely visible tightness on his jawline. A rigidity in his tone.

"Something came up."

The smile on Eros' face faded. Now he truly looked like stone. "What came up?"

It felt like being interrogated, like being judged. She didn't find that pleasant. Didn't want to reply. It doesn't matter. He'll read my thoughts anyway.

"I wasn't, Gia, and I'm not going to. I'm waiting," he said, his tone, she realized, had become as hard as his expression, "for you to decide if you want to tell me."

She walked out of the kitchen, took her belongings, and left without another word. It probably would answer his question without her having to say it, and it would have said something about her as a person for the choice she'd made. But she wasn't going to explain herself. She couldn't, not even to her own conscience why she would leave as soon as she saw that name on the caller ID. Carl.

***

A/N: A long, slow chapter and me going back to my roots of complicating everything I touch. I realized I haven't given them half the depths I gave the cast of Obsidian, mainly because this was supposed to be a short 20K book. Well, old habits die hard, and it looks like I've just messed this up. There is no way this story is going to end that soon. There you go, my first attempt at ONC and I failed miserably lol