Persephone’s Fall – Page 11
It’s not until we sit down that I realize I don’t have much of anything to talk to Hades about, these days. He and I don’t have much in common, outside of a shared childhood, and memories from a time before we really understood what it meant that I was rich and he wasn’t.
Hades sits down with some sort of vegetarian-vanilla-chai-latte thing. Indian spiced tea with soy-milk and honey. Very tasty, very trendy. He’s also got some chocolate-dipped biscoti. I’m just having a non-fat latte.
People say it doesn’t mean anything, being rich or poor… that it should be easy to overcome that particular difference. But it’s usually people who aren’t very rich, or haven’t known others who are very rich. It does mean something. It’s not better… I’m not quite that arrogant. But it’s not the same. I’ve been exposed to all sorts of things that most people never even think about.
I speak three languages fluently, because I had private tutors who forced me to learn them. Hades speaks english, and a sort of gutter spanish that’s good enough to keep you from getting knifed in the areas he sometimes used to hang out. I like tiny, neuvau bites of foi gras, and watercress finger-sandwiches. Hades likes burritos. And that horribly unhealthy, turn-the-plate-translucent style of pizza that you can buy around here.
What kills me is that Hades should be prince charming. He’s good looking, he’s street-smart, he’s politically active. He’s supposed to rescue me from my rich-girl world and show me that there are better things out there, they just don’t come wrapped with diamonds. Sometimes, like when he touched my arm as we were coming in and kept me from crashing into that person, I almost think things could go that way.
Then he opens his mouth.
