Hi. I don't remember when or why this came to me only that it did. So… uh… yeah. That's about it. This is a Nico-centric fic and will hopefully be a two chapter thing barring any of those episodes of prosaic diarrhoea I tend to be cursed with.

If there's one thing I'd ask of you it's to enjoy this if at all possible and to trust me just a little.

Okay, so that's two things. So sue me. Although in suing-related news, however, I would like to request that you actually don't sue me because I don't own any of this. It belongs to Rick Riordan. I am just taking his characters and work out for a little spin and promising not to scratch the paintwork.

There is Language in this. I'm afraid I have a mouth. You have been warned.

Marzipan.

Nico hated weddings.

How anyone, anyone at all, could enjoy such pantomimes was beyond him.

However he, or at least Percy and Annabeth and himself as a sort of unfortunate extension, had got to that age where the invitations had started to come thick and fast; everyone that they knew had started to get married. Percy and Annabeth had started early all things considered, getting hitched when they were 25 — it was just shy of their five-year anniversary now. Now others were catching up as their thirties were looming large, with people from Camp all embarking on that special journey called holy matrimony in their droves. It sort of made him sick.

Wait, sort of? He meant actually.

Invitations generally arrived for him in showers of rainbows courtesy of Iris — he didn't really have a fixed abode. Although he did keep a tiny apartment in Queens to have a permanent place close to Camp, just in case, he tended to stay in hotels instead, seeing the sights from the comfort of the penthouse suite. Annabeth had demanded of him several times "What kind of a life is that?" but, as far as he was concerned, it was a pretty damn awesome one, all room service and 4D cinema screens that descended from the ceilings.

Annabeth also nagged him about getting a job ("Don't you want some kind of purpose to your life, Nico?") but he had resisted so far. Why bother? Prince of the Underworld was enough of a job title for him — occasionally, when he was feeling like he wanted a bit of extra attention, which wasn't always, he would drop a H.R.H. in front of his name and watch hotel staff hop to. It wasn't like he was short of money and needed the income, was it?

He guessed that Annabeth worried about him because he was alone a lot of the time and, in her opinion, sort of meandered his way along in life without a direction, which was nice, he guessed, if irritating. She still needed to learn that that's how he wanted things to be.

Annabeth was the source of the invitations, he knew it. Most people he knew from Camp would rather have chewed off their left foot than invite him to their wedding — that was, if they even remembered/considered him when drawing up the guest list at all — and so the cascade of invites must come from Annabeth leaning on the bride and groom to wangle him an invitation. Being married to the son of Poseidon, saviour of the world, really tended to pack some punch in demigod circles. Annabeth wanted him to socialise every once in a while, because it was good for him (apparently) and so, when the invitations arrived, the badgering began shortly after.

It began in the form of text messages (with proper grammar, spelling and punctuation — Annabeth did not abbreviate) because they were harder for him to screen than phone calls and IMs. They were relatively gentle at first.

Nico, I really think you should come to [insert couple here]'s wedding.

Nico, it was so nice of them to invite you it would be rude not to come.

Nico, it will be fun; everyone's got to have some fun sometimes you know, even you.

Nico, it will be good for you to socialise with old friends and remind people that you exist.

Nico, we hardly see you now, we miss you, come to the wedding with us?

Often after a day or two of messages like this and he caved — as much as he hated weddings, he hated the potential consequences of saying no to Annabeth more. The woman was a force of freaking nature after all, especially when her mind was made up.

If he hadn't caved, though, she tended to step it up a notch, with gems including:

Nico, you need to get a life for the gods' sake. Get your ass in a suit and shine your shoes, you are coming to this wedding if I have to drag you there by your ridiculously-overgrown hair.

Nico, if you don't come to this wedding and enjoy yourself I am going to attack your apartment with every single cleaning product ever created and tidy up so hard you will never find anything ever again.

Finally, if he was feeling particularly brass-balled and that hadn't worked either, the next stage was the kind of temptation that Sirens could learn from.

There will be cake.

There will be free booze.

You know, weddings are full of miserable, lonely women who are more than a little bit desperate…

Nico preferred it when they couldn't use cell phones but since Malcolm from the Athena cabin had started working for AT&T the entire network had been made safe for demigods to use. Nico was sure that there was some kind of competition laws being broken right there but, hey, he wasn't Congress. It was none of his business.

It was usually the free alcohol that tempted him. He wasn't even sure why Annabeth always put the prospect of getting a date was one of the top items on her list of temptations — he did well enough with women, thank you very much. It was just that right now he had no real desire to actually date: at this point in his life, he found that sex was just way easier to deal with.

He had had a few girlfriends (if that term could have been used given how short-lived they seemed to be) over the years but they didn't usually last that long for a number of reasons, including the fact that he was too much of a wanderer and could never stay still for long enough. He found being tied down a little frustrating sometimes, which wasn't a popular personality trait of his amongst women apparently. Plus, he found emotions (his and others') tricky to manage, which never really boded well. He knew he was scarily like his father in that way.

Although there had been a few semi-successful relationships along the way, he ultimately found that a lot of women wanted to either fuck him or mother him, without many landing in between. The first worked for him. The second, most definitely, did not.

It took quite a bit of dedication to date Nico di Angelo, what with his tendency towards emotional distance (he was working on it, he really, really was) making it hard to understand what he was feeling let alone other people. People's facial expressions often confused him as well. Like he was meant to know what people were thinking and feeling through weird scrunches of the face.

There was a list of other issues people, especially women, had with him: his dark sense of humour; his 'moodiness' (what was that when it was at home, anyway?); his social awkwardness…

If all of that didn't put them off, then it was generally something else. He had gone on a few dates with a girl (Lisa? Lizzie? Liliya, it was Liliya) who couldn't really deal with the fact that he wore a smaller size in jeans than her. Another girl had kicked him to the kerb because she had discovered him clawing a hole in her flowerbed and pouring 7UP into it while chanting (that may have been a little weird for her to discover; perhaps she was justified).

One of his most recent dates with a girl called Amy had ended abruptly because her dog would not stop barking at him, which was a fairly common reaction that canines which were not hellhounds had around him. After two hours of trying to make out she'd told him to leave exasperatedly (nice to see that she put the dog before him), at which point the dog had attacked him, biting him in the calf, and he'd accidentally kicked the stupid little rat thing and sent it skidding across the hardwood floor. Then she'd been really pissed and that was the last he saw of her.

And if that still wasn't enough, there was then fact that, oh right, as a son of the Big Three he was subject to assassination attempts at all hours of the day and night, which were events that were really, really hard to just explain away.

Oh I'm sorry your living room is destroyed but while you were out getting those groceries a monster showed up and tossed me around a little but don't worry I killed it and that vase I broke was a gift from your dead grandmother and you're sure it can't be glued back together?

Needless to say, that would never work.

Nico turned the latest invitation to arrive over and over in his hands and could not stop a slight sneer curling his lip. He shouldn't be so judgemental but all of the invites he had seen were ridiculously elaborate; they looked like they needed an architect to plan (perhaps a job on the side for Annabeth?) and some looked like they'd need a zoning permit.

This one, however, was mercifully simpler and was only a tri-folded sheet of thick, cream cardboard embossed with gold calligraphy and ears of corn and tied closed with a bright green satin ribbon. He mused on the fact that wedding invitations were probably one of the few things that kept the postal service going nowadays what with text messages and emails taking over. No one ever emailed a wedding invitation, did they? It had to be done with a gigantic paper construction that not only invited you but told you what to wear and where to buy the gifts and a whole host of other stupid junk. Surely him turning up and gracing them with his presence was enough of a gift, what he wore be damned?

He blinked, having momentarily forgotten what he was doing, and then sighed upon remembering, untying the ribbon and flipping the card open to discover who it was that was getting married this time.

Mr and Mrs David Gardner cordially invite you—

He stopped reading there. Katie Gardner. Well, that explained the ears of corn, he guessed, which he thought had been a particularly odd choice but now made perfect sense. As a daughter of Demeter, Katie was Nico's cousin and, therefore, a much closer relative in the godly sense than many others at Camp. Perhaps he should go; perhaps it would be good to see people from Camp again (the ones that didn't treat him like a freak, anyway). Plus he hadn't dropped in on Percy and Annabeth for a couple of months, which was longer than he normally left between visits.

Nico chewed on his thumbnail for a while, staring at his phone a little apprehensively. He knew that that the onslaught of messages he would receive from Annabeth about the wedding would begin soon. Scrolling through the contacts list on his phone he alighted on Annabeth (who was filed firmly under 'C' for Chase because that was the name she'd got her PhD under and had kept it) and dialled. It rang for a little longer than it would usually do before she picked up.

"If you're not dying, Nico, then there better another damn good reason you're calling at 3am," Annabeth said in his ear, her voice a little muffled with sleep.

Nico's eyes glanced over at the clock. Whoops. Stupid time zones. It was daylight where he was. "I'm calling to tell you to save your breath or, well, your thumbs about Katie's wedding. I'm coming."

"That's why you woke me up?" Annabeth demanded irritably.

"Hey, I thought you'd be pleased," Nico said a little reproachfully. "Normally you're like a dog with a bone about the stupid weddings."

"I'm thrilled," Annabeth said dryly. "Absolutely ecstatic. Now some of us have to work in the morning, so…"

"Fine. See you there," Nico said huffily and hung up without saying goodbye. It wasn't his fault that she went to bed at a sensible time and slept for eight hours per night (no more, no less). Some may say that Annabeth Chase was getting a little predictable in her old age but if you mentioned that to her first of all you got a fist aimed at you and secondly you got reams of research thrown at you about how beneficial a healthy lifestyle was. Eight glasses of water, seven portions of fruit and vegetables, the whole nine yards. He might actually look into it one day — the day he decided to stop having any fun ever that is.

Tossing the phone over the back of the couch onto the cushions he climbed over the back of the piece of furniture and flopped down in front of the cinema screen (which was blocking most of the suite's panoramic view of Dubai). On it a video game was paused; Nico picked up the wireless controller and returned to shooting virtual soldiers.

And that's how Nico came to be standing duly in the designated place at the designated time with a gift purchased from the designated store and considering, not for the first time, adding a cane to the variation of ensembles he wore to these occasions. Something about the shiny shoes and the suit made him want to carry a cane. Was that a little bit weird? No, it wasn't. He could make a cane work, he was sure of it.

A fly buzzed close to his ear, jerking him away from his thoughts about cane shopping. Stupid nature. Probably the wrong thing to say given whose wedding it was but…

He looked around at the people milling on the gravel at the front of the chapel and shuffled his feet self-consciously. So far, it didn't look like he knew many people here. Then again, given the fact the people at this wedding that he would know were demigods and thus the product of wedlock with pagan entities perhaps they were hanging back from the chapel. Made sense. Katie, however, was marrying a mortal and so the chapel was pretty par for the course.

How much the groom really knew about his new bride was another thing Nico didn't know; that was really something they should have been included in the invitation. If Katie was marrying him then it was pretty safe to think that he knew but what if, forced to make conversation with him, Nico started dropping various gods-related bombs and the guy freaked because he didn't know?

Awkward. Very, very awkward.

Nico was feeling increasingly uncomfortable stood by himself; he was sure people were looking at him weirdly and trying to work out who he was, what the hell he was doing here. He felt that pretending to text had gone on for too long now to look realistic anymore and so, turning his back slightly to the crowd, he pulled a hipflask from his pocket and took a quick swig from it. Like he was going to wait for the reception to start with the booze when he felt this out of place.

He nearly spat his drink out when someone clapped him on the back; he managed to swallow it but only just and not without coughing so hard his eyes watered. When the tears cleared he saw Percy grinning lopsidedly at him, trying to hide amusement at the fact that he had almost accidentally drowned his cousin.

On his arm was Annabeth, coiffured and made up as she always was for these occasions in a way that made her look like Stepford Annabeth. She was wearing a knee-length, off-the-shoulder lilac dress teamed with a clutch purse and heels in a darker purple and was looking at him disapprovingly.

"Nico, is that really a hip flask?" she asked, half exasperated, half disappointed. "Are you really going to be that guy?"

"If that guy drinks scotch, doesn't want to be here and feels like a complete and total idiot standing in front of everyone while they stare at him like a giant freak then yes," Nico grumbled. He then moaned, "I hate this."

He offered the flask to Annabeth and Percy. Annabeth cocked a 'seriously?' eyebrow at him in response; Percy's hand twitched towards the flask but he caught himself and mouthed 'Later' to his cousin. Nico screwed the flask back up and put it in his pocket with a shrug.

"You're fine," Annabeth said, relenting slightly at his obvious discomfort. "Well, I mean, not exactly fine because you're wearing black and white to one of these things again like this is a funeral but you know, mostly fine."

"At least I have someone to talk to now," Nico said grudgingly. "Why does this kind of stuff always seem like a good idea when it's in your head but when you're actually here it just plain sucks?"

"It's barely started yet," Annabeth said breezily. "You might enjoy it."

Nico snorted. "How? You just made me put the booze away."

"Come on, it'll be over before you know it," Percy said. "They don't take that long really and they're all pretty much the same. It's all dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to join blah and blah in holy matrimony. Blah blah blah for richer for poorer, for blah and for blah, and in blah and in health. Any objections please speak now — insert dramatic pause — then I now pronounce you husband and wife. And then they kiss. Done."

"Oh how romantic. Is that all that you remember from our wedding?" Annabeth asked him pointedly, her eyebrows shooting towards her hairline.

"And how much do you remember?" Percy asked, his mouth turning upwards into a mischievous grin.

Annabeth paused. On her wedding day, she'd been woken early by a hoard of Aphrodite girls providing hair and makeup, skipped breakfast because she'd felt nauseous, and then had been so buzzed on excitement and love for Percy that the ceremony itself was sort of a blur. She did remember the fact that throats had been cleared very loudly to remind her to kick off her vows (her mind had wandered; she'd been wondering about the history of garters) but apart from that…

"We have it on Blu-ray," Annabeth eventually said with a shrug. "We'll just refresh ourselves whenever."

"Wow, yeah, I forgot it's on a Blu-ray," Percy said. "Can you believe we used to use those?"

Nico looked from Percy to Annabeth and back again then rolled his eyes heavily. "Remind me: why do I always let you talk me into this?"

"Because deep down you know it's good for you," said Annabeth a little smugly. "You know, to be around real people with pulses?"

Nico narrowed his eyes. "I resent that. I know plenty of people with pulses."

"Sure you know them but do you actually spend any time with them?" Annabeth asked knowingly.

Nico opened his mouth to retort but Annabeth was rescued from his scathing remark as people began to slowly head towards the doors of the chapel en masse, as if some switch had been thrown telling everyone to move at once. Percy raised his eyebrows at Annabeth and stuck out an elbow for her; she rolled her eyes and smacked him lightly with her clutch purse but then looped her arm through his.

Nico felt slightly abandoned all over again and was just about to give up and vanish into the shadows of the shrubbery when someone bumped into him, nearly knocking him over. He turned and scowled at the offending person but the look of death (pardon the pun) that he'd been intending to shoot melted off his face.

The woman standing behind him had the most ridiculously-large eyes he had ever seen; they were light blue and flecked with hazel and shone out of her face at him like beacons. Her hair was dark blonde and thick; it had been French braided away from her forehead, from where it joined the artfully scrunched one-sided ponytail resting on her right shoulder. Her cheekbones were wide and pronounced and helped to give her face a heart shape. She was wearing earrings made from teardrop-shaped pearls and just a smattering of makeup; however, unlike Annabeth, it looked like the makeup belonged on her skin, like she was a newly-painted canvas. She, too, had come in sombre shades — a black dress slashed a little too high on the thigh to be considered tasteful wedding attire with silver and white detailing.

Nico swallowed hard, temporarily lost for words. "Uh…" he began, his throat drying out a little as she continued to stare at him with those pretty eyes of hers.

"My fault," she said with a smile and a self-deprecating eye roll. "I knew I should have put on one of those ridiculous hats that everyone else is wearing; then I'd have been visible from space."

Nico, who had just been wondering where in Hades the majority of women had dug their hats and fascinators out from, laughed. "Tell me about it. I think I saw a woman who'd jammed a purple, half-plucked chicken on her head," Nico said, easily now the ice had been broken.

"Ah, yes, the dead poultry look. Fresh from the Paris catwalk," she said, and when she smiled — revealing two rows of neat, white teeth that looked so similar to the string of pearls around her neck — her eyes swam with mirth, glittering in the sunlight.

"So are you here by yourself?" Nico asked, aiming for casual. He took a quick glance over his shoulder and saw that most people had entered the chapel now; Annabeth would probably be tutting and looking at her watch right about now, wondering where he had got to.

Oh well.

"My name is Amélie and yes, Nico di Angelo, I am very much here by myself," she said.

"You know who I am?" Nico asked, unable to keep a slight croak out of his voice at the news.

Amélie smiled and leaned towards him. "Of course I do," she said, her voice dropping in volume so he had to lean in too. "You're pretty famous after all."

"I am?"

"You're a son of the Big Three, Nico," she said. "You don't come much closer to being a celebrity in demigod terms than that. I think we all know your name where I'm from."

Nico was about to say something but the sound of tyres on gravel distracted him. Katie had arrived in a horse drawn open hay cart, perched with her bridesmaids on bales of hay. The sides of the cart were decorated with sheaves of wheat and ears of corn, all wound up with the same bright green ribbon that had been used on the invitations.

"Whoops, that's our cue," Amélie whispered to Nico. "We better go in and get this over with. The sooner they get started…" She slipped her arm through Nico's, surprising the son of Hades slightly, and then pressed her opposite hand onto his.

Now she was right next to him, Nico could smell her — her perfume or shampoo or something was incredible. It reminded him of something that he couldn't place, something he had probably smelled a long time ago and it was almost achingly familiar. He allowed himself to be lead into the chapel, nodding and smiling at Katie, who was being helped down from the cart, as he went before walking into the cool and gloom of the chapel, Amélie on his arm.

The wedding was nothing special, nothing that Nico hadn't seen before. Katie came into the chapel to the sound of a string quartet, there were the apposite murmurs and gasps as she came in, she got to the altar, they said their vows. There were songs, there was a reading about love or whatever, and then the string quartet played the new husband and wife down the aisle.

Amélie had airily and boredly given a running commentary throughout the whole thing, forcing Nico to cough as a way of covering up laughter but still earning all kinds of filthy looks. Amélie had been pointing out the groom's drunken uncle, veins broken all along his cheeks and singing off-key and out of time, and the groom's mother, who looked like she was chewing her tongue so hard it was probably turning to mincemeat. The woman who, according to Amélie, was dressed in yellow and cream and looked like a New York cheesecake; the man who had had stapled a road kill skunk over his bald spot; the stained glass man in the window who was crawling around like he'd lost a contact lens…

She had brought out the worst in Nico and he had caught the bug from her, bemoaning his lack of a shield in case the buttons of the guy who looked like he had eaten a baby hippo since buying his suit pinged off like bullets and pointing out the teenage boy who was bored out of his mind and desperately trying not to be seen texting by his mother.

They had showered Katie and her new husband, whose name had escaped Nico, with confetti (dried flower petals only, another stipulation on the invitation) until they'd both climbed on the hay cart together and been pulled away to the reception.

"Well, we survived," Amélie said, pulling out a compact and checking her reflection briefly, making minute adjustments to her lipgloss with her baby finger before sliding the mirror back into her purse. "We managed not to die of boredom. Now, onwards. There is going to be alcohol next."

"Why wait?" Nico said mischievously, pulling out his flask and handing it to her.

Amélie smiled widely and laughed a little before unscrewing the cap, smelling the contents and then knocking some back. "Oh nothing but the best for the son of Hades," she said approvingly. "21-year-old, oak-aged? It's got that dark, bitter mocha taste as well." She paused, savouring the taste, and then took another drink. "I approve."

"You know your whiskeys?" he said, cocking his head at her, his facial expression happily bemused, tinged with disbelief.

Amélie snorted. "I know my scotches," she corrected pointedly. "I don't deal in any old whiskey. Life's too short, don't you think?"

Nico laughed. "Gods yes. This is what I've been saying for years." He paused and looked into her eyes, which were still sparkling at him. He felt something flutter around his sternum; when she smiled, the corners of his mouth tugged up too — seeing her happy made him happy for a reason he couldn't pin down. "You know, right now, I'm kind of wondering where in Hades you've been all my life. Because believe me: I've been looking down there."

"Probably playing some Call of Duty," she said sheepishly. "Sometimes, I forget about going outside."

"You game?" Nico asked, his mouth falling open and awe tingeing his words.

"Of course," she said, looking hurt that he had suggested otherwise. "Please don't act so surprised that I could kick your virtual ass."

At that moment, Nico wondered if he had ever been happier to be with a person than he was to be with Amélie right now. He looked around quickly but couldn't see Percy and Annabeth; then again, most people were slowly leaving now, following the hay cart. The wedding was set in the sprawling grounds of a hotel, which Nico assumed had been hired at great expense — the guests would have an easy move from the chapel to the reception area in the wake of the cart and perhaps Percy and Annabeth were already on their way, having seen that he was busy.

Nico imagined that Annabeth in particular, after the crack about not knowing anyone with a pulse, would be particularly pleased that he had found someone to talk to and had probably decided to leave him to it.

"We'll see later about you kicking my ass," Nico said, throwing down the gauntlet. "Now, however, how about we go and eat?"

"Inviting me to dinner?" Annabeth said jokily. "My, my, Nico. This is all moving so fast; I don't know what to say…"

"Well, personally, the word 'Yes' comes to mind," Nico said. "Don't leave a guy hanging here."

"Fine. I'd love to," Amélie said. "You've persuaded me. No… hanging for you. Lead on."

They were amongst the last of the guests to leave the area in front of the chapel. Soon, no one remained to hear the growling in the bushes.

They followed the crowd until they arrived at a large marquee with an easel outside which had the seating plan propped up on it. There was a knot of people in front of it. The tables were round and all named after various crops (Wheat, Barley, Corn, Oats et cetera). As Amélie was squeezing through the crowd behind Nico to see where they were sitting, she skirted around behind him, running a hand lightly over his lower back and then down his arm to his fingertips as she pushed forward. At her touch, Nico got a serious case of goosebumps and he stopped in his tracks, accidentally stepping on someone's toe as he stopped to stare after her as she slipped to the front of the crowd.

When the group of people began to thin Nico went in after her, his eyes sweeping the board not just his name but for Amélie's also. He found his own name on the Sorghum table (no, Nico had no clue, either; he assumed it was one of the forgotten grains to match the forgotten people on the forgotten table 'conveniently' located right next to the bathrooms) but couldn't see Amélie's name.

"Where are you sitting?" Nico asked her, disappointed that they wouldn't be spending the meal together.

"Next to you," Amélie said, tapping her finger on the seat next to Nico's.

Nico watched the letters of the name squiggle and change under her nail, which were painted black and decorated with silvery patterns like spiders' webs. "You're changing the seating plan?" he asked in disbelief. "You've not been to many of these things, have you? People have been killed for less than that."

"I'm sure you'll come to my defence," Amélie said, a coy smile playing across her lips.

"Try and stop me," Nico immediately retorted.

"No, I'd rather not," Amélie said in a low voice, doing that lean-in thing again. He felt her breath on his ear and forced himself to repress a shiver. "I'd like to watch that... I've seen you with a sword, Nico, and believe me: it's quite the sight." She smiled at him again, beckoning with her eyes, which had now seemed to shift in colour to a darker blue, still enthrallingly translucent just closer to navy now. She began to walk, checking briefly over her shoulder to make sure that he was following (which he was — of course he was, what else was he going to do, he wasn't insane) and crossed into the giant, permanent marquee the reception was being held under.

Nico did not take in any of the decoration, which said a lot considering that it was the only tent he'd ever been in with a chandelier. The only thing he saw was the flash of pale, white thigh as Amélie sashayed through the crowd, parting people and setting them murmuring in her wake. Her dress glittered under the lights and even her hair seemed to shine. Nico put her at around 5'8", tall enough for a woman, but she was wearing three inch heels that brought her within a fraction of his six feet (his growth spurt had come late but it had arrived, although all energy had seemingly gone upwards instead of outwards: he was still as skinny as ever). The way she crossed the room, with the height on her side, people seemed mesmerised by her presence.

As he followed her, his feet moving almost autonomously in her wake, his hand twitched briefly towards the hilt of his sword hilt of his sword as one of the groomsmen stopped dead, slopping champagne over his arm, to leer at her as she walked past. He then remembered that he didn't have it with him — he'd tried to bring it at previous weddings and Annabeth did not approve.

They finally reached their table — if the marquee was the universe and the top table was the sun, they were somewhere way, way beyond Pluto — and Amélie sat down, crossing her legs languidly and working the split in her dress.

"Are you a child of Hecate?" Nico asked her quietly when they were settled. "That was magic that changed the seating plan, wasn't it?"

"Perhaps," was all Amélie would say in reply, her eyes glittering at him and her lips working a little kittenishly.

She reached for the bottle of red wine in the centre of the table but had done so at the same time as an elderly man. She flashed him a huge smile, revealing her teeth right back to her wisdoms and graciously held out a hand, letting him take the bottle first. Under his wrinkles and white moustache, Nico saw him blush. He paused, still leaning towards the centre of the table, until a woman of around the same age that Nico assumed was his wife cleared her throat loudly, shooting a glare at Amélie, and pulled at his coattails until he returned with the wine bottle and poured her a glass.

Nico glared icily at the man until he sat down again and then turned and tried to engage Amélie in further conversation. "Where are you from?" he asked. "I don't think I ever saw you at Camp."

"Here and there," she non-answered. "I've been around."

"You really are vague and mysterious, aren't you?" Nico asked, fascinated.

Amélie accepted the wine back with from the old man with another dazzling smile and poured them both a glass. "Drink," she encouraged, raising her glass and clinking it with Nico's when he raised his own. They both took sips and set their glasses down.

"Besides, look who it is calling the kettle back," Amélie said and her voice seemed to purr as she mocked him. She dug an elbow into his side playfully but the jab winded Nico a little and he tried not to wince. "Son of Hades, always in the shadows, doesn't play well with others..."

"That's not everything about me," Nico protested. "I'm not just—"

"Prince of the Underworld?" Amélie finished. "Sure, but that's a big part of you. And hey, you know, what's not to like about that...?"

Her middle and index fingers walked down his arm until she reached his hand, which she brushed briefly with her fingertips. This time Nico saw the goosebumps appear just above his wrist and felt them continue up the sleeve of his jacket. He cocked his head at them as they began to flatten and then glanced at Amélie, but she was talking to the old man again, who was apparently Katie's great uncle, laughing at flirting as he told her about Iowa and growing crops as if he was telling the most fascinating story in the world.

There was something about her, something he couldn't quite put his finger on, but there was just something that his brain told him he should know about her that wouldn't make itself known. He glanced around quickly, suddenly feeling a little alarmed, and realised that he was the only demigod at this table. Why that panicked him so much he had no idea but the thought made him drain his glass quicker than he would have done. The red wine thundered in his head as it worked its way up from his empty stomach. He had barely set the glass down before Amélie had poured him another one.

The food came and went. Three courses (thankfully not all grain-based) seemed to cycle through rapidly, with the main course being, unsurprisingly, salmon. Apparently, weddings demanded that salmon be fed to the guests. Nico, who didn't like salmon or the ubiquitous broccoli that accompanied it, had eaten the potatoes and then toyed with the main course with his fork, flaking the fish. His stomach growled at him in protest as the plate was taken away; further protestations were made at the sight of the tiny, minimalist round dessert, which was gone in two (tea)spoonfuls. He was hungrier than when he had come in and the wine was really starting to buzz in his ears — apparently, that morning's Lucky Charms were poor absorbers of alcohol. Duly noted.

When Nico didn't fall asleep during the toasts he patted himself on the back. The best man had forgotten to mention the bride in his speech and had toasted with a champagne flute without the stem — he'd drunkenly squeezed too hard and snapped it during the toast read by the father of the bride and was apparently too far gone to notice that his hand was dripping blood onto the tablecloth.

Finally, Nico huffed an enormous sigh of relief — earning a dirty look from Great Aunt and Uncle Iowa — and the meal was over. Amélie excused herself immediately, heading for the ladies' room, and Nico hovered awkwardly, his eyes searching the room for any familiar face.

He saw Percy and Annabeth talking to Katie and the groom (he was going to have to sneak a look at the tags on the wedding presents, wasn't he, if he wanted to remember his name) — Annabeth had her arm around Percy's back and Percy's arm was draped over her shoulder, with Annabeth turned slightly inwards towards his chest and they were talking happily, probably offering congratulations.

Bah. Married couples and their marital bliss. What did they know?

His eyes continued to rove the scene until he spotted a flash of red hair hovering near the bar area. Rachel had gone all out with her hair — it had been straightened and sleekened and was held in a low bun at the nape of her neck. Nico smiled and was about to raise a hand to wave and attract her attention, but suddenly someone behind him was digging him in the ribs and he gasped, turning slightly and finding himself face to face with Amélie, their noses practically touching, as she flung one arm up onto his shoulder.

"Take this," she hissed, pressing something large and cold into his stomach.

Nico glanced down — they were pressed so close together that it was hard for him to see the full, open bottle of champagne. The cold began to worm its way through his shirt. "What?" he whispered, moving slightly to his left and pushing his hips closer to hers to hide the bottle from the view of the old couple.

Amélie stood on tiptoe. "Under your jacket," she breathed in his ear and then, almost unbelievably, her teeth grazed his earlobe as she lowered herself back onto her heels.

Nico blinked hard and swallowed but needed no more persuading — the bottle was under his jacket in a flash while her chin was still brushing the small hollow of his left clavicle on the way down.

"Good boy," she said, flashing those ridiculously white teeth again, her grin predatory. "Now — walk. Let's get this night started."

Nico's face barely had time to crease into a frown before she spun him around and, with her hand pressed into the small of his back, laced her arm through the one that was currently holding the neck of the bottle of champagne underneath the opposite side of his jacket. They were heading towards the entrance to the tent and Nico took one last, almost desperate, look behind him, but the only eye he caught was that of Travis Stoll (who had finally reconciled with Katie after the chocolate Easter bunnies incident). All Travis did was give him to thumbs up and a wink and possibly a wolf-whistle, but it was hard to be sure over the guests' hubbub.

It was almost dark now as they headed away from the tent. Amélie whipped her head around quickly, throwing hair into her face, and Nico wanted so badly to reach and brush it out of her face but they were walking too fast and one of his hands was busy enough with the champagne.

"I've booked a room," she said to him, nodding and smiling at two waiting staff heading in the opposite direction, back towards the reception.

The main building was a large mansion (built approximately 50 years ago and made to look as if that figure were actually 500), built out of grey stone with fake black wooden beams on the outside and windows that looked like they were latticed with lead but were actually plastic double-glazing. The whole building was perched on top of a gentle slope as if supervising all that was going on below.

The twilight had brought to life fairy lights which were laced through ornamental bushes on either side of the walkway up to the hotel and Nico was almost rendered breathless by the way the soft light played across Amélie's features, seeming to set her very skin glowing luminously.

The two of them made their way up some stone steps and through the hotel's double doors into the lobby, a triple-height room with the second and third floor visible as two railed galleries running around all four sides of the room. The reception desk was right in front of them and behind that was a grand staircase that led up to the first gallery. Above them, an enormous chandelier glittered on the ceiling.

Nico turned to face Amélie as they walked through the door, taking in the light bouncing off her gold-coloured hair and turning into a halo, and almost lost grip on the champagne bottle, his arms feeling as momentarily weak as his knees. She was doing all of the walking now; he didn't think he could actually move without her arm on his back, helping him along and keeping him close. She took them to the reception desk, elicited a key and then they headed for the stairs.

"You look amazing," Nico breathed as she swiped the cardkey and pushed the door open. "Beautiful."

Amélie laughed — to Nico, it reminded him of music. "Do you really think so?" she said demurely, closing the door with a quiet click and delicately turning the deadbolt with a deft twist of her fingers.

She turned to face Nico, removing her hand from his back for the first time, and he barely supressed a whimper at the lack of contact, which set another slow, meaningful smile in motion on Amélie's lips. She leaned closer and extracted the champagne from beneath his jacket, placing it on the desk next to them before pushing a hand into his chest and shoving him backwards against the door. She ran a hand down his chest and the first three buttons wormed their way out of their holes of their own accord — Nico helped the process along by reaching up and yanking off his tie.

They broke apart and Amélie turned on her heel, heading for the bathroom and snagging the champagne on the way past. As he slipped around the bathroom door Nico sighed heavily and leant backwards, knocking the back of his head against the door. His heart was pounding.

Amélie returned with two glasses from the bathroom filled with champagne and gave one to Nico, knocking hers straight back and encouraging him to do the same. He did, trying hard not to choke on the bubbles and ignoring the way it mingled with the red wine already in his stomach. Amélie poured more and took a big sip, not taking her eyes off him.

Nico managed only a small second sip, thinking to himself that he probably shouldn't have any more alcohol. He already felt pretty drunk. Then his phone rang. It took several attempts to get it out of his pants pocket and when he did he saw it was Annabeth calling him. He was about to answer when Amélie plucked the phone from his hand and threw it over her shoulder carelessly. It hit the wall with a crunch and fell ominously silent.

"No interruptions," Amélie said, shaking her head. "Not now. Not tonight."

Nico was about to protest on his phone's behalf but Amélie was walking backwards towards the bed and beckoning him with one of those sparkly fingernails and it was all he could do to snag his champagne and follow.

"No answer," Annabeth said shortly, chewing on her bottom lip and staring at her phone.

"Try again," Rachel said, but Annabeth was already dialling, needing no encouragement. While Annabeth was trying to connect to Nico, Rachel looked around. She, Percy and Annabeth were outside of the marquee, watching the lights around the dance floor flash against the white canvas walls and they all had to speak a little louder than normal over the music.

"Straight to voicemail," Annabeth reported, staring at her phone as if it were the gadget's fault.

"And you're sure you saw him in trouble?" Percy asked Rachel.

Rachel nodded. "Yup. Nico's in some serious danger. I don't think he knows who he left with."

Riptide had appeared in Percy's hand as soon as he'd seen Rachel nod. "Okay then," he said. "Then let's find him. He's gonna owe me so many favours when I save his life…"

"We've got to save it first," Rachel said grimly.

"Watch and learn, Dare," Percy said with a grin, swinging Riptide around and around in circles. "Watch and learn."