Page 38 of Our Radiant Embers

“Look, kids are cute if they’re someone else’s.” She fluttered a hand in the air, and this, too, was a familiar tune. “I’m happy to take them to the movies or the playground, no problem. As long as I can hand them back at the end of the day because they’re not mine.”

“I know,” I said quietly.

“I’ve got two brothers!” She made it sound as if I wasn’t well aware of the fact. “Make them responsible for keeping our genes alive and kicking!”

To be fair, her brothers were twenty-three and twenty—they’d likely face their own version of parental pressure in a few short years. As it wasn’t what she needed to hear right now, I held my tongue.

There’d been moments when I’d wondered whether it was only to protect me that she still kept her two-year relationship with Amit a secret. She denied it, of course, but I couldn’t shake the suspicion that I was holding her back. Yet I couldn’t bring myself to strip my father of the illusion that all I needed was a little more time to step into marriage. Selfish.

Except…

God, it wasn’t that simple, was it? If Cassandra and I ended our supposed engagement, people would wonder what was wrong with me. Even if we claimed she’d found love elsewhere, the gossip would inevitably start, tightening like a noose the longer I stayed single. It could turn the spotlight on Gale.

I couldn’t do that to him. Nor to Christian and his two younger sisters—they were fifteen and twelve, for fuck’s sake. I wouldn’t be the reason they became targets for mockery, or worse. And so I was stuck, and Cassandra with me.

We sat in silence for a minute, the gentle hum of traffic from nearby Piccadilly mixing with passing conversations and the industrious chatter of sparrows. “I’m sorry,” she said eventually. “For snapping at you. Clearly, I shouldn’t be around people today.”

I smiled into her hair. “True. Good thing I’m not people.”

“No, you’re not. You’re my favourite human.”

“Amit might object.”

“Amit gets to see me naked on a regular basis. Trust me, he’s not complaining.” The lightness in her voice faded. “What are we going to do, hon? They’re only going to put more pressure on us once you turn thirty, too. Like it’s some kind of deadline.”

Next month, yeah. And she was right—we couldn’t postpone a decision forever.

Briefly, I closed my eyes. “I don’t know.”

“I love you. You’re my brother from another mother.” She squeezed my thigh for emphasis. “I really don’t want to marry you.”

“Right back at you.” I covered her hand with my own, and another minute of silence spun out between us.

Then Cassandra sat up, wiping at her eyes. Her smile was wobbly. “Hey, did you know it was your father who came up with the Green Horizon Initiative?”

I rolled with the change of topic—not like I was keen to dissect our options either, one worse than the other. And no, I had not been aware. It felt like my dad’s standard brand of political manoeuvring, though, so I couldn’t say I was surprised either.

“He didn’t tell me that, no. Your dad mentioned it?”

“Yes. Said that he presented it as his own brainchild to the government, as a small favour to your dad and because the idea had merit.” Cassandra’s voice took on a cynical edge. “Supposedly, it’s proof that he’s taking the alliance between our families seriously. And, oh—it’s about time that I did, too.”

“You and I are amazing allies,” I told her. “No clue what his problem is.”

“That we are.”

Just not the kind of allies that satisfied our parents’ standards. I sighed. “You know this only makes it worse, right? If you and I fail to get married, with my dad owing yours a favour ...”

“I’m aware,” she said quietly. “Murphy’s Law is a bitch, isn’t it?”

“Sure is.”

I had no response. A few sparrows hopped over in search of a handout. Cassandra picked some cashew nuts out of her salad and tossed them in their direction, which was met with raucous enthusiasm. When she spoke again, her smile seemed rather more steady. “Speaking of new horizons, how’s Liam?”

I arched a brow at her. “Abrupt change of topic much?”

“Not really. You and he are allies of sorts, right? Mysteriously so, according to London Morning.”

“Right—that.”

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