Page 15 of This Cruel Fate

“Dammit, Xolia. Did you really forget our anniversary?”

Our anniversary. She had forgotten. “No, just the time. I swear I’m getting ready now.” She bolted to the bathroom, ignoring the muttering under his breath, and slammed the door shut behind her. She turned on the shower, hoping the spray of water would drown out the sound of the tub draining.

An hour and a half later, Xolia had her arm hooked through Marshall’s as they walked to a small diner. Their anniversary dinner was to be a replica of their first date—the small restaurant they had gone to three years ago when Rowan reintroduced them.

Xolia had just ended an extended stay at a rehab center, where she went through the program’s schooling and daily therapy appointments with Krista. She had been so desperate to finally experience the normal existence she fought for, a date with Marshall had been one of the most exciting things she had to look forward to. Marshall had looked up to her during the rebellion, and in a post-rebellion life, he had continued to hold her up on that pedestal. It had been a nice feeling.

Now, they were both tense. Marshall probably still thought—correctly—that she had forgotten the occasion, and Xolia was more focused on tomorrow night than the present.

The restaurant was small, a local place run by a human family that spanned back to the earliest days of human-led government. During a normal summer it was beautiful, flowering vines hiding away a small courtyard. It had been over dry that season and the vines were dried and dying with the black bars of the fence looking more imposing rather than gifting privacy. They were seated inside, by a large window that offered an unobstructed view of the courtyard. It was the same booth they had sat in three years ago.

When they first sat in these seats, Marshall had spent the evening looking at her in wide-eyed wonder. He had told her she was a fantasy made reality. Now, his eyes were downturned in exhaustion and his knee wouldn’t stop bouncing. Xolia didn’t know if it was from agitation or an effort to stay awake. She was sure she looked no better; all of her energy was devoted to keeping tomorrow a secret. It wasn’t that she was worried he would turn her in, but he would be disappointed. Upset. Angry. She would further fall from that pedestal he used to place her on. Even if she didn’t want to admit it, much of what endeared Marshall to her was his opinion of her. It was there lingering in every kiss and conversation, that Marshall was the smallest bit more engaged than her.

Those aren’t good thoughts. Xolia pushed them down. He made her happy, and she did love him. She did. This relationship was what she had fought for. “How was work today?”

Marshall pontificated about the finer points of teaching in one of the city’s first variant-and-human integrated schools since the rebellion. Children tended to self-segregate, and it was a constant battle to work through their parent-given prejudices about what was right and wrong. It was nothing Xolia hadn’t heard before, and the longer he droned on about the smaller details of the day, the more Xolia’s strayed to tomorrow. What should she expect? Would there be a lot of people? Would she fight Atlas? Or someone else?

“Xolia?” Marshall asked.

Xolia blinked, her unfocused gaze snapping to his concerned face. “What were you saying?”

“I was asking how you were feeling about Rowan being promoted and everything.” Love and sympathy poured from every word; though it bordered too closely to pity for Xolia’s liking. That ugly, gaping wound of Rowan’s betrayal made itself known. The escape the fight offered wasn’t entirely foolproof.

On the other hand, this was her opening to supply a lie. A tiny white lie that would cover her tracks and explain her prolonged absence tomorrow night. “I’m sorry,” Xolia said. For what I’m about to do. “She didn’t tell me she also applied, so that was a shock. But I’m going to her apartment tomorrow after work.”

“I’m glad.” Marshall smiled. “I knew you two would work things out. Rowan told me how guilty she felt when she got the job. She just didn’t know how to tell you.”

“You knew?”

The cutting tone of her voice contorted Marshall’s expression from one of relief to apprehension. He nodded. “She made me promise not to tell you.”

A secret. One that she had been excluded from. The emotional wound tore open even further. Marshall reached across the table and grabbed her hands. She moved to pull away, but he tightened his grip. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to interfere in your friendship.”

You mean you didn’t want to take sides because… because you can’t choose between us. Xolia was supposed to be his first priority. She was the one dating him. Not Rowan. Rowan and Xolia shouldn’t have even been on the same level. The belief she had clung to, the one where Marshall exalted her above all others, crumbled. She was just like everyone else.

“We’re not here to talk about Rowan, though,” Marshall said. “Tonight is about us.”

Xolia stiffened. He was the one who brought up Rowan. It was his fault their night was completely ruined now instead of just tense. It was his fault she hurt so bad. “Then, what should we talk about?” she asked without much vigor.

“Well.” Marshall pulled his hands back, wringing them together. “There is something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

Xolia waited.

He shoved his right hand into his jeans pocket. “Xolia, I’ve loved you since the day I met you.”

Xolia’s breath hitched. She couldn’t say the same of him. And right now, with the betrayal of his allegiances, she didn’t want to say she loved him at all.

“I loved who you were, but I love who you are now even more.”

The excitement of tomorrow made Xolia doubt if she liked herself more now than she had in the past.

“The life we are building together is the best part about me. And there is nothing I wish for more than to continue building our family.”

Did either of them know what family meant? Wait—“Building a family?”

Marshall nodded curtly, not breaking his speech. “Xolia Stone”—he slipped from his chair and dropped to one knee—“would you do me the honor of being my wife and becoming Xolia Williams?” Without much grandeur, he opened a white ring box. Nestled inside the pale velvet was a thin band, affixed with a small diamond glinting under the warm lights.

Marriage. His family name. Children. Distress short-circuited Xolia’s brain. They didn’t even talk to his family, and she still couldn’t comprehend why he took their surname after they abandoned him. She couldn’t breathe. I don’t want this.

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