Page 27 of This Cruel Fate

But I’m not who he thinks I am.

Peter let the silence linger for a few more moments. “I can give you time to decide, if you need. I would like to announce my pick for VC when the Museum of Variant History opens.”

Her heart beat erratically. “Okay.”

Chapter Thirteen

Xolia couldn’t stop herself from imagining herself sitting in the Presidential Palace, surrounded by other important people, doing important work. She wouldn’t have to slog through bureaucratic red tape, trying to make sure a single person was getting their Good Faith check. She wouldn’t have to sit in a cubicle alone, Rowan’s empty seat taunting her the entire day. If she still had a job to go back to. This might be her one shot at employment, and what a promotion it would be.

“Xolia?” Marshall’s voice distantly filtered through the haze of imaginings.

“Yes?” Her food slid off her fork and back onto her full plate. She had forgotten they were in the middle of dinner.

He stared at her. Exhausted. Defeated. She still wasn’t wearing her ring, and he hadn’t pushed the issue. She didn’t know if she wanted to broach the topic.

“I was trying to ask you if you wanted to get some help?”

Xolia bristled. “What do you mean?”

“For us,” Marshall was quick to clarify. “To fix us.”

Why do you want to fix us? “What did you have in mind?” Do I want to fix us?

“Well, we were all talking to Semele during the gala, she was at our table, and she was talking about the Rheathian church. I looked into it, and they offer counseling services to their congregation.”

She almost laughed. “You want us to go to church to get help for our relationship?”

“I don’t know what else to do, Xolia,” he rasped, voice breaking over her name. “I love you.”

All she needed to do was say the words back. I. Love. You. Three words. It would ease Marshall’s frantic worrying over them. Maybe it would save her from church. But they got tangled up in her throat until there was a lump she couldn’t speak past. She could barely breathe past it.

She nodded. Breathe in. Breathe out. “We can go to church.” It was the best she could do. Abruptly, she got up, leaving Marshall alone at the kitchen table, and walked into their bedroom. Sel, what would Silas think of me right now? She was a coward, but she couldn’t let go of Marshall. Not yet. He loved her, and that was worth something. Is it worth enough?

She sank into bed, wondering if Marshall would be quick to follow her. One minute passed. Then another. The door didn’t open, nor did the noise of soft foot-falls signal his approach.

Would she be ready to give up Marshall if she took the vice chancellor job? Would he even want to stay with her? Rowan certainly wouldn’t want anything to do with her. What if Marshall and Rowan became better friends with each other than they were with her? It was an irrational spark of jealousy, why should she care? But she did. She cared a lot.

Xolia groaned. Everything was supposed to have gone back to normal after the fight, but it all just had become so much worse. That was ignoring the apparent disappearance of Atlas. All she needed was for one thing to make sense.

Without thinking, she grabbed Adonis’s number from the tear in the mattress. She glanced surreptitiously at the door. Still no Marshall. Unfolding the paper, she justified giving his suit jacket back to him, at the very least. If she was going to accept Peter’s offer, she would need clothes fitting her new position. Adonis could help with that too. Talking to him wouldn’t have to mean anything. It wouldn’t mean anything.

Her hands betrayed her anxiety as they shook while she entered his number into her phone. Before she could change her mind, she typed out her message: It’s me. Xo. Thank you for all your help. Care to help me with another favor?

Sent.

Once it was done, panic flooded her. She was so stupid, if Marshall found out she had talked to Adonis behind his back, he would never forgive her. Would that be so bad though?

Xolia crinkled the paper in her hand, nearly tripping over her own feet in her haste to get to the bathroom trash can.

Adonis responded: Of course. Care to discuss the favor over dinner?

She bit her lip. This was her chance to set clear boundaries. No matter what path she chose, Adonis didn’t fit in. The only correct response was to deny dinner and suggest a quick and impersonal meetup.

She hated herself as she typed out a counteroffer of lunch the following day. In a final act of doing the wrong thing, she deleted the messages before getting ready for bed.

The constant hum of anxiety had just started to settle when Marshall came into their room. All of her breathing exercises and self-delusion shattered when he slid into bed next to her, an arm circling her midsection. “We’ll get through this,” he whispered into the loose tresses of her hair.

Xolia nodded against him, bringing her hand to rest over his, whether as a comfort for herself or for him, she didn’t know.

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