Not even when Cadence had betrayed me.
I sighed. At the time, marrying Cadence had felt like the logical next step. We’d been together four years; I was working full time and could afford a ring. But when her lover came storming over to stage their faux indignant row that Cadence was being unfaithful to him, I’d just felt numb. With maybe a tinge of relief.
In contrast, I’d barely been able to breathe when waiting for Irina to respond to my offer to marry her. Perhaps because there was a lotmore at stake with Irina? The law breaking and the hacking into government websites … the looming threat of deportation?
And then there was the helplessness I’d felt this morning, knowing that my father was one more person I needed to keep Irina safe from.
I shook my head. I didn’t have time to ponder why I’d felt more in the moment with Irina than when I’d asked the same thing of a partner of four years.
I headed for my desk, powering up my computer. I needed to start a database of risks to Irina’s permanent residency. That would make me feel a little more in control. If I could identify all the risks, I could start working on mitigating measures for each of them.
I immediately added ‘Issues with Marriage Certificate’. It was the first and most obvious one. And there were so many moving parts involved in us avoiding it. But most of them felt within my control—the application for the official marriage certificate was already underway, and if we had trouble, I could hack into the back end and do some tinkering.
‘Partner visa application’ went into the second field. Not so much within my control, and relied heavily on my manipulation of our marriage licence application fooling the official channels, since it should have been lodged weeks ago. And quite aside from that, there was a large burden of proof on our end—that we had a real relationship, that we cohabited, that our social circles saw us as a couple.
I snorted at the last one. I had no social circle outside of Lucian and Atlas. I wondered about Ri. She seemed the type to have loads of friends. But we only needed to provide two witness statements. Lucian and Liv were the obvious choices there. I wondered if maybe I could persuade River to provide one too. A celebrity endorsement, I thought with a humourless chuckle.
As far as ‘proof’ of our relationship prior to the wedding went, I could handle that with some photo manipulation and a little tinkering with the back end of Tickle to make it appear as though we had been exchanging messages on there for months. As an afterthought, I also included ‘potential for bribery—only as a last resort’.
I needed to move on, because I could feel myself fixating on this snag in our plans, and right now, this needed to be a big-picture analysis.
My father. Well, he had to go on the list. Even without proof or facts about our situation, if he made good on his threats, it would throw suspicion in our direction and potentially make point number two harder to prove. I cursed the man under my breath, reaching for my chewing gum.
Reluctantly I added ‘Atlas’. I was loath to include him—I didn’t believe he would intentionally pose a threat. But his lack of a filter was a dark horse that I couldn’t ignore, and it was hard to plan for. I typed, ‘limit access to new information’ into the measures field.
I leaned back, massaging my temples and wracking my brain for the name of the woman who had been blackmailing Irina into marriage. I didn’t think she’d ever mentioned her name to me. But that detail wasn’t important in the short term. ‘Irina’s ex’ was added to my list. That was where I became stumped, because without discussing it further with Irina, I couldn’t solve for this variable. I didn’t have enough data on the woman to analyse the level of risk.
A knock interrupted me from glowering at the words on my screen. When the door didn’t immediately open, the way it would when Lucian was on the other side, I swivelled and called out, “Come in.”
The door cracked open, and Irina peered around it, grinning like she had a secret she couldn’t wait to share. “I brought you some food.” She slipped into the room with one hand positioned awkwardly behind her back. With a flourish, she produced a loaded plate of fairy bread, perfectly cut into triangles, topped with hundreds and thousands.
I reminded myself that my aversion to round sprinkles was unusual as I offered her what I hoped was a warm smile. I’d have to try it, since she’d gone to all this effort, but my teeth were pre-emptively aching.
“I made Lucian stop at the supermarket on the way home because we still haven’t had our wedding cake.”
“They look lovely,” I said honestly, but I couldn’t bring myself to reach for one. “Have you tried them yet?”
“No, I wanted to wait so we could have it together.” She set the plate down beside my computer and scooped up a slice. “I’m dubious, I’ll be honest.”
Me too, I thought, swallowing around the dryness in my throat. I could already hear the crunch, feel the shooting pains through my jaw, and I hadn’t even laid hands on a slice.
“Oh!” she blurted, rotating the plate until the rest came into view—the pieces on the other side coated with long sprinkles, and the tightness in my chest instantly eased.
“I made two kinds, because I wasn’t sure which sprinkles you preferred,” she explained. “I wasn’t prepared for how militant Aussies are about it! I asked a lady at the supermarket her opinion, and she threw the round ones at my head while screeching at me like a complete fucking maniac! But I was sure that your bottle earlier was this kind, and I wanted to make it just the way you like it …” She looked up at me from under her lashes. “Even if your way is a little different.”
I put up a valiant fight against the flush spreading on my cheeks, but I lost, and Irina’s grin widened as I picked up a piece.
“It’s an unpopular opinion … but for me, long sprinkles are the only acceptable option. Happy belated wedding, Mrs Baxter.” I tilted the slice in her direction like it was a champagne glass and, as she watched on avidly, I took an enormous bite.
“Oh God!” I moaned, licking a sprinkle off my lips. “You used real butter!”
“I did,” Irina agreed slyly, her eyes fixed on my mouth. “That was my only non-negotiable. Margarine is Satan’s spread.”
I choked on an incredulous laugh. “Satan’s spread?”
Irina nodded, merriment dancing in her eyes. I took another large bite, finishing off the slice and reached for another. “Ten-year-old Henry would have loved you making his fairy bread for him.”
“And what about today-year-old Henry?” she asked coyly, tucking her honey hair behind her ear.
