Borrowed Hearts

CHAPTER 3: THE FAMILY BRUNCH

The school parking lot buzzed with weekend chatter, children darting between cars in little shoes polished for the occasion. Balloons bobbed from the gateposts, tugging and swaying in the breeze, while a banner stretched proudly across the entrance: Welcome to Family Brunch! Laughter spilled from clusters of parents greeting each other, the air thick with the scent of fresh pastries drifting from the hall.

Kiera’s stomach knotted as Cassian helped Naya out of the car. The little girl’s dress was a swirl of pale pink tulle, each layer bouncing like petals when she moved, her braids tied with satin ribbons that gleamed in the morning sun. She looked every inch the cherished daughter—bright-eyed, glowing, and so proud to have both “parents” flanking her today.

And beside her stood Cassian, tall and commanding, the kind of man who drew attention without effort. Even in a simple dark suit, he carried the gravity of someone who owned every space he walked into. His sharp profile and steady composure made other fathers seem almost boyish in comparison. He was everything precise, everything composed—everything Kiera wasn’t.

And then there was Kiera—the pretend wife.

Her palms were damp against the fabric of her dress. She smoothed the skirt, forcing a smile she wasn’t sure would hold. “You ready, sweetheart?” she asked, her voice light, though her pulse drummed with nerves.

Naya nodded eagerly, clutching both their hands in her small ones. “I’m so happy you came, Mommy!”

The word slipped out so naturally it stole Kiera’s breath. It landed with a weight that seemed to echo, pressing against the fragile walls she had built around herself. She glanced instinctively at Cassian, bracing for him to correct the slip, to remind Naya of boundaries. But he didn’t. His only response was the faintest nod, his expression unreadable, a silent agreement to let it stand.

Inside the decorated hall, light caught on trays of pastries and bowls of fruit. Pitchers of juice glimmered with condensation, and the cheerful hum of conversation filled the air. Parents clustered in groups, mothers trading stories about ballet classes or science projects, fathers boasting about weekend trips or promotion announcements. The space gleamed with the gloss of completion, of families that looked polished and whole.

Every family except theirs.

Until today.

“Cassian!” A man in a polo shirt broke away from a group and clapped him on the shoulder with familiarity. “Didn’t think you’d make it. And—” his gaze shifted, taking in Kiera with open curiosity “—this must be your wife.”

Heat prickled the back of Kiera’s neck. She opened her mouth, ready to correct him, but Cassian’s hand pressed lightly against the small of her back, steady and commanding.

“Yes. This is Kiera.” His voice was smooth, unshakable, practiced like the steady hand of a surgeon. “And our daughter, Naya.”

The lie slid from his lips as if it belonged there, so seamlessly it made Kiera dizzy. The man smiled, complimented Naya’s dress, and drifted away without suspicion.

Kiera leaned toward Cassian, lowering her voice to a sharp whisper. “Do you make a habit of lying this well?”

His lips twitched, though not quite into a smile. “Only when necessary.”

The morning unfolded in a blur of introductions, names she would never remember and smiles that felt painted on. Parents asked about Kiera’s job, and she dodged their curiosity with vague replies, careful not to trip over her own fabrications. Cassian remained a steady presence at her side, hovering close, his subtle weight of authority almost protective—as though one wrong word might unravel the fragile story they’d built.

Naya, meanwhile, thrived in the illusion. She tugged Kiera toward the art table, proudly introducing her to classmates with a confidence that shimmered. Her laughter rang bright as she painted a family portrait: a tall father, a smiling mother, and herself between them, their hands joined in a perfect chain.

The picture hit Kiera harder than she expected. Her throat tightened, eyes stinging before she blinked quickly, refusing to let the room see her falter.

Later, as Naya dashed off to join a game, Kiera found herself alone with Cassian near the refreshment table. He poured two cups of coffee, handed one to her without asking how she liked it, the gesture casual but strangely intimate.

“You’re good at this,” he murmured.

She arched a brow. “At pretending?”

“At making her happy.” His gaze lingered on Naya, who was twirling with her classmates, carefree and glowing. “I haven’t seen her smile like that in a long time.”

The honesty in his voice startled her. It peeled back his veneer of control, revealing a man who wasn’t just the surgeon with hands steady enough to cut into a beating heart. Here, in this moment, he was simply a father desperate for his daughter’s joy.

Kiera took a sip of coffee, hiding the storm inside her. She had agreed to a role, nothing more—a performance, a mask. But standing here with Cassian’s eyes on her and Naya’s laughter weaving around them, it was dangerously easy to forget where the lines were supposed to be drawn.

The rest of the brunch blurred by in moments. Games played, photos snapped, polite goodbyes exchanged, and whispers of envy from parents who admired the picture-perfect trio Cassian, Kiera, and Naya seemed to be.

By the time they left, Naya was slumped against Kiera’s shoulder in the car, her little body heavy with sleep, her lips curved in a soft smile even in dreams. Kiera stroked her hair gently, her own expression softening into something that felt alarmingly maternal.

From the driver’s seat, Cassian glanced at the mirror, watching them. His grip on the steering wheel tightened as something in his chest shifted—an ache he hadn’t braced for.

This was supposed to be temporary. Practical. Controlled.

But as the city lights blurred past, glowing streaks against the darkening sky, Cassian couldn’t shake the dangerous thought pressing at the edges of his mind:

What if, just for today, this didn’t feel like pretending at all?