Chapter 18
Financial Cold War
Christa
Theo’s coffee shop smells like roasted beans, sugar, and competence. It’s the kind of place that makes you feel marginally more together just by sitting in it, which is rude when you’ve spent the morning wrestling spreadsheets and eating toast over the sink.
I spot Ivy immediately, perched at a table with her coat draped neatly over the back of the chair, looking annoyingly fresh. She sees me, grins, and waves like we’re not about to retreat to a corner and gossip like Victorian women with secrets.
“So,” Ivy says, eyes bright. “You look like you’ve survived something.”
“I have,” I say. “I have survived a woman with money and a birthday.”
Her eyebrows lift. “Go on.”
“Posh client,” I say. “Upcoming fiftieth. Decided the cake was going to be the emotional centrepiece of her entire existence.”
Ivy snorts. “As it should be.”
“She sent me to ten different cake places,” I continue. “Ten. Not a cake tasting. A cake pilgrimage.”
Ivy stares at me. “You’re joking.”
“I wish. In fact, each one represented a different vibe. Elegant. Nostalgic. Playful. Confident but not loud.”
Ivy presses her lips together. “That last one is not a cake. That’s a LinkedIn bio.”
“Exactly. I had to eat my way through the emotional spectrum of a woman who owns more than one house.”
“What kind of cakes are we talking?” Ivy asks, already invested.
“All of them,” I say. “Lemon drizzle pretending to be humble. Chocolate with a personality disorder. A carrot cake that clearly thought it was better than me. One had edible gold leaf, Ivy. Gold. Leaf.”
Ivy’s eyes sparkle. “You poor thing. Insert sarcasm.”
“I had to take notes,” I add. “Actual notes. On texture. On mouthfeel. On whether the icing was celebratory or trying too hard.”
“And you lived.”
“Barely,” I say. “By cake seven, I was questioning my life choices and, by cake ten, I’d lost the will to chew.”
Ivy sips her coffee. “So,” she says. “Which one are you recommending?”
I don’t even hesitate. “Theo’s. Obviously.”
Ivy raises an eyebrow over the rim of her mug. “Was Theo’s coffee house even on the list?”
I giggle, which tells me everything I need to know about my current mental state. “God, no. Absolutely not.”
She snorts.
“But,” I add, leaning in slightly because this is clearly confidential intelligence, “I always knew I was going to tell her that Kaiser’s Mug is an absolute top-secret cake spot. The Austrian chocolate mousse cake is divine. Very hush-hush. Very if-you-know-you-know.”
Ivy’s mouth twitches. “You’re evil.”
“I prefer strategic,” I say. “That woman will lose her mind over the idea that she’s getting something exclusive. She doesn’t want the best cake. She wants the best cake no one else has heard of.”
“That tracks,” Ivy says. “So why did you go on the cake pilgrimage?”
Theo appears at the table, setting down a Melange in front of Ivy and a pot of herbal tea in front of me with the careful precision of a man who knows when not to ask questions. Ivy thanks him, I inhale the steam like it’s medicinal, and then both of them pause.
“Free cake. For me and Pea-Lime.” I answer Ivy’s question.
“The who now?” Theo asks.
“Pea-Lime,” Ivy repeats, turning to me. “I feel like I should already know this.”
I pat my stomach automatically. “That would be the tiny tyrant currently dictating my dietary choices.”
Theo blinks. Ivy’s eyes widen.
“Oh,” Ivy says slowly. “That Pea-Lime.”
Theo straightens. “You’ve named it?”
“Yes,” I say. “It felt rude not to. Also, it has opinions.”
Theo looks between us. “About cake.”
“Mostly about crumpets,” I say. “Cake is a close second.”
Ivy laughs, warm and delighted. “So you took on ten posh cakes for the good of… Pea-Lime.”
“Exactly,” I say. “I consider it community service.”
Theo shakes his head, amused, and retreats back to the counter muttering something about people and their lives. Ivy lifts her cup in a mock toast.
“To Pea-Lime,” she says. “May it develop refined taste and reasonable demands.”
I clink my teacup against hers. “We can dream.”
I take a sip, set the cup down, then immediately lift my hand and point at Theo’s back. “Hang on. You. Come back.”
Theo turns mid-step, eyebrow already up. “Is something wrong with the tea,” he asks cautiously, “or do you want more cake?”
Ivy snorts into her Melange.
“I always want more cake,” I say. “But this is worse.”
Theo walks back over anyway, resigned. “That doesn’t sound ominous at all.”
“He’s charging me rent,” I say.
“‘He’ would be my brother, I assume?” Theo gives me a puzzled look.
I nod seriously.
Theo blinks. “Okay. Isn’t that what you demanded?”
“Yes,” I say. “I demanded rent. Actual rent. Adult rent. Not a symbolic gesture that looks good on a spreadsheet.”
Theo tilts his head. “So what’s he charging you?”
“Eighty pounds a month!”
“Ah, yes. He mentioned that he is charging you proportionate rent.” The grin on Theo’s face tells me all I need to know. This has been planned. This is a Corbin brother master plan.
“Eighty pounds are not proportionate. That’s pocket money with a conscience!” I exclaim rather louder than I intended to.
Ivy lets out a surprised laugh and immediately clamps a hand over her mouth.
Theo sighs. “Christa, Geoff doesn’t need the money.”
“I know he doesn’t,” I snap. “That’s the problem. He’s done the maths in his head, decided what I can afford without blinking, and landed on a number so low I feel like I should be paying it in loose change.”
“You insisted on paying something,” Theo says patiently. “This is something. For him.”
“For him,” I repeat. “Exactly. Not for me.”
Sheer irritation bubbles up. “I want to pay a reasonable amount. Something that doesn’t make me feel like a charity case he’s sponsoring out of guilt.”
Theo folds his arms. “It is reasonable. Relative to Geoff.”
“That’s not how rent works,” I say. “Rent is supposed to sting a bit. Otherwise, it’s not real.”
Ivy snorts. “You want financial pain.”
“I want financial dignity,” I say. “There’s a difference.”
Theo rubs his face, already regretting his life choices. “You are arguing semantics with the wrong brother.”
“Then stop defending him.”
“I’m not defending him,” he says. “I’m explaining him. He heard you say you didn’t want to be beholden to him and he adjusted. Quietly. Because that’s what he does.”
I open my mouth, then close it again, because that lands uncomfortably close to the truth.
Theo watches my face shift through irritation, recognition, and the distinct annoyance of being understood against my will. “Why are you even arguing with me about this?” he asks. “I’m not the one you live with.”
“Because,” I say, leaning forward, lowering my voice like this is a negotiation and not a mild domestic standoff, “you need to talk to him.”
Theo laughs. A short, startled sound. “No.”
“He won’t listen to me,” I say. “I tried. I transferred more money to him.”
Ivy’s eyes widen. “You did not.”
“I did,” I say. “He transferred it back.”
Theo blinks. “Well. That tracks.”
“With interest,” I add. “Actual interest. Like I’m a high-risk savings account.”
Ivy loses it. Proper laughter, head tipped back, one hand clutching her coffee like it’s the only thing keeping her upright.
Theo presses his lips together, already shaking his head. “Absolutely not.”
“What do you mean absolutely not,” I say. “You’re his brother.”
“And you’re an adult,” he replies. “This is between the two of you. I am not stepping into a financial Cold War involving bank transfers and principles.”
“You’re just going to leave it,” I say.
“Yes,” he says cheerfully. “This is your fight.”
He steps back, already turning away. “And, for the record, if you think involving me is going to make him back down, you have dramatically misunderstood how stubborn my brother is.”
“That’s helpful,” I call after him.
“I aim to serve,” he replies, lifting a hand without looking back as he heads for the counter.
I stare after him, fuming quietly.
Ivy wipes at her eyes. “Oh, this is excellent.”
“This is not excellent,” I say. “This is infuriating.”
“He transferred it back with interest,” she says, grinning. “That’s such a Geoff move.”
“It’s financial gaslighting,” I mutter.
“It’s foreplay,” Ivy says.
I choke. “Do not.”
She laughs again, softer this time. “You’re going to have to fight him on this one.”
I slump back into my chair, glaring into my tea like it personally betrayed me. “I hate fighting about money.”
“I know,” Ivy says. “But Geoff is a Corbin.”
I glance up at her. “That explains nothing.”
“It explains everything,” she replies. “Corbins don’t do grand speeches or chest-thumping alpha nonsense. They do quiet support. I’m here. I’ve got you. Tell me if you need me. That’s their whole thing.”
“I didn’t ask him to look after me,” I say. “I asked him to charge me rent.”
“And you did that because you wanted to save money,” Ivy says gently.
I open my mouth to argue and immediately close it again because the words refuse to cooperate.
“You literally said it,” she goes on. “You told me. You told him. You told anyone who’d listen that moving in made sense because it would save you money and give you breathing room.”
“That was a reason,” I say. “Not a permission slip.”
Ivy tilts her head. “For him, it probably was.”
I sigh and rub a hand over my face. “I just didn’t want it to feel like charity.”
“It doesn’t,” she says. “It feels like someone making space for you without making a fuss about it.”
I stare into my tea again. It is doing absolutely nothing to help.
“We’re not in a relationship,” I say. “We’re just… friends.”
Ivy shrugs. “Yes. And that is famously what friends are for. Helping. Occasionally without asking first.”
“That’s different,” I insist. “This is money. This is… loaded.”
“Everything’s loaded right now,” she says calmly. “You’re growing a human. That alone turns every spreadsheet into a horror film.”
I scowl at my cup. “I don’t want him thinking he has to provide for me.”
“I don’t think he does,” Ivy says. “I think he’s thinking ahead.”
She leans in slightly. “You’ve got GP appointments, scans, baby stuff, and maternity leave maths that will make you cry, and that’s before Pea-Lime even arrives and starts needing things with price tags.”
I open my mouth, then shut it again.
“And,” she adds gently, “every penny you save now is going to feel like a godsend later. Because, when the baby’s actually here and Geoff does help more, you’re going to spiral.”
“I am not,” I say automatically.
She gives me a look.
“…I might,” I concede.
“Exactly,” she says. “Right now, this is quiet. It’s background. It’s not him swooping in with nappies and a five-year plan. It’s just space. Breathing room.”
I blow out a slow breath. “I hate how much sense you’re making.”
“I know,” she says kindly. “I hate it when I do it too.”
I sit there for a moment, letting the noise of the coffee shop fill the gap. Cups clinking. Theo joking with his waiters. Life happening around us like it always does.
“I still don’t like it,” I say.
“You don’t have to like it,” Ivy replies. “You just have to let it help.”
I glance up at her. “And if I start feeling weird about it?”
She smiles. “Then you yell at him. Loudly. He can take it.”
I huff a laugh despite myself. “He really can.”
“There you go,” she says. “Problem deferred.”
I pick up my tea again and take a sip. It’s still useless, but somehow that feels less offensive now.
“Fine,” I mutter. “I’ll… let it stand. For now.”
Ivy’s smile softens. “That’s all anyone’s asking.”
I look down at my stomach, then back at my tea.
“Pea-Lime better appreciate this,” I say.
Ivy grins. “Pea-Lime already runs the place. You’re just catching up.”