14. April

14

APRIL

When the doorbell rings that morning, I practically skip to answer it. I already know who it's gonna be. For once, no surprises: no scorned brides, no brooding billionaires, no Grisha with a tea tray.

"There she is!" Elias booms, pulling me into a bear hug. "My favorite employee."

I feel my spine creak slightly, but I let it happen. Honestly, it's a small price to pay. What's a few broken ribs to finally see a friendly face?

"I thought I was your only employee?"

"Details, details." Elias waves me off.

I usher him in, past the armed gorillas at the door. He glances back with good-humored suspicion. "Alright, where's Ms. Swift hiding?"

"Oh, you know." I shrug, helping Elias with the two giant suitcases he's carrying. "Some blank space or other."

Predictably, Elias doesn't let me touch his bags. "And how's my little Nugget been?" he asks, grinning at my belly.

"Comfortable." If nothing else, it's true. All throughout the kidnapping, the wedding crashing, and moving day, Mr. or Ms. Chicken Nug didn't bat an eye. Either I'm too tired to feel it kicking, or I'm carrying the next Buddha. "How about you?"

"Busy," he admits, though still grinning. "But nothing I can't handle."

I feel a pang of guilt. "I'm really sorry for dropping off the face of the Earth like that," I say. "It's just been crazy these past few days."

Elias tuts. "I've been trying to get you to go on maternity leave for months, missy. Now that you've finally listened, I'll be thanking my lucky stars."

"I still don't like it." I grimace. "There's so much to do lately. I don't want you to have to shoulder it alone."

Elias gives me a benevolent smile. "My darling girl," he says, squeezing my shoulders, "you're gonna be a mother soon. You can't keep worrying about everybody else—especially little ol' me. You feel me?"

I sigh. Of course Elias would say that. Eighty years old, and still nowhere near planning retirement. I was hoping, with my help around the shop, that day would come sooner rather than later. I was almost there, too, I think—I could see his resistance slowly giving in, the Bahamas pamphlets sticking out of his coat pockets, thoughts of white sand beaches and all-you-can-eat seafood buffets calling his name.

Then I went and got myself pregnant.

"Yeah," I concede. "But I can still offer you tea, right?"

"The day I say no to that is a very sad day indeed, Ms. Flowers. Pour away."

I busy myself in the kitchen, boiling water and plucking jars with all types of rare teas. What the hell's a Matcha Iri Genmaicha? Just reading that is giving me a headache.

I pour, dumping in a few Jasmine Pearls for good measure. If I'm gonna be a prisoner here for the foreseeable future, I should at least enjoy the benefits. Somehow, I don't think Matvey will mind that I'm raiding his pantry.

And if he does? All the better.

I offer Elias his cup. "Thanks for bringing everything here," I say, sitting down across from him. "God knows I need the distraction."

"And I'm happy to provide," Elias replies. "If that's all it is. If I find out you've been overworking yourself, I'll teach li'l Nugget in there the Lindy Hop."

"I'm frankly terrified."

God, I missed this. I didn't even realize how much. Elias's jokes, his New Orleans accent—all of it puts me at ease like nothing else. There isn't another boss in the world like Elias Turner, nor another mentor.

After Grandma died, he was the one who saved me.

"So," Elias says, snapping me out of my reverie, "those gorillas out there…"

I wave my hand. "Pretend they're furniture."

"Think they'll volunteer as mannequins?"

"You know, that's actually not a bad idea. They're always standing still anyway. I bet I could sew a whole jacket on each before they'd notice."

Elias's eyes crinkle. "And their boss?" he asks, his smile dimming somewhat. "He treating you alright?"

I cradle my cup in my hands. "He…" He buys me dinner. He kisses my hand. He hates my guts. "Yeah," I settle on. "Yeah, he is."

Elias squints. He doesn't miss anything, does he? I can't lie to this man. Is this how it feels to tell your dad you're going to have a sleepover at your friend Janice's and then sneak into a boy's car?

I wouldn't know. My dad never cared enough to ask.

But Elias is the closest thing I have to that: a father. And now, as he looks me up and down with that all-seeing, all-knowing gaze of his, I'm starting to learn what leaving for prom feels like.

Specifically, the "Isn't that dress a bit short?" part.

In the end, Elias doesn't call me out. All he asks is, suddenly serious, "Are you safe here, April?"

I think back to the wedding. To Matvey's strong hand dragging me away. I think back to his words last night: No one will be allowed to hurt you.

"Yes," I answer, more certain this time. I don't know how I know: after all, who's more unpredictable than my baby daddy, the mob boss extraordinaire? And yet… "I am. He'll keep me safe."

That clears Elias's face of all clouds. "Good." He wags a stern, wrinkled finger in my face. "He'd better."

We sip our tea in comfortable silence. At some point, Elias sighs. "It feels like yesterday that you came to me. A scrawny, scrappy thing with a binder under her arm."

"You asked for my ID," I laugh, reminiscing. "You couldn't believe I was eighteen."

"Darling, you were skin and bone," he points out.

Which—fair, I was. Girls who misbehave don't get to eat dinner, a cruel voice drawls from my memories. They only get to clean it up.

I shake it off. "I didn't think you'd recognize me, but you did."

"Child," Elias laughs, all booming and affectionate, "I'm ashamed it took reading your ID to jog this old man's memory. You're the spitting image of her."

I twist my fingers against the cup. "I doubt it. After all, we weren't…"

Blood , Matvey's voice echoes in my thoughts.

But Elias just shakes his head. "Blood isn't the only thing that binds us," he says, as if reading my mind. "I can see Maia in everything you do: the way you hold a needle, the Band-Aids on every other finger." He leans in, whispering mischievously, "The way you scrunch up your face like a li'l bunny when something doesn't match the idea in your head." He taps my nose gently as he says this last part, causing the exact scrunched-up face in question. "She might not have been your father's mother, but she was your grandma in all the ways that counted. And you're her granddaughter. You're hers, alright. You're Maia through and through."

I force myself to blink away the tears. Goddammit, Elias . Even after all these years…

Even after all these years, he still loves her.

I don't know the details of their story. Elias never shared the painful bits, and my grandma always got this bittersweet, far-off look in her eye whenever the topic came up. All I have is guesses: wrong place, wrong time, wrong family.

In the end, Maia Toussaint didn't marry Elias Turner. She married Augustus Flowers, gaining another woman's son in the process.

And then, eventually, me.

"I don't know what I would have done without you," I say. "I mean that. After she died…"

After she died, I was alone. My parents had new families, and I didn't fit into either one. If you hadn't been there…

I feel a gentle touch on my hand and I look up. Elias is there, smiling at me like the father I never had—the father I wish I'd had.

But, in a way, I guess I did.

Eventually.

"Maia was the light of my world," Elias says, his voice just on the wrong side of steady. "And you were the light of her world. Now…"

We both glance at my belly.

"Now," he concludes with a watery smile, "you're going to meet the light of your world, too."

We hug goodbye. I'm still fighting the urge not to bawl like a child by the time Elias says, with one foot out the door, "You let me know if you need anything, you hear?" He side-eyes the bodyguards as he says it, which makes me suppress a snort. Eighty-year-old tailor Elias Turner, threatening the Russian mob with a distinct lack of subtlety. "I'll be here lickety-split."

I nod, smiling. "Thank you, Elias. Truly."

I watch his back grow smaller in the corridor. Matvey's words come back to me: There's no such thing as family without blood ties.

That may be true for him. But for me, blood has never once meant family. To me, family is the people I chose. The people who chose me .

Now, I sigh to myself, retreating inside, where do you fit in all that, Matvey Groza?