27. April

27

APRIL

We start having sex everywhere.

And I do mean everywhere.

"This," Matvey snarls as he rips—literally, not metaphorically—my clothes off, "means nothing."

"Agreed," I moan back, drawing him close again and locking my legs around his waist.

We do it on the couch. We do it on the kitchen counter. We even do it on the Persian rug. That thing must be worth more than one or both of my kidneys on the black market, but Matvey doesn't hesitate for one instant to make an absolute mess of it. Or of me.

"You're…!" I gasp as he hooks one of my legs around his shoulder, thrusting deep inside me. "Such an asshole…!"

"And you're—" Matvey grunts while he annihilates me, leaving me without a single second to catch my breath, "an insufferable… naughty… tailor."

Family dinner is now always preceded by the kind of aperitif no one else is invited to. The kind that would invite complaints by the neighbors, if we had any.

And if Matvey didn't own the entire building.

The worst part, though?

I've started getting wet just waiting for it.

I'm not kidding. Suddenly, I'm Pavlov's goddamn dog: as soon as my stomach starts rumbling for dinner, something else starts?—

"Ew!" June yelps, cutting me off in disgust. "TMI, April! I did not wanna know that!"

I try to roll over on the bed and smother my face into a pillow. Nugget makes that little action much more difficult than it has to be. Also, the couch is no longer an option—if I sit anywhere in that den of sin, I'll just get wetter. Really, it's like Niagara up in here. "What kind of best friend are you?"

"The kind that did not wanna know that!"

"I don't mind," another voice pipes up. A distinctly masculine voice. "In fact, keep going. I'm taking notes."

"Jay," I whine, covering my face with the blankets, "why am I on speaker again?!"

"Because I'm making food," June calls from a distance.

"Because she's making food," Corey confirms. "And also, I'm untouched by hetero drama. It's like watching a nature documentary. But your baby daddy's giving me ideas, so?—"

"Goddammit, Corey!" I squeak. "Don't write those down! He'll know!"

"How?" Corey asks, deadpan. "Are there cameras?"

"Probably," June interjects. "HD. With sound."

"I hate you both," I grumble.

"No, you don't," they respond at the same time.

"No, I don't." I sigh, long and deep. "What am I supposed to do, guys?"

"Honestly, if I were you, I'd just keep doing him. "

"Corey!" June and I yell in unison.

"Sheesh," Corey says. "Didn't realize I was hanging out at the nunnery."

"I can't just—" I groan in frustration, squeezing my pillow hard. "I can't keep— We're co-parents!"

"So?" the Evans siblings pipe up at once.

"So," I answer impatiently, "this can't keep happening! You guys see the problem, right?"

"Nope."

"Really don't."

"Ugh." I flop on my other side. If I squeeze this pillow any tighter, it's gonna call the cops on me. "He's Bratva, guys. He's engaged. He's gonna get fake-married at some point, and I can't just— I can't be a side-side piece!"

"Now, that depends on how big his piece ?—"

"Corey."

"Alright, alright. Prudes."

From the other end of the line, I hear the telltale sounds of cooking. I picture June moving around our little kitchenette, breaking eggs into the pan and throwing away the shells in the wrong bin. It doesn't matter how often I tell her they're not supposed to go with the plastic—she won't hear it.

I wish I was there. I wish I could smell the eggs and the bacon and the buttery, delicious pancakes I've already traded years off my life for. I wish I could leave this nightmare behind and just go home.

But things have already gotten too complicated for that.

If Corey hears anything in my silence, he doesn't mention it. Instead, he says, "Look. I've had my fair share of guys who didn't want anything serious. It's not impossible to toe the line."

"Thanks," I sniffle. "I was really gunning for ‘not impossible' right now."

"‘Not impossible' is still a lot of work," Corey warns. "There are rules. More often than not, they're unspoken."

"Like…?"

"Let's see. One: never leave your toothbrush at his place."

I glance to the master bedroom's ensuite, where my toothbrush is most definitely waiting for me.

"Two: never keep a change of clothes there."

I look at the scattered items of clothing around the room. Somehow, a bra has ended up on the chandelier.

"Three: never take up a drawer."

I stare at the giant closet I filled first thing on moving day.

"Four—"

"This is ridiculous, Corey!" I wail. "I'm living at his place. Where else am I supposed to keep my stuff? On Grisha?"

"Is the silver fox still there?" June asks with a touch of interest.

"June, no."

"June, maybe ," she counters. "That guy wasn't half-bad to look at."

" Four ," Corey says loudly, drowning out our intermission, "don't talk about feelings."

I let this one sit with me. "So far, we haven't," I say honestly. Unless you count Matvey's sparks of possessiveness, all those You're mine here and This pussy is mine there, we never exactly had a heart-to-heart. Truth be told, I can hardly see it happening.

After all, it's still up for debate whether Matvey has a heart.

Corey hums like a wise village elder. "Good. Keep it that way. And lastly?—"

"There's another rule?"

"Lastly," Corey repeats, "don't ask for more. Don't wish for more. Do not ever, ever let yourself think it's okay to want more. That's just asking for trouble."

I stare at the ceiling, lost in thought. What would "more" even look like in our situation? We're having a baby. We're sharing space. We're sharing dinner.

We've also been sharing some other things pretty much on the regular.

"What do you mean by ‘more'?" I ask eventually.

Corey gives a thoughtful hum. "Well, for starters, don't sleep together."

"Bit late for that, buddy."

"I mean literal sleeping together, Apes. Don't stay the night. That's just basic common sense."

I think back to the past few nights. Sure, after that first time, Matvey's been staying after the fact. But that's only been to make more "facts" happen. Once I'm spent and sleepy, he always puts himself back together and heads back to his place. Or rather, his other place. I've still got no idea where that is, by the way.

"He hasn't been staying over," I tell Corey.

"See? That's a win."

I preen a little. So maybe I'm not a complete disaster at keeping things casual. Even if I did get pregnant right off the bat. "What else?"

"Don't do intimate things together," Corey phone-shrugs.

"Again, Corey, bit late here."

"Nine months late, to be exact," June chimes in from the kitchen.

"Ha-ha. Tell me, how long have you been keeping that in?"

"Nine months, actually."

"You're both comedy geniuses," Corey deadpans. "What I mean, Apes, is really intimate things. Couples stuff. Cooking together, cleaning together, picking out furniture…"

"No chance of those happening," I roll my eyes. "Meals get delivered, housekeeping knocks every day at 4:00 P.M., and have you seen the décor here? Let me tell you, it's like living in the Bat Cave."

"Really?" Corey muses. "Huh. Maybe I should come over."

"You'd probably have to swear an oath," June comments. "In Russian. With a gun."

"I could get a gun."

"Rob would divorce you so fast."

"Yeah, he would," Corey sighs. "He's a very militant pacifist. Also, never fuck with a lawyer."

"Never fuck with a lawyer," June and I agree.

"Anybody ever tell you you're like the twins from The Shining? So creepy. I'm gonna go spray myself with holy water."

As Corey's steps fade away from the receiver—presumably to do something other than find the nearest church to rob with a plastic bottle—June's voice grows closer. "Listen up, A. The way I see it, you're thinking too much about this."

"Maybe," I concede. "I don't know, Jay. I've never been in a situationship before!"

"There's always a first time," June quips. "And who knows, maybe it'll lead somewhere else?"

"Did your ears get fried along with the eggs? Your brother was just telling me not to raise my expectations."

"So don't," June says, like it's simple. "Go with the flow. By all means, enjoy the perks of your new lodgings."

"That makes it sound like I'm abusing the gardener."

"Ooh, do you guys have a gardener?" June perks up, suddenly interested.

"Stop binging Desperate Housewives while I'm not there. Also, no. We're literally up in the sky."

" Boooring ."

"Was there a point somewhere aside from your thirsting after Carlos?"

"One: thirsting after Carlos is always right. Second: relationships evolve. Why not see where this leads?"

"Because it can't lead anywhere, June," I sigh. "That's the whole problem."

"So what? Doesn't mean you can't have fun along the way."

God, I envy her. I wish I could see life like this: take what's offered, shrug at what's not. I was never that kind of person.

For me, every table scrap was a fight.

When June speaks again, her voice is quiet. Softer. "You know you're allowed to enjoy good things, right? You don't have to keep waiting for the other shoe to drop."

Of course she'd hit the nail on the head. She's known me for too long to miss what's actually bothering me.

"I just…" I hesitate, looking for the right words. In this mess, it feels like there aren't any. "I don't want things to get complicated. Again."

June hums in understanding. She knows what "complicated" means for me: the glares, the silence. The awareness of being unwanted. "Then you'll just have to keep them very clear. Think you can do that, A?"

Can I do that?

Matvey's a force of nature. He takes what he wants and is absolutely unapologetic about it. He's strong-willed, mercurial, and unbearable to the extreme.

So can I keep this purely physical?

Put like that, it doesn't sound like much of a challenge. In fact, it doesn't sound like a challenge at all. That's what I tell myself as I huff into my phone and murmur back to my best friend, "Yeah. Yeah, I think so."

"Attagirl," June replies, a smile in her voice. "See? That wasn't so hard now, was it?"

Wasn't it? I ask myself in the silence of Matvey's empty room, on Matvey's empty bed, next to Matvey's empty space.

"Yeah," I tell June, trying to force a smile into my voice, too. "You're right."