42. April

42

APRIL

If I felt like a hamster in a cage on my first day here, now, I feel like the freaking wheel.

I mean it. I'm stuck in place, thoughts whirring with nowhere to go, my feet striking the same four tiles over and over again. And for what?

My co-parent won't even look at me.

Okay, that's unfair. I know why I've been confined. After almost eating a bullet, anyone would get a little overboard with the safety measures.

And if it's Matvey, he'll definitely go full Azkaban.

"I can't believe I'm about to say this, but I agree with Mr. Wrong: you cannot go strolling about on your own."

I sigh into my phone. "Great, now, you're ganging up on me. My best friend and my baby-daddy-without-benefits, all out to get me."

"We're out to protect you, babe," June coos from the other end of the line. "Wait. What do you mean ‘without benefits'? I thought you guys were going at it like rabbits."

"We were!" I blurt out before I can realize what June actually said. "I mean?—"

"No need to be shy, sweetcheeks. I've seen everything there is to see down there."

"That's because you're allergic to knocking," I pout. "Anyway… I don't know. Something's different."

"Different how?"

I throw myself down on the couch. Correction: the carcass of a couch. Matvey's men are supposed to stop by with new furniture later in the day, but for now, it's foam-on-skin action. "You're gonna laugh," I whine.

"I promise I won't."

"Liar."

"April. Spit it out."

I capitulate. There's no point in telling June "no": she can't physically understand the meaning of the word. "He didn't kiss my hand."

I get it out all in one breath— hedidn'tkissmyhand —but of course, June catches every word. When she wants to, her ears can be as sharp as a bat's. "I'm sorry— kissed your hand ? Is that Russian slang for something kinky or…?"

"It's not!" I burst out. "He… Before he leaves, he always kisses my hand. And today, he didn't."

"Uh-huh…" June hums. Why can I suddenly picture a bucket of popcorn in her lap? "Tell me again how you're not together."

"We're not! It's just… something he does. Did." Dammit, why am I blushing all over? I'm not a schoolgirl anymore. I shouldn't be this flustered over kissing . On the hand! "And now, he doesn't and I'm wondering if I did something wrong?—"

"Besides nearly getting yourself killed?" June ventures.

"I didn't exactly invite those hitmen for tea!"

"Oh, babe, babe, babe," June sighs. "You can't expect your man to be logical about this. From what you've told me, he rarely ever is."

"That's…" I try to object. "… not wrong."

"I mean, I'm freaking out, and I didn't even get to do you."

"Jay!"

"It's true! Do you know how hard it is not to march over there and hug you until you can't breathe?"

I curl up on myself. "I'm sorry. I wish Matvey wouldn't be such a hard-ass about visits."

"Honestly? I'm kind of glad he is," June says, surprising me. "Of course, I should get infinite passes, because I'm cool and amazing and your bestest friend forever?—"

"Is this going anywhere?" I mutter.

" But ," June tuts, "I get where he's coming from. Truly, I do."

"Really? Because I don't."

There's a noise on the other end of the line, like an old mattress creaking. I wonder if June's thrown herself down on the bed. Without thinking, I lie down, too. It's how we used to gossip and cry over our woes: knees to chest, face to feet, the yin to each other's yang.

Not for the first time, I'm struck by how much I miss her. Us . Our life before this.

But then I think of Matvey—his strong hands, his warmth—and I can't bring myself to regret it. Not all of it.

And certainly not this part of it, I think as I stroke Nugget.

"Loving someone isn't a walk in the park," June murmurs, quiet for once. "It's like having your heart beating outside of your body. And here's the kicker: you can't do a goddamn thing about it. You can try to shield it, keep it in a gilded cage, but you'll never be able to protect it from everything. And that's scary as all hell."

I try to picture it: the golden bars and the bloody thing inside. Beating, bare. Vulnerable. "Yeah," I find myself murmuring back. "It's scary." Then I shake myself back to reality. "But Matvey doesn't love me. Not… that way. That's not how it is between us."

"Yeah?" June breathes back. "Then why does it sound like you're about to cry?"

I touch my cheek. Sure enough, there's wetness there—tears pooled at the corner of my eye, spilling at first touch. "I…"

I feel like someone plucked me from a field. Like someone's tearing my petals off one by one.

I love him.

I don't love him.

He loves me.

He doesn't…

And then, suddenly, the doorbell rings.

"I have to go," I blurt into my phone. "Bye, June."

I don't wait for her to say it back. I drag the red button down the screen and shut the call. I'm too raw right now—if she said anything else to me, I really might burst out crying.

Instead, I pick myself up. I dry my tears. I dust off the pieces of foam. Then I stride towards the door.

At the last second, I stop.

I'm not expecting anyone , I realize. Matvey's men shouldn't come around until later. What if…?

I try to swallow my anxiety. Surely an assassin wouldn't bother to ring the freaking doorbell.

Right?

"Who is it?" I call faintly, my fingers already scrolling for Matvey's number.

If I call him, he'll be here. If…

" Mo?i perhoti , who do you think?!"

I throw the door open.

Petra's tapping her foot, arms crossed, glaring at me like I've committed some deadly sin. Making her wait, most likely. "Hi…?"

"Hi," Petra all but spits. "Get out of the way. Girls!"

With a gesture of her manicured hand, two hulking figures emerge from the hallway. I stare at their arms. Specifically, what they're holding: takeout bags. Heaps of them. "Uhh, are we having someone over for lunch…?"

Petra's nose twitches like a haughty bunny's. "I moved up girls' night." Just like that, she pushes past me.

The twins follow. They set the bags on the table. I peer at the logos: Chinese, Indian, Greek… "Just how many girls are coming…?"

Petra shrugs. "Didn't know what pregnant women ate. It was a hassle to ask, so we just got one of everything."

"We'll eat the rest," Lena reassures me.

"Won't leave a crumb," Julia agrees.

I let myself take in the scene before me: Petra, turning pointedly away with a blush on her cheeks. The twins, unpacking delicious-smelling food on the kitchen counter.

"Shit," Petra startles. "What's wrong with her?"

Belatedly, I realize I'm crying.

"Are there onions in those?!" she bellows.

"It's okay! I'm not… I just…" Finally, I turn to Petra. "Thank you," I say sincerely. "I kinda… needed this."

Petra's looking at me like I've grown horns and a pair of leathery wings. "Alright," she says briskly. "Here, take a tissue—no, you know what, take the whole pack. I don't… Goddammit, how do I make you stop?"

But the twins, having already begun stuffing their faces, simply shrug.

I hear myself laugh. "I'm fine!" I tell her. I blow my nose, dry my eyes, fix myself as best I can. "See? Good as new."

"Really?" Petra leans in suspiciously. "Because Matvey's gonna kill me if you're not."

I wonder if he's the one who sent her. Maybe not. Maybe Petra's just catching the friendship bug.

And you know what? That's okay. I don't need Matvey to make every single one of my days. I've got other options.

"What's that, Nugget? You're hungry?" I pat my belly. "Then we'd better set the table. Come on."

I drag Petra by the hand and head for the kitchen.

Against all odds, Petra doesn't let go.