59. April

59

APRIL

All morning, I'm on cloud nine.

"‘ Here comes the bride…' " I find myself humming, laundry in hand. Then I smack myself mentally. It's way too early to think about that, idiot!

Or is it?

"Well, it's not like Matvey proposed," I say out loud. "Right?"

Inside my belly, Nugget keeps snoozing.

"Not in so many words, at least," I keep rambling to my baby. "But he said he didn't want to marry anyone else, even if it's for show! And then he told me…"

I love you.

I grab a pillow and scream inside it. I'm so giddy, I feel like I'm fifteen again. Like I'm falling in love for the first time over and over.

Love . After so long without it, I thought I'd never get to feel it again. To be warmed by it.

That's when I realize… "I didn't say it back!"

Gosh, talk about being scatterbrained. The man you're head over heels for—the same man who'd rather chew on concrete than admit he has feelings at all—finally confesses to me, and what do I do?

I forget to say it back.

Great job, April. Not even married, and already, you're wife of the year.

"Wife," I breathe. "Can you imagine that, Nugget?"

I most certainly can. Before I'm able to stop myself, I'm picturing it: me, walking down the aisle in a long white dress, the bridal march playing in the background. And on the other side, waiting for me…

God, I'm itching to call June. I want to tell the world about this. I want to shout it from the freaking rooftops.

But I also want to preserve this little bubble of ours. Every second I spend like this, safe in the knowledge that Matvey loves me back—that he wants me and no one else—makes me feel like I'm walking on air.

"He'll be there for us," I whisper to Nugget. "For you. For me. For our family."

Because that's what he said, isn't it? Back at the Mallard, and in the ambulance, too. He called himself my boyfriend. He called us family .

That thought alone is enough to get me squeaking all over again.

"I wonder if he'll propose soon. Matvey isn't the type to wait once he knows what he wants. Do we think he'll do it formally? Fancy dinner, ring in a champagne flute, all that shebang?"

I twirl and giggle, the dress in my hands twirling with me. If this keeps up, it's going to take me hours just to put away this one load of laundry. Matvey might as well find me here, dancing with my wardrobe, and rethink his proposal.

Which, it bears repeating, hasn't actually come yet.

"But once it does, how long do we think we'll have to plan the wedding?" I can't stop myself from gushing to Nugget. "Will he want something grand? Or will an intimate gathering do? God, what about the dress ?"

Once that thought is in my head, I'm gone. I've sewn wedding gowns for so many brides, it'd be impossible for me to have never entertained the thought.

"But there are just so many options," I mutter, pacing with excitement. "Mermaid? Empire? A ball gown or tea-length? Do I go for classy or embrace the fairytale format? And do I want lace or tulle? Organza, maybe?"

Nugget gives a polite kick. I decide to take it as a sign that it's listening. "Crepe would look really nice on a fit-and-flare, though…"

I fold and unfold the same blouse three times, digging a hole into the floor with my slippered feet. "Can't forget about the color, either," I mumble on. "Pure white has its charm, but what about champagne? Ivory? Rose petal?"

I'm still lost in dreamy fantasies when I hear the door open.

"Matvey!" I bound up to him.

I absolutely have to say it back now, before I forget again. Before I get so swept up in bliss that it doesn't even cross my mind to voice it. The reason I'm so happy.

"There's something I?—"

And then I stop.

One look at his face says it all: something's wrong.

His complexion is ashen, paler than I've ever seen. He looks like he just saw a ghost. Like a specter sucked every ounce of happiness out of him.

It's enough to make me terrified.

"What happened?" I ask, a thousand worries crowding my mind all at once. "Is it Yuri? Did something happen on the job?"

"We need to talk."

My stomach plummets. Still, I put on a trembling smile and try to reach out, to comfort him any way I can. "Of course. You can tell me any?—"

"Petra's pregnant."

I blink. My voice fizzles out. For a second, I forget to even breathe. "What?"

"Petra's pregnant," he repeats, his words as cold as ice. "And I'm going to marry her."

It feels like a nightmare inside of a nightmare. Like thinking you've woken up, only to be plunged right back into the maw of the monster under your bed. For the longest time, it's all I can do to gape. I replay the words in my mind, and they still don't make any sense.

"You said you didn't want her," I whisper, voice shaking. "You said it was a business arrangement. You said…"

And then it dawns on me: the cold, harsh truth.

"You lied to me."

Matvey remains silent.

It all makes perfect sense now: why Petra lost her head like that. Why Matvey never outright denied they'd been together. He just let me think that.

And I was stupid enough to believe him.

And now, Petra's pregnant with his baby.

"Was everything else a lie, too?" I demand, words cracking at the edges. "Yesterday? This morning?" Finally, my voice drops to a devastated whisper. "Were we a lie?"

Matvey's face is unreadable. Even back when we first met, it was never like this: utterly shuttered. Annoyance, interest, even disgust—I could always find it in glimpses. Tiny things, like the muscles twitching at the corners of his lips.

Now, everything is as still as death.

Somehow, that's worse.

"Aren't you going to say anything?"

The worst part is, I still can't bring myself to believe it. Things were fine just hours ago. Better yet, they were perfect.

And now, everything's ruined.

For a long time, Matvey only looks at me. I can sense something moving under the surface of his impassive face. An undercurrent. Is it pain? Rage?

Or is he finally done with me?

"I'm sorry," he forces out eventually. Two words. All this, and he's only got two words for me.

Words that no longer mean anything.

Well, I've got two of my own.

"Get out."

When Matvey's hand twitches towards me, I raise my voice to an inhuman scream. "GET OUT!"

It's the howl of a wounded animal. Even now, a part of me hopes Matvey won't listen to what I'm saying. That he'll hear what I'm feeling. That he'll crush me in his arms and comfort me, explain himself to me. Tell me it was all a mistake.

Tell me he still wants me.

Instead, he turns his back on me.

I watch him walk out the door through a veil of stubborn tears. They cling to my eyelashes, but I keep them there. I refuse to let them fall.

I refuse to be vulnerable in front of Matvey Groza ever again.

Only when the door clicks behind his back do I let it happen: I fall. I fall with everything I have. Knees to the floor, tears streaming down my face, dreams shattered around me.

And my heart, somewhere among the wreckage, broken beyond repair.

That's when the phone rings.