62. April

62

APRIL

The night after he breaks up with me, Matvey doesn't show up for family dinner.

I suppose I should be glad. Honestly, I don't think I could've stomached it. "Family" dinner. What a joke.

It was just another lie, wasn't it? All that sad violin music about how important it was for him, and it was probably nothing but a tool all along. A compromise. A couple of hours for me, and then free run to fool around with Petra for the rest of the day.

God, Petra…

I can't believe I fell for her act. The scorned business partner, the reluctant friend, the dashing defender. I wouldn't be surprised to find out she staged that break-in herself, just to gain my trust once and for all.

"Sisterhood," my ass.

All day I've been rolling in bed with only these thoughts to keep me company. It's like I can't stop my mind whirring. How many laughs did they have at my expense? How many secret glances did they share behind my back when I was in the room?

How many lies did they make me swallow?

"I love you."

And those three words—they were the cruelest deception of all. Why even lie about something like that? Why lie about that to me ?

I'd already resigned myself. I didn't expect anything. All I wanted was a happy life for my child, a loving home for them to grow up in. A serene atmosphere for the three of us, one that wasn't dominated by silence and wars of pinching, sneering cruelty waged in the shadows.

I never asked for love.

So why pretend to give it to me?

"I love you."

The worst part is, I can still hear his words in my head. Because maybe it wasn't a lie. Maybe, out of all the lies, it was the one thing that was real.

Not that I'll ever know.

And then there was that phone call.

"April? This is Dr. Allan…"

I'm distracted from my thoughts by a now-unfamiliar sound: the doorbell ringing.

I drag myself out of bed exactly as I am. Because fuck it, you know? My hair's a mess, my clothes all over the place. I didn't have the strength to wear anything that required effort, just a pair of shorts and a stained, oversized t-shirt.

Too late, I remember who it belongs to.

"April."

There he is: Matvey Groza, the root cause of my misery.

"What are you doing here?" I ask. I don't even have the energy to sound righteously furious, like I ought to. Just broken. Just a shell of a person.

Matvey's face is the same impassive mask it was yesterday. No matter how hard I try, I can't see what's underneath it.

And then I notice the bloody bandage around his hand. "What happened to your?—"

"Dinner."

I blink. "Sorry, what?"

"That's why I'm here," he says curtly. "Dinner."

"Dinner," I echo.

"Yes."

I'm speechless. Honest-to-God speechless. "I don't want to have dinner with you. I don't even want to see you, Matvey. After what you did, you still think I'd…?"

"What I think is that we had a deal," Matvey says flatly. "And it involves dinner."

I can't believe what I'm hearing. Can't believe this man would have the gall to…

"Get out," I seethe. "Get out of my sight now, before I slam the door in your face."

"You'll find that I have a key."

"Then I'll just barricade you out."

"I'll call the concierge and have them break it down."

"You can't do that."

"Yes, I can," Matvey all but snarls. "Because this is still my hotel. My penthouse. Whether you're in it or not."

I let the words sink in. Not just them, but the way they were said. The way he said them. As cold as ice itself.

Then I step aside.

It's the hardest thing in the world, to make myself do that. To force my feet to move. But Matvey's right. No matter how angry I am, this is still his place. His home.

I was the fool for thinking it could ever be ours .

"Then by all means," I say, putting my customer service voice back on. "Make yourself at home, Mr. Groza."

Something flashes in his eyes then. Something like?—

Exhaustion.

It throws me more than any part of this conversation.

All throughout dinner, I don't take a single bite. No matter how mouth-watering the dishes, how sweet the scents, I never once touch my plate.

"Eat," Matvey grits out eventually. "You need the strength."

"I'm not hungry."

"I don't care. The baby needs it."

Right, of course. The baby. God forbid there's anything else to me but that.

… I have news. It's about the induction…

I push Dr. Allan's voice out of my mind. "I'm not feeling well right now, Matvey."

It's not a lie. Even if I wanted to eat, my stomach is utterly closed for business. If I took a single bite right now, I'd just throw it up on the spot.

"April…"

"I'll heat it up later," I concede. "There. Happy?"

But Matvey doesn't look happy. He doesn't look happy in the slightest. And yet, there's no trace of anger on his face. Instead, he seems… weary. Spent.

Defeated.

Which doesn't make any sense. This is Matvey we're talking about: he doesn't give up. He doesn't take no for an answer. He doesn't lose, not to anyone.

Certainly not to me.

So what am I looking at here? Is this for real? Was Matvey so convinced he'd get to have his cake and eat it, too? Was it such a shock when reality finally caught up to him?

… We decided on a date…

I don't know if it's the jarring sight in front of me or Dr. Allan's phone call echoing in my ears. Regardless, for the first time all night, I open my mouth to speak.

And then Matvey cuts me off.

"You should know… a date has been set. For the wedding."

My tongue turns to lead. Still, I manage to croak, "When?"

"This Sunday."

I freeze.

There are a million things I want to say. A million questions, crowding my mind all at once.

But in the end, I only manage to ask one. "So soon?"

Matvey's jaw sets. "We couldn't wait."

That's what finally turns me to stone. We couldn't wait. As if they simply loved each other too much to delay. As if that's all I've been all along: a delay. A temporary setback. One that was never meant to last.

I rise from the table. Matvey does the same. "Congratulations," I whisper.

And Dr. Allan's phone call remains locked inside my mind.

"Hello, April. This is Dr. Allan."

I walk him to the door.

"I have news. It's about your induction."

I open it for him.

"We decided on a due date."

I watch him walk out.

"This Sunday."

And I don't say a thing.