63. April

63

APRIL

Things don't change much over the next few days.

I wake up late. I keep the blinds drawn. When I do bother getting up, I just wander around the penthouse like a ghost. Restless. Numb.

Silent.

That's the constant of my life now: silence. So many times, I thought I'd rid myself of it for good. First, with my found family, and then with Matvey.

But it follows me everywhere.

When Matvey comes by for dinner, the silence becomes deafening. It's astounding how quickly we've gone back to being strangers.

The worst kind of strangers. Strangers who once said, "I love you."

And then there's the baby. The due date is floating around in my mind every minute of every day.

The first night we eat together, I keep telling myself that, if he will only speak to me, then I'll come clean. If he will only say one word to me—ask about my day, ask about anything—then I'll tell him.

But he never does.

So the second night, I tell myself just one look will do. If he glances up from his plate, if he keeps his gaze on mine for a single, full second, then I'll take it as a sign and spill it all.

But he never does that, either.

Then, by the third day, I'm determined to tell him anyway. He's still the baby's father, isn't he? No matter how badly he scorned me—how broken he left me—he still has a right to know. Doesn't he?

But there's another baby coming.

It's a small, hateful voice spewing poison at the back of my mind. I try my hardest to suppress it, but it keeps coming back stronger, louder: Soon, he'll have another child. A better one. A legitimate one. One he actually chose to have. And once that happens, he'll forget about the one he never wanted in the first place.

Just like your parents did.

By the fourth day, I'm determined to snuff out that voice for good. So I tell myself: if he answers me.

If he answers me, I'll tell him.

"Do you love her?"

The sound of cutlery stops. Matvey's hands still. Just like that, the silence grows louder than ever.

A part of me is hoping he'll say, Yes. Because if he truly loves her—if all of this was the last trial on the way to his happily ever after—then I'll be able to accept it. I'll be able to put my restless soul at ease.

Not right away. Not for a long time, maybe.

But eventually.

Or at least I'll be able to pretend.

I'll be happy for them. I'll smile and nod and say all the right words. After all, haven't I done this all my life? Live off the crumbs of other people's happiness? Getting out of the way so it could happen?

It wouldn't be my home full of laughter, but it would be a home. A home for my child.

I have a half-brother that I love; maybe Nugget could have the same. They could grow to care for each other, like Matvey and Yuri did. Better yet, they could grow up together from the start.

It wouldn't be my happiness, but it'd still be happiness.

And yet, another part of me is still hoping he'll say, No. No, I don't love her. I love you, April Flowers. It's only ever been you.

But what I'm wholly unprepared for is the answer that actually comes my way.

"It's none of your business."

I look up. Matvey's eyes are finally on me, but they have never felt so cold. His words, too—words that I've begged for in my mind for the whole week. The silence is broken now, but at what cost?

"Matvey…" I try again, gripping my napkin tight. "Just tell me. I promise, I can handle it. I just need to know?—"

"You don't need to know anything."

"That's not fair," I rasp around the lump in my throat.

I watch Matvey's fist clench and unclench on the table. Like it does when he's about to lose his patience. "Drop it, April."

I shake my head. "No. You owe me this much. You owe me?—"

"I owe you nothing !"

The harshness of those words makes me jump. For a second, I'm frozen: I can't blink, I can't speak, I can't breathe.

Matvey's chair screeches. Through a veil of tears, I watch him stand. "I owe you nothing," he repeats, quieter. "And you don't owe me anything, either. So do what you want."

"What… I want?" I stammer.

He gives me a curt nod. "After the birth, I'll arrange for you to be moved to another apartment. It'll be yours in every way that matters. You'll have round-the-clock security and a bank account for your needs."

"And you think that's what I want?" I ask with a trembling voice. "A bigger cage?"

"I will provide for you," he goes on as if he hasn't heard me. "And for our child. You'll be free to have your friends over. If you want June to move back in, I won't stand in your way. And if you…"

"And if I want somebody else to move in, you won't stand in my way, either?"

I can't get through the whole sentence without my voice wobbling. A few days ago, it would have been unthinkable: Matvey Groza, giving me up to someone else?

But now…

Now, what else could he have meant?

"I want you and no one else. Not even if it's fake."

I still want to believe those words. I want it with all my heart.

But then again, I also wanted to believe in "I love you."

And look how that turned out.

"No."

I blink. "‘No?'"

For the first time since this whole affair started, I allow myself to hope.

"You can't have someone else," he growls. "Not now, not ever. You are mine . "

Then kiss me , I beg. Kiss me now and call me yours. Call off the wedding, take me away, make me forget this ever happened.

Kiss me and give me my happily ever after.

"And if I can't have you, then no one can."

No one.

My last hope shatters. I can feel the shards sink into my feet as I stand.

No one. Those two words keep repeating in my head like a slap on loop. Not Matvey, and not anyone else, either. No one.

"You want me to be alone?" I croak. "You don't want me, but you want me to be alone—forever?"

I'm barely holding back tears. Of all the things I knew Matvey to be—possessive, mercurial, jealous—I just never…

I never thought he'd be this cruel, too.

When his lips remain sealed, I whisper, "You want our child to be alone?"

"I'd be there," he retaliates. "I'd visit."

"For dinner. Without saying a word."

He grimaces. "It's better than nothing."

That's what I deserve—slightly more than nothing. That's what our child deserves, according to its father.

Silence.

And no one.

"I want you and no one else. Not even if it's fake."

How quickly they end, fairytales. I can almost glimpse the last paragraph of mine. As I stand shell-shocked in the middle of the living room, listening to the sound of the door closing behind Matvey's back, I try to picture it: the grain of the paper, the black lines of ink. And then, just before the final, empty page…

"Happily never after," I murmur into the silence.