19. Matvey

19

MATVEY

By the time dinner comes along, I still haven't managed to shake off Petra's words.

It's death by a thousand cuts: I keep replaying that conversation in my head, feeling the pain of every jab all over again. Worst of all, I'm starting to wonder if she's right.

But you talk to me. You're okay working with me, even joking with me. To April, you won't say a single word.

I don't care what delusions Petra harbors about being "close" to me now; if she's seeing unicorns, that's for her to deal with, not me. But there is one fact here that even I can't keep denying, no matter how hard I try.

The anger I feel.

With Petra, I'm annoyed. I'm pissed that she keeps getting in my way, whether through stubbornness or stupidity. Every time she opens her goddamn mouth, I'm supremely fucking irritated.

But I'm not furious anymore.

And it's not because I forgave her. Forgiveness is for those you care about. The truth is, I just don't give a shit about Petra.

But it's different with April.

Because…

You know why. All this time, you've known how you really feel.

No. I have to stop thinking like this. Letting a lunatic's words get to me isn't going to make me feel any saner. Besides, what the fuck would it matter if they were true?

April kidnapped my child. She discarded me. She threw away everything we had like it was nothing.

Only because you threw it away first.

"Matvey?" April's voice snaps me out of my thoughts. "Are you okay?"

"Mm" is all I have to offer.

I keep eating my food in silence. I focus on my plate. I do everything in my power to take my mind off the bane of my existence, even as she's sitting right across from me.

But clearly, April has other plans. "You know, something came in the mail for me today," she starts again.

"Mm."

"An invitation."

I don't know how else to signal that I don't give a shit. That I don't want to fucking hear it. Her voice, her thoughts—I want it all as far away from me as possible.

"Mm."

"I…" She fiddles with her napkin, drawing my eyes to her chest. To her blouse a size too small that leaves nothing to the imagination. "I was just wondering if— I mean, if you'd want?—"

"No."

April flinches. "No? You haven't even heard…"

"I don't want to hear it," I snap. "I don't want to hear a single word from you. I don't care what you have to say unless it's about the baby you fucking stole from me. Are we understood?"

It's like a metamorphosis takes place: April shifts from meek and timid to the picture of fury. A hare turned mama bear. "‘Are we understood'?" she echoes with disdain as she stands. "Are you kidding me? The baby I stole from you? How about you get off that high horse of yours, then come back down to earth and talk to me like a human being?"

"Like that's not exactly what happened," I grit, knocking my chair to the floor as I rise to meet her.

"No," she roars back, "it's not! I'll tell you what happened: you married someone else. You let me think you'd knocked up another woman, then started treating me like garbage. That's what happened."

With every word she spits, every venomous dart aimed at my throat, she steps closer. She strides around the table and glares at me, fury made flesh, the fire in her eyes blazing brighter than a star. A supernova ready to burn planets to the ground.

I step forward, too, the same rage coursing through my veins. "And you think that justifies what you did?" I snarl, forcing her back against the floor-to-ceiling window. "Taking my daughter ? — "

"I took her from a monster!" she screams, loud enough for the entire penthouse to hear. "I took her from a man who didn't care about her anymore, who had a better child coming!"

"There was never another child!" I roar.

"And I didn't KNOW THAT!"

She's so close I can feel her breath on mine, ragged and panting. Her screams split my ears in half, but I don't have the patience to de-escalate; instead, I just raise my voice louder. "SO WHAT?!"

"So I did what was best for her! I did what was best for both of us!"

"And that was getting away from me?!"

"YES!"

We're both panting now, yelling into each other's space. Our hands are balled into fists at our sides, April's knuckles so white they almost disappear. From the window, the night lights frame her like a vision: a vengeful goddess come to drag me down to hell.

"You told me you wanted no one else. You told me you wanted me. You said…" She keeps listing off my sins, one after the other, voice shattering at the edges like glass, stained and broken and?—

Beautiful. Beautiful above all else.

"What else?" I rasp.

"You told me you wanted to live with me," she croaks.

"What else?"

"That you were going to get your things and move in with me."

"What else ?"

"You told me that you loved ? — "

I kiss her.

It's the last fucking straw: I take April's face in my hands and claim her lips with mine, swallowing the rest of her words. Swallowing everything.

If I could, I would eat her whole.

I can feel April struggle against me, her hands curling in the fabric of my shirt before finally giving in. But when she kisses back, it isn't a surrender—it's a declaration of war.

"I hate you," she gasps into my mouth.

I rip her blouse at the seams. "Say it again."

"I hate you."

" Again. "

"I hate you," she hisses as I bite into her neck, half-pleasure, half-pain. As I hoist her up and press her naked back against the cold glass, tearing the rest of her clothes right off her body. "I hate you, I hate you, I— ahh !"

I plunge my fingers into her, making her scream.

It's barely even sex: it's too brutal to be called that . It's a fight by a different name. It's nothing like we've ever done before, and at the same time, it's exactly what I've been craving all along.

Because the truth is, I could've never stayed away.

Not from her.

"I hate you," I snarl in return, knuckles-deep inside her. "I hate you, April Flowers."

I bite into her full breasts without a single thought for how tender they must be, how sore after nursing day in, day out. April keens, taken by surprise. "Ahh, s-stop that, they might…!"

Sweetness fills my mouth, but I don't stop. "Mine," I growl, swallowing everything she gives me. Everything that belongs to her, and therefore belongs to me. " Mine. "

"Matvey," she gasps, nails sunk into my back for purchase. " Matvey ?—"

I keep scissoring her open without mercy, without an ounce of restraint. I fuck into her like an animal, with three fingers all at once, because who does she think she is? This woman who stabbed me in the back, who betrayed me in the worst possible way, a way I've only ever tasted once at the hands of my own blood— Who the hell does she think she is?

And why can't I stop wanting her?

" Blyat' ," I growl into her neck, cock pressing hard between her thighs. "Fuck, April."

"Say my name," she splutters as she writhes. "Say it, say my— ahh ? — !"

I don't give her what she wants. I don't call her name again. Not as I fuck her senseless against the window, on display for the entire city at our feet, and not when she comes over and over under my thrusts. Even as she squeezes my cock into a vise grip for orgasm after orgasm, I refuse to call for her.

But inside, it's all I'm calling for.

April. The woman who will be the death of me.

The woman who already is.