21. April

21

APRIL

The Flowers mansion isn't as big as I remember.

It's bigger .

I get out of the car with May in my arms, Grisha holding the door for me. My eyes wander across the huge courtyard, struggling to take it all in. Even after all these years, this place still makes me feel uneasy. A stranger in a strange land.

I never felt at home here. Hell, I never thought I'd be back here, where nothing holds a single good memory. Where there's trauma waiting behind every door.

But then the invitation came, and I couldn't say no. If there's even a small chance that my father wants to make things right with me, that he wants to be a part of May's life… Then I have to give him that chance.

Doesn't make it fun, though.

"Here we go," I mutter.

"Will you require assistance?" asks Grisha.

I shake my head and smile. "Thanks, but I think I'll be okay."

"Big place for someone to visit on their own," he observes. "You might get lost."

On my own. It's weird, hearing it from someone else's mouth: how alone I am. "True. We had a few gardeners that never returned. They say it's the south hedge—swallows them whole."

"That sounds frightening. Shall I call Matvey, then?"

Matvey. Just the thought of him makes my heartbeat freeze. I tried to tell him so many times… that this was coming, that I wasn't ready, that I didn't want to do this alone.

But he never listened.

"It's fine," I reassure Grisha. "We'll do fine."

He acquiesces with a small bow. "I'll be right outside."

Then, with my baby swaddled to my chest, I take a deep breath and step through the gates.

"Wonderful to see you again, Miss April. May I take your coat?"

In the Flowers mansion, you can't go two steps without encountering staff of some kind or other. When I was a kid, it was just the cook and maid, but after Grandma passed away, the ranks filled up considerably: a butler, a footman, a dedicated laundry maid, an army of nannies. It's like Regency England crashed into the Upper East Side through a rift in space and time. Any minute now, I'm half-expecting to run into the Duke of Hastings.

"Thanks, Jonathan."

My coat is kidnapped to the guest wardrobe. I hold onto my bag: diapers aside, it still has my sketches. If Dominic forgets I'm here—as he usually does—at least I'll have something to do while Grisha brings the horse-drawn carriage around.

"Someone will be with you shortly," Jonathan says.

"Mhmm." I know better than most what "shortly" means around here. Just making it from the dining room to the closest bathroom is enough of a trek to give you bladder rupture.

With that in mind, I sit.

I notice May looking around with curious little eyes. Everything must seem so sparkly to her: the immaculate floors, the hanging chandelier, the gold buttons on the staff's uniforms. If Matvey's place screams "money," this mansion takes it up a notch, broadcasting one word only: opulence.

Another reason my father and grandmother didn't see eye to eye.

Back when I used to live with Maia, we never splurged on such luxuries. Not because she didn't have the money, but because we didn't need anything more than we had. Our little brownstone made us happy, and we made each other happy. That was enough. What nest egg Maia had left, she was keeping safe for the future—hers and mine.

But now, Maia's gone, and my future is a golden handrail on a staircase.

"Shh," I hum to soothe May's sudden fussing. Sometimes, I think she's almost too attuned to the emotions of the people around her. "It's okay. Maybe he's forgotten about us. Maybe we can go home soon."

The words haven't been out of my mouth for five seconds before a rumbling voice calls my name from the top of the stairs. "April."

My head snaps up. He's here.

And he isn't alone. "April, dear. How long it's been!"

Nora.

Arm in arm, the couple descends the curving staircase. They're the picture of elegance and grace, their steps small and measured. As they make their way down, Nora's manicured hand delicately follows the line of the handrail, her luscious ebony skin jutting out against the gold.

"Hi," I squeak. "Dominic. Nora."

"You look well," Dominic offers blandly. He puts his hand forth for a handshake, like he's greeting a business partner instead of a daughter. No, a business associate —one that's new to the scene and also several steps below him.

I give him a lukewarm handshake. "You, too."

Nora's smile curves into a crescent. "And this must be baby May!"

She reaches to take her from my arms without so much as asking. May gives a wail like a tiny banshee, curling up tighter against me. Luckily, the swaddle keeps Nora's grabby hands from yanking her out, too secure to give even an inch. Thirty seconds into this disaster and I'm already glad I took this precaution.

"Sorry. She gets shy with strangers."

Nora recovers quickly. She drops her hands and gives a sickly-sweet smile. Funnily enough, it doesn't reach her eyes. "Maybe later."

How about maybe never. "So, you wanted to see me?"

"Right!" She claps her hands together. "How rude of us. Darling, why don't you show her into the drawing room?"

With a noncommittal grunt, Dominic starts walking. Nora's arm hooks into mine, her sharp nails digging half-moons into my skin as she kindly leads the way. You know, like I haven't lived here most of my life.

After what feels like an unnecessarily long walk to the gallows, we reach the drawing room. Yes, the actual drawing room. I look around for Elizabeth Bennet, but she seems to have missed this particular invitation. Lucky her. "Look, I can't stay long, so?—"

"But you just got here!" Nora gasps. "And the girls were so looking forward to seeing you! Isn't that right, girls?"

Suddenly, I hear it: giggles.

My blood freezes. It's like that scene in The Shining , but worse, because at least the protagonist there didn't have childhood trauma about twins. And these twins? I bet there isn't a ghost out there they couldn't scare back into the grave.

"Hi, Kate, Diana."

More giggles. "Hi, April," they chirp in unison. I swear to God, it's like they practiced this.

"Is that your baby?" Kate asks.

"She's paler than you," Diana remarks.

"Her hair is lighter."

"And shorter. No pigtails."

"Why aren't you wearing pigtails anymore, April?"

"Yeah, we liked them."

"Liked them lots."

"Like" is an understatement. I don't think I've spent a single day here without one twin hanging on either pigtail, tugging like their lives depended on it. It's one of the reasons I don't wear my hair like that anymore: no hairstyle is worth getting scalped for.

I suppress a shiver and force myself to smile. "Yeah, I know."

"Girls, give our sister a breath. Don't you see she's tired?"

If my blood froze before, the sound of that voice turns my veins into pure ice.

A new face saunters up from the hallway. Regrettably, it isn't new to me.

"Hi, Anne. You've… grown."

She shoots me a winning smile, the carbon copy of her mother's. "So have you," she says, eyes wandering eloquently down to my hips.

Bitch. Of Nora's litter of three, only one is the actual spawn of the devil. Sure, Kate and Diana might enjoy pulling wings off of butterflies, but there's always someone behind them egging them on, musing out loud, "I wonder what they look like without…?"

Well, that someone is Anne.

"Aww," she coos, lowering her head to look at May. It gives me chills and goosebumps. On top of that, there's a glint in her eyes that I really don't like. "Did you see that, Kay, Dee? It's like a little doll!" she squeals. "Why don't we wake it up and see if it's real?"

It's like a queen snapping her fingers: one second, the twins are keeping their distance, and the next they're on me—on us. Trying to yank my baby out of my arms like it's a toy.

"Stop!" I yelp, shielding her with both hands. "You'll?—"

" WAHH! " As if on cue, May starts screaming bloody murder. She's always such a quiet kid, so it stuns me to hear her like this: distraught to the point of tears.

"Oops." Anne smirks, poking her on the cheek. "Guess it is real."

That smirk. I've been away for so long, I almost forgot what it looked like—Anna's innate cruelty.

Or maybe it's not innate. Maybe it's exactly the kind of virtue her mother wanted her to learn.

"Please, just—don't touch her. She doesn't like it."

"Oh my."

"Did we do something wrong?"

"So sorry , April."

"Here," Anne cuts through the twins' apologies—if they can even be called that. "I'll make it up to you. How about I take your bag?"

"Actually, it's fine— ah !"

The instant Anne gets ahold of the strap, she yanks with all her might. My bag breaks open, spilling pens and baby supplies all over the floor.

And sketches. Lots and lots of sketches.

"Give those back!" I yell at the twins, who are now running around the room throwing my sketchbook's pages in the air. "I need them for work!"

"Are you okay, April? You sound tense," Anne croons. "It's not a big deal, right? They're just drawings."

"Indeed," Nora comments with a self-satisfied smile. "I dare say, you may be overreacting a bit."

Overreacting? I'm barely reacting. In fact, I'm using up all my self-control not to react. "It's work product," I lie. "I can't share it."

It's not a complete lie, though. Those are my sketches for the contest. Technically, it's my work product—no NDAs signed whatsoever—but it still makes me uncomfortable to see it in my half-sisters' hands. To see anything of value in their hands, especially if it's of value to me.

Another reason I'm glad for this swaddle. If they'd had their way, that would be my baby right now, being tossed from one set of arms to another. I can't even bring myself to think about it.

I gather up as many papers as I can and stuff them hurriedly in my bag. "If there's nothing else?—"

"Nonsense!" Nora tuts. "You're staying for tea, aren't you?"

I glance in Dominic's direction. "I am?"

Dominic looks between her and me. As always, it's an easy choice: Whatever the missus wants. "Of course. Clarissa, if you'd be so kind."

A maid appears out of nowhere, bows, then hurries out the room again. I stash my bag in a corner and spend the next five minutes soothing my crying baby, taking deep breaths that are for me as much as they are for her. I keep doing that right up until the tea cart comes in.

This is going to be a long afternoon.