Page 124 of Cashmere Cruelty

It’s the most sickening feeling, watching the light go out of her gaze. April, who always has a kind word for everyone. April, whoalways sees the bright side. April, who never takes shit lying down. Sun or fire, her eyes always hold a spark.

Until now.

React, I want to scream.React! Didn’t you ask me to let you handle this?

But she doesn’t.

She dims.

“It’s my fault for never teaching you a lesson.” Eleanor is lost in her delirium, spit flecking her painted lips as she sneers and jabs that spindly finger here and there in the air. “I always let Tom take up that burden. But you couldn’t even be grateful for that.”

“I’m s-sorry,” April chokes.

“Not yet.” Eleanor raises her hand. “But you will be.”

April flinches back; Eleanor’s hand draws an arc in the air; and just when the sharpcrack!of a slap should echo?—

“Ow!”

My fingers close around her wrist, freezing it midair.

Eleanor recovers quickly. Her fury zeroes in on me. “Howdare?—”

“You asked me who I am.” The witch tries to talk, but her words fizzle out when I squeeze her wrist harder. I don’t intend to give her a chance to open her damn mouth again. “No—you asked me ‘who the fuck’ I am, to be exact.”

I tighten my grip more. Not quite enough to cause damage, but enough to make her stop trying to yank her wrist away.

Enough to make herlisten.

“My name is Matvey Groza,” I continue icily. “I’m the owner of this hotel. I’m the father of your daughter’s child. And, unless your hand goes right back into your pocket, I’m gonna be the man who ripped it clean off your body for daring to touch someone like that in my presence.”

I whisper that last part, careful not to let Charlie catch it.

But I make sure Eleanor hears every word.

“You’re threatening me?” she squeaks. Her earlier bravado has already started to leak out of her voice. Through my fingers, I can feel the clear tremor of her wrist.

It reminds me of an old Chinese saying:The mantis stalks the cicada, unaware of the oriole behind it.

Meet the fucking oriole, bitch.

“Mrs. Hill,” I say with a hint of amusement, “the only reason you’re getting a choice at all is because your children are here. And because, unlike your deadbeat husband, I don’t enjoy hitting women and kids.”

I catch a flash of surprise across April’s face. Eleanor’s off-handed mention of Tom shouldn’t have meant anything to me—so how do I know? I can practically read the question written across her face.

But April’s too smart not to put two and two together. In a second, her expression changes again, this time to something more complicated. Something I don’t have the time to decipher.

“In the interest of unsolicited advice—” I turn back to Eleanor. “—you should think twice before hitching yourself to a knownfelon. But then again, you probably weren’t thinking much, what with all the drinking.”

Eleanor bristles. “Keep your filthy implications?—”

“As long as you keep your filthy hands to yourself,” I cut in “and your filthy, alcoholic breath out of my face.”

Then, abruptly, I let her wrist go.

Eleanor stumbles off-balance. She tries to catch herself on April’s shoulder, but April flinches away again, this time with purpose. It’s only the open door behind her back that prevents Eleanor from falling face-first on the floor.

“Next time you want to criticize the mother ofmychild, you might want to consider looking into a mirror.” I take an instinctive step closer to April. “Then you’ll see what a failure of a parent really looks like.”

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