Page 158 of Cashmere Cruelty

“Couldn’t sleep?” I yawn from my room’s doorway.

Matvey’s head turns to me. “Just getting some water.”

“Any chance I can get some, too?”

It’s a new routine of sorts. When the moon is high and we’re both losing our battle with sleep, we’ll meet here, in the kitchen. It’s always well past midnight, and there’s never a single light on.

But at least, while we’re here, Matvey will look at me.

I don’t know why the night’s different. Maybe it’s the dark that makes it easier. Maybe we’re both just really thirsty. Either way, I’ve begun to look forward to these quiet, honest moments. With family dinners having turned into grim staring contests between us and our plates, it’s the only chance I get to trulyseehim again.

“Thanks.” I accept the full glass from his hands. “Is work giving you trouble?”

Matvey shrugs. “Something like that.”

“The tough life of a Peking.”

“Pakhan.”

“One day, I’ll remember how to say that.”

I can’t be sure in the dark, but I think I glimpse a smile pulling at the corner of his lips. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

It makes my heart ache.

“Your work seems to be going well,” Matvey comments. “A little too well, even.”

“Oh, don’t start growling now,” I laugh. “I asked Elias for the extra load.”

For once, Matvey doesn’t press. Maybe a part of him is aware of thewhy. Maybe he’d rather keep the pretense alive.

Sounds like we’ve been doing that a lot lately:pretending.

“You like it,” Matvey says in the end. “Sewing.”

“I do, yeah,” I reply. “It’s the only thing I’ve ever known how to do. The only thing that’s ever felt good.”

“So you always wanted to be a tailor?”

“A designer.” The word’s out before I can stop myself. It seems to be another mystical power of these nights: stripping us bare. No disguises. No pretty little lies. “I love tailoring, don’t get me wrong. But I always wanted to sew my own ideas. Even had a school lined up and everything.”

“But you never went.”

I nod. “But I never went.”

“Was it about money?” Matvey asks after a moment.

I shake my head. “No. I mean, yes, but—it shouldn’t have been. My grandma, she had savings. She was going to help me out. Then…”

Fortunately, Matvey doesn’t make me finish that sentence. “I’m sorry, April.”

I give him a grateful smile. “Yeah. Me, too.”

Then I gather the strength to continue.

“What happened after was…” I hesitate. It’s hard, putting certain things into words. All these ugly feelings. “All I ever wanted wasto mourn, but my dad had other plans. He cleaned out the bank account, sold the house…”

“And you were left with nothing.”

---