Page 44 of Cashmere Cruelty

He makes it sound so simple. Soeasy. None of this is easy to me, though.

“And what does that mean to you?” I force myself to ask. If I have to spend my time here wondering whether Matvey Groza’s gonna get rid of me once I’ve served my purpose, I’m going to drive myself crazy.

“Everything.”

I blink. Matvey’s standing now, looking for all intents and purposes like a predator ready to jump.

But he doesn’t. He just walks to the fridge and plucks two small trays. Then he continues, “Blood is everything to me, April. That’s why I’m here tonight—why I’m planning to be hereeverynight. I want my child to grow up with a family.” He pauses to place the trays on the table. “And that starts with this.”

“Dinner?” I blurt out.

“Familydinner.”

He sits back down. For a moment, I retreat inside my thoughts. “That’s a tradition of yours, I take it?”

“The opposite,” Matvey clarifies. “I never had the chance.”

That takes me by surprise. I can’t understand this man at all—his motives, his reasoning. And yet, I can understand this: wanting to be different from the people who raised you.

Maybe, in a way, we’re alike after all.

“So I’ll expect you to be there, too,” he says then, jolting me out of my thoughts. “Every night. Before the baby’s born, and after.”

It sounds like a line straight out ofBeauty and the Beast.That doesn’t reassure me one bit. Belle might have gotten her happily ever after, but I seem to remember the Beast being a controlling asshole for roughly half the movie. And I doubt Matvey’s got a magic rose stashed in his holster.

I end up picking at my dessert: a slice of black forest cake that should make my mouth water. But, for some reason, I’m not that hungry anymore. Leave it to Matvey Groza to make a pregnant woman lose her appetite.

But that’s just it. I’mpregnant.I can’t afford to make a scene or lose my head. So I swallow my anger and choose strategy.

“So that’s it?” I ask finally. “Stepping up for the child—that’s what you’re doing?”

“That’s whatanyparent should do,” Matvey answers without missing a beat. “Anything less is a blood betrayal.”

There he goes again—blood. “And I’m the child’s blood.”

“You are.”

“But I’m not yours.”

A beat. “You are not,” he confirms eventually.

I decide I’ve just about had enough. “That’s cool and all,” I say, pushing away my plate, “but I’ve got conditions, too.”

He arches an eyebrow. “‘Conditions’?”

“Yes,” I declare, “conditions. You want family dinner every night? That’s fine by me. But I want something in return.”

Something flashes over Matvey’s face. I can’t tell what it is—irritation, stupor—because, just as quickly, it’s gone.

“Very well,” he says, steepling his fingers, his expression carefully neutral. “What is it you want, then, Ms. Flowers?”

What do you want,kalina?

I shake off the memory. “First, I want to see my friends.”

“I think that’s unnecessary.”

“Well, think again,” I press. “‘Cause you may not believe in found family, but that’s the only kind I’ve got. Frankly, if I had to rely on blood, I’d have been dead ten times over.” I don’t bother to sugarcoat it. Matvey Groza’s got his opinions—I’ve got mine. “So I get to see them.”

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