Page 99 of Cashmere Cruelty

“Forty-six weeks. In the end, the doctors convinced my mom to induce. It wasn’t…” I shudder at the memory. “Pleasant.”

“You talk as if you were there.”

“I was,” I rasp. “Charlie’s dad was nowhere to be found. His friends dragged him out of an alley later, drunk off his ass. And it’s not likemydad wanted anything to do with his ex after everything, so…” I make finger-guns at myself. “April Flowers, trained doula. At your service.”

I throw a glance behind my back, meeting Matvey’s skeptical gaze. Something in his eyes gives me pause. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he’s…angry?“You couldn’t have been older than ten.”

“Nine,” I correct. “And thank you for reminding me you have literal files on my life.”

“I’m thorough,” Matvey says without a trace of guilt. Then: “Difficult birth, I assume?”

“It was a goddamn battlefield,” I exhale. “I remember being in this shitty public clinic, paint flaking off the walls, staff staring off into space like they’d rather eat a scalpel than be there.”

“Charming.”

“You don’t know the half of it.”

I take a deep breath. Reliving these memories… It’s not easy. Especially considering the circumstances I’m in now. For the longest time, I thought I’d never have kids at all—not if it meant suffering like that.

Goes to show: a lot can change in nine months.

And besides… Matvey’s voice in my ear is calm. Grounding. It makes me feel?—

Safe.

I shake my head. That’s not a thought I should ever be entertaining. Matvey’s made it perfectly clear for which one of us he’s here, and it’s not little ol’ me.

Still… it’s hard not to let myself be soothed by it. The strong, comforting presence of this man’s arms around me.

So, without thinking, I keep telling the story that’s been haunting my nightmares for the past seventeen years.

“She was in labor for thirty hours,” I whisper, hugging my knees to my belly. “She was losing so much blood, I didn’t think she’d make it. It was like one of those scenes from a regency romance—the tragic backstory to some grief-stricken single dad. Only, there was no dad there. Just me.”

Suddenly, Matvey’s hands come up to my shoulders. The grip is warm, firm. Soon, they start rubbing circles into my back, working the knotted-up muscles loose.

Why?part of me wants to ask.Why are you taking care of me? Why are you being so kind to me?

Why do all that, when you’re not gonna stay?

I shake off that thought, too. I remember Corey’s words:no expectations.

“Where’s the father now?” Matvey asks, snapping me out of my reverie. There’s a note of danger in his voice, one I can’t immediately make sense of.

“Tom?” I ask, surprised. “Oh, he’s probably passed out on the couch. You know how it is.”

“I really don’t.”

A small smile fights on my lips. “Right. Sometimes, I forget.”

“Forget what?”

“That there are fathers who actually want to be a part of their children’s lives in this world.”

Matvey doesn’t say anything to that. For a moment, I wonder if I rendered him speechless. It’s a silly thought, one that makes me huff a quiet laugh afterwards.

You think too much of yourself, April Flowers.

“Anyway,” I say, reaching for the tray to snatch up another tasty morsel. “Charlie was born healthy. Mom recovered. Tied her tubes. Tom sobered up enough to drive them home. Happily ever after and all that.”

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