Page 57 of Cashmere Ruin

“It’s addressed to me,” I swallow thickly, “and…”

How does he know abouther?

“… and to May.”

19

MATVEY

By the time dinner comes along, I still haven’t managed to shake off Petra’s words.

It’s death by a thousand cuts: I keep replaying that conversation in my head, feeling the pain of every jab all over again. Worst of all, I’m starting to wonder if she’s right.

But you talk to me. You’re okay working with me, even joking with me. To April, you won’t say a single word.

I don’t care what delusions Petra harbors about being “close” to me now; if she’s seeing unicorns, that’s for her to deal with, not me. But there is one fact here that even I can’t keep denying, no matter how hard I try.

The anger I feel.

With Petra, I’m annoyed. I’m pissed that she keeps getting in my way, whether through stubbornness or stupidity. Every time she opens her goddamn mouth, I’m supremely fucking irritated.

But I’m not furious anymore.

And it’s not because I forgaveher. Forgiveness is for those you care about. The truth is, I just don’t give a shit about Petra.

But it’s different with April.

Because…

You know why. All this time, you’ve known how you really feel.

No.I have to stop thinking like this. Letting a lunatic’s words get to me isn’t going to make me feel any saner. Besides, what the fuck would it matter if they were true?

April kidnapped my child. She discarded me. She threw away everything we had like it was nothing.

Only because you threw it away first.

“Matvey?” April’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts. “Are you okay?”

“Mm” is all I have to offer.

I keep eating my food in silence. I focus on my plate. I do everything in my power to take my mind off the bane of my existence, even as she’s sitting right across from me.

But clearly, April has other plans. “You know, something came in the mail for me today,” she starts again.

“Mm.”

“An invitation.”

I don’t know how else to signal that I don’t give a shit. That I don’t want to fuckinghearit. Her voice, her thoughts—I want it all as far away from me as possible.

“Mm.”

“I…” She fiddles with her napkin, drawing my eyes to her chest. To her blouse a size too small that leaves nothing to the imagination. “I was just wondering if— I mean, if you’d want?—”

“No.”

April flinches. “No? You haven’t even heard…”

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