Page 68 of Cashmere Ruin

And then I heard Nora through the door. Her soft, honey-sweet voice, pouring poison as if it were wine.

You have a new family now. You need to forget your old one.

I waited for my dad to say something. To tell her that it didn’t matter if he had a second family—his first daughter could still be a part of it. That families don’t get swapped out for better ones: theygrow. Together.

But he didn’t say a thing.

I never came to his door again.

“Why did you call me here?” I finally ask. “Was it just to relive the good old times? Because let me tell you, they weren’t so good for me.”

Dominic hesitates. It’s not unusual to see him uncomfortable, but this is… odd. A clash with that aristocratic “man of the house” image he’s spent so long cultivating.

Maybe that’s why he doesn’t like having me around: I bring him back. His true self, the person he was before. The one who thought you could change a person by putting a ring on their finger, even if that person was a pregnant, alcoholic disaster. “There’s something I want to discuss with you.”

Now,thatperks my ears. “What—did I come into another inheritance you want to steal? Or did you suddenly grow a conscience?”

He sets his face into his trademark stern look of disapproval, but doesn’t say anything.

“Wait, you’re not dying, are you?” I ask, ready to feel horrible.

But luckily, he shakes his head. “Nothing of the sort. I want to offer you something.”

Then he pulls something out of his pocket. It takes me a second to realize what it is, but once I do… “Your checkbook?”

“Mm.”

“Wow,” I deadpan. “Maybe you really have grown a conscience.”

The truth is, I simply can’t believe what I’m seeing. If I’m reading the situation correctly—and I don’t think there are many other ways to read it—my father is about to offer me money. My estranged, distant,loadedfather.

And I won’t lie: I could use it. After all, I can’t rely on the goodness of Matvey’s heart forever. Elias pays me well, but this is New York City: even breathing in the wrong neighborhood can set you back an arm and a leg.

With some money of my own, I could look after myself. I could look after May. I could…

Finally achieve your dreams, says a hopeful little voice at the back of my mind.

And even I can’t—even if it’s just a gesture…

Maybe he still cares about me.

I watch my dad scribble down a sum. Then he hands me the check. I read it and nearly faint:one hundred thousand dollars.

I count the zeroes just in case I read wrong. Then I reread it again. Finally, once I’m certain I’m not hallucinating or miscounting, I ask, half-joking and half-terrified, “What’s the catch?”

Say nothing, I beg as my question hangs in the air.Say nothing and let me have this. Better yet, say you’re sorry. Say it’s a present for your granddaughter. Say you want to be a part of her life; that you want to be a part ofmylife again.

Say you’re still my father.

But that’s not what he says.

That’s not even close.

“You know you’re not fit for this, April. Being a mother.”

I feel the air being sucked out of me. Like I’ve been punched in the gut with a knuckle duster. “I’m not fit for being a mother?” I tremble, full of outrage. “I’mnot fit?”

Even though I’ve just heard it with my own two ears, part of me still hopes I’m mistaken. That I made it all up in my head, everything in the past five minutes, money included.

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