Page 49 of Cashmere Cruelty
I feel a pang of guilt. “I’m really sorry for dropping off the face of the Earth like that,” I say. “It’s just been crazy these past few days.”
Elias tuts. “I’ve been trying to get you to go on maternity leave for months, missy. Now that you’ve finally listened, I’ll be thanking my lucky stars.”
“I still don’t like it.” I grimace. “There’s so much to do lately. I don’t want you to have to shoulder it alone.”
Elias gives me a benevolent smile. “My darling girl,” he says, squeezing my shoulders, “you’re gonna be a mother soon. You can’t keep worrying about everybody else—especially little ol’ me. You feel me?”
I sigh. Of course Elias would say that. Eighty years old, and still nowhere near planning retirement. I was hoping, with my help around the shop, that day would come sooner rather than later. I was almost there, too, I think—I could see his resistance slowly giving in, the Bahamas pamphlets sticking out of his coat pockets, thoughts of white sand beaches and all-you-can-eat seafood buffets calling his name.
Then I went and got myself pregnant.
“Yeah,” I concede. “But I can still offer you tea, right?”
“The day I say no to that is a very sad day indeed, Ms. Flowers. Pour away.”
I busy myself in the kitchen, boiling water and plucking jars with all types of rare teas. What the hell’s a Matcha Iri Genmaicha? Just reading that is giving me a headache.
I pour, dumping in a few Jasmine Pearls for good measure. If I’m gonna be a prisoner here for the foreseeable future, I should at least enjoy the benefits. Somehow, I don’t think Matvey will mind that I’m raiding his pantry.
And if he does? All the better.
I offer Elias his cup. “Thanks for bringing everything here,” I say, sitting down across from him. “God knows I need the distraction.”
“And I’m happy to provide,” Elias replies. “If that’sallit is. If I find out you’ve been overworking yourself, I’ll teach li’l Nugget in there the Lindy Hop.”
“I’m frankly terrified.”
God, I missed this. I didn’t even realize how much. Elias’s jokes, his New Orleans accent—all of it puts me at ease like nothing else. There isn’t another boss in the world like Elias Turner, nor another mentor.
After Grandma died, he was the one who saved me.
“So,” Elias says, snapping me out of my reverie, “those gorillas out there…”
I wave my hand. “Pretend they’re furniture.”
“Think they’ll volunteer as mannequins?”
“You know, that’s actually not a bad idea. They’re always standing still anyway. I bet I could sew a whole jacket on each before they’d notice.”
Elias’s eyes crinkle. “And their boss?” he asks, his smile dimming somewhat. “He treating you alright?”
I cradle my cup in my hands. “He…”He buys me dinner. He kisses my hand. He hates my guts.“Yeah,” I settle on. “Yeah, he is.”
Elias squints. He doesn’t miss anything, does he? I can’t lie to this man. Is this how it feels to tell your dad you’re going to have a sleepover at your friend Janice’s and then sneak into a boy’s car?
I wouldn’t know. My dad never cared enough to ask.
But Elias is the closest thing I have to that: a father. And now, as he looks me up and down with that all-seeing, all-knowing gaze of his, I’m starting to learn what leaving for prom feels like.
Specifically, the“Isn’t that dress a bit short?”part.
In the end, Elias doesn’t call me out. All he asks is, suddenly serious, “Are you safe here, April?”
I think back to the wedding. To Matvey’s strong hand dragging me away. I think back to his words last night:No one will be allowed to hurt you.
“Yes,” I answer, more certain this time. I don’t know how I know: after all, who’s more unpredictable than my baby daddy, the mob boss extraordinaire? And yet… “I am. He’ll keep me safe.”
That clears Elias’s face of all clouds. “Good.” He wags a stern, wrinkled finger in my face. “He’d better.”