Page 6 of Nobody Wants Me (Volkov Bratva #5)

I had a feeling she didn’t want to be married to me when that time came. That was more than okay with me.

Umberto came out of the kitchen, carrying a large tray. “Breakfast is served.”

He had four plates on the tray, and he placed them down for each person to take. I was starving, but at the same time, I didn’t want to fucking eat anything.

Freya would make a good mother. I hated myself for thinking it.

I don’t even know why I thought she would make a good mother.

I barely knew her. Her father was a piece of shit, and from what I could see, based on last night, she was used to being around cruelty.

I knew what I had done was cruel, but I needed to make sure she never at any point thought there was a chance with me.

Her and I ... would never happen. Not fucking ever.

I was my own man, and she was her own woman. And that was the way it was going to stay.

****

F reya

Breakfast wasn’t too bad. I noticed my husband spent most of it with a frown on his face. Ivan looked cheery, and The Butcher was very talkative.

Umberto brought out the coffee as we started our breakfast, which I was thankful for, as I was so tired. I did not sleep at all last night. I’m hoping no one could tell.

I was a little surprised for both of our guests to show an interest in my dress. I didn’t actually own anything from the stores. I stopped buying clothes a long time ago. Ever since I started sewing, my mission has been to have a completely homemade wardrobe.

After breakfast, Victor and Ivan had some business to attend to, and this meant I had to spend time with The Butcher.

Usually, I went out to the garden to help Rafael, but taking our guest to work didn’t exactly feel appropriate.

Instead, I took her on the tour of the house.

Victor never showed me around. He just showed me my room, and the place he stored my sewing, and that was it.

Our month of marriage hadn’t exactly been ideal. I don’t believe my husband could stand me. I think he hated me. I’m not sure what I’d done to inspire such hatred, but clearly, I must have done something. You don’t hate someone for no good reason.

“So, that is every room, and the pool. At least downstairs,” I said.

The Butcher looked at me and smiled. “You’re not good at this, are you?”

“What?”

“Being the center of attention,” The Butcher said.

“No, uh, I’m not. I’m sorry. I honestly don’t know what I’m doing.”

“It’s good,” The Butcher said. “You want to show me your sewing room? Maybe show me some of the stuff you made?”

“You’d want to see that?”

“Why not?” The Butcher asked.

“It is kind of boring.”

The Butcher folded her arms across her chest. “I’m getting kind of irritated with you saying it’s boring. Do you enjoy it?”

“Well, yeah—”

“Then shut the fuck up and show me. Trust me, if I didn’t want to be here, I wouldn’t be.”

And so, I took The Butcher up to my sewing room, and I let her step inside. I hadn’t come in here since last night. Since I delivered the quilt as a gift. I didn’t know what I expected as I stepped over the threshold. Some kind of ... feeling. Sadness? Sick? Tired? Hatred?

Victor tearing up his quilt did not affect this room. I couldn’t help but smile as I quickly moved toward the window and opened it to allow some air to circulate.

You know what, fuck him. Victor was a dick—a giant dick—and I was not going to allow it to affect my love of sewing. If he didn’t like what I made, then it was on him, not me. Just thinking that made me feel so much better.

I turned to see The Butcher looking at me.

“Stick with that feeling,” The Butcher said.

“Huh?”

“You look happy. It’s a good look.”

“Oh, it’s nothing. Just, you know, you’re right, I shouldn’t allow what other people say or do to hinder my love of what I do.” It felt good.

The Butcher laughed. “I’m glad I could inspire you. So, this is where all your sewing happens?”

“Right now, yes. Back home, I mean, I had a similar sewing space. Victor actually made it look and seem so much better.”

There was no point in denying it. The furniture he made was beautiful. Even the cabinets for the fabric. He had paid so much care and attention to detail, which is why I wanted to make him something special, to say thank you. I thought he would understand.

“What got you into sewing?” The Butcher asked. “I’ve heard about your father, and he doesn’t exactly strike me as the kind of guy who would like this kind of hobby.”

Between my father and husband, when it came to my hobby, they were real pieces of work—destroying what I loved in different ways. Victor destroyed my gift to him. My dad attempted to destroy my hobby.

“It was a long time ago, actually. I...” I frowned as I thought back.

“One of the women who worked for my dad loved to sew. Whenever I saw her, she would be stitching something in her lap. It was her way to create. I had nothing to do. I got through all my work, and my nannies never wanted me around. She didn’t seem to mind.

” I frowned. She didn’t stay with my father very long.

“I didn’t even know her name, but she would call me Pumpkin. ”

“And from there, you got the bug?”

“Yeah, I was ten years old, so I’ve been sewing for nearly fifteen years. Wow,” I said, my eyes going wide as I thought about how long it had been.

I would absorb all the books I could get my hands on.

Not that we had many sewing-related books in the library.

The one bonus about having a father that didn’t care about you was, he gave you a credit card and told you to leave him the fuck alone.

I was able to order whatever the hell I wanted to. So, I did.

I don’t have his credit card anymore. He took that from me the moment I was engaged to be married to Victor. Not that I minded. I also had the small amount of savings from the allowance he gave me.

“What about you?” I asked. I’m not used to talking about myself. “What do you do?”

The Butcher smiled. “You’re not quite ready to know.” She moved toward the far wall where all my fabric was neatly folded. I watched as she touched it, putting her hand on each piece.

“It’s an interesting hobby,” The Butcher said.

“Do you ... like ... work with meat?”

The Butcher burst out laughing. “I kill people.”

“Oh,” I said.

“Yeah, and that is all I am going to tell you today.”

I sat down on the chair and ran my hands down my thighs. Silence fell between us. I had no idea what to say or do. This felt awkward.

“Tell me about your dad,” The Butcher said.

“There’s not a lot to tell. I mean, most of the information is easily accessible online. He tends to keep his stuff for the public to see.”

The Butcher chuckled. “I doubt he keeps everything. Everyone has dark secrets. Trust me.”

I had a feeling she was talking about something I didn’t want to know. “Do you want to talk about Victor?” I asked. “I mean, you clearly know him.”

“No, I barely know him.”

Okay, we were at a loss.

“You’re an interesting woman, Freya,” The Butcher said.

“I think you are as well.”

This made her laugh.

“How about you show me your wardrobe? I assume you’ve made many more items of clothing.”

I don’t know why she was trying to appease me, not that she needed to. Ivan and Victor were somewhere else, and it left me with The Butcher.

“My room is across the hall.”

“You’re not sharing a room with Victor?” she asked as we stepped into my room.

I paused. I have no idea what I was supposed to say to that. Should I lie? I didn’t feel comfortable lying. Lying got no one anywhere.

“We’re not sharing a room.”

“Okay.” The Butcher followed me into my closet, and she went straight to the vanity table and took a seat.

I stood in my closet with a stranger, and at first I didn’t have a clue what to do. I opened my hands, closed them, and then pressed my lips together.

“Are you afraid?” The Butcher asked.

“Should I be?”

The Butcher laughed. “You have no reason to be afraid. Ivan has not given me an order to kill you, so you’re perfectly safe.”

“He can do that?”

“Honey, I’m sure it is not lost on you that you’re a member of the Volkov Bratva, and shit doesn’t quite work as it did.”

I took a deep breath. “I know.” I expelled.

“You know, I’m not used to any of this. I mean, I’m used to my dad being a giant dick to me because he absolutely hates the way I look.

I have brown hair, and he wanted me to be blonde.

I’ve got brown eyes, and he wanted them to be blue.

He tried to get me to have plastic surgery, and I refused.

” I stopped. “But I did everything else right. I stayed away. I lived in my little house, and I thought with time he would accept me.”

“Instead, he sold you off, and I’m guessing he didn’t even give you a heads up?” The Butcher asked.

“Yeah,” I said, and then laughed. “I mean, I’m talking to a woman called The Butcher, and I doubt you have anything to do with knowing different cuts of meat.”

She threw back her head and laughed. “I do, actually,” she said.

“You do?”

She nodded her head. “Yep, I can give you any cut of meat you would like.” She shrugged. “I like learning new skills.” Again, another shrug.

“You like learning how to cut meat, and I prefer to know how to install an invisible zipper.” I picked a dress off the hanger and showed her what I mean.

“An invisible zipper means you don’t see it from the right side of the fabric.

I mean, if it’s done well. With some of my earlier ones, there was no point in me using an invisible zipper because you could clearly see it. ”

“You talk a lot more when you’re nervous, don’t you?”

This made me press my lips together. Was I talking too much?

“I don’t mind,” The Butcher said.

If she didn’t mind, why did she bring it up?

So, for the next hour, we stayed on safer subjects, and I showed this woman, who I didn’t know, all the items of clothing I still kept after so many years.

Some of them were very old and still fit.

There were a few items I did have to let go.

But all in all, it was not bad for fifteen years of sewing.

Slowly, and I know this is strange, but I started to get used to her. Talking to The Butcher was like being close to an old friend. It made no sense. I didn’t know this woman, and yet I liked being around her.

When I talked, she didn’t stifle a yawn. She didn’t look down at her watch, or even off into a completely different direction as if she was staring into nothing. I don’t know if she was just being nice, or if she was just a damn good liar.