Page 33 of Preferential Treatment

The part of her that had always remained detached, watchful, vigilant—even as a child—was alert now. They’re not gifts, that part of her mind whispered. They’re payment. And you aren’t holding up your end of this transaction. He’s not paying you to have feelings—especially not feelings that make him uncomfortable.

Taking one deep breath after another, Kate fought for control. She needed to fix this. She needed to get a grip or she was going to ruin this arrangement. If she couldn’t be the powerful, in-control princess when she was with Mikhail, then he could easily find somebody else who could. If he put out an open call, the line of women wanting to take Kate’s place would be miles long. She couldn’t indulge her weaknesses around him. She had to save her neurotic break-downs for at home, in private.

She suppressed the chaotic emotional jumble until it was just an erratic drum beat at the back of her mind, wiped away her tears, and let out a small huff of laughter. “No, I’m not hungry. I’m just PMSing. Sorry.”

“You’re… alright now?” Mikhail was watching her like she was an unexploded ordinance he’d just found on the sidewalk.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she said flippantly. “Don’t look so scared. If you’re going to serve a princess, you’re going to have to deal with a few mood swings.”

Some of the tension eased from Mikhail’s posture. “Do you need anything for your, er… PMS?”

“Yes. Ice cream.” What she really wanted was to go home, but she had to play this out.

The rest of Mikhail’s tension fled as his eyes lit up. “Ah. That I can do.”

Back at her apartment, loaded down with shopping bags and the heavy dutch oven—because allowing Mikhail into her apartment felt too intimate—Kate found a folded paper tucked into the edge of the door. Fumbling to hold everything, she opened the door, and the paper fluttered to the ground. She carried her new things to the kitchen island and dumped them there before coming back for the paper. The bubbly handwriting was instantly recognizable as her sister’s.

Hey twinnie,

Sorry. I’ve been trying to get better at not losing my shit like that. I don’t have any money right now, but I think I will in a few weeks. I know you blocked my number, but Mom said you still talk to her, so tell her how much all your stuff costs that I broke so I know how much I owe you.

—Angel

Kate looked past the paper to the heap of expensive gifts on the kitchen island. Her gaze landed on the dutch oven, and a knot tightened in her throat.

Angel had always been the one to figure out food. When they were kids, on the nights when they’d been left alone with a mostly empty fridge and no money to buy anything, Angel somehow managed to scrape meals together for them both. Angel was the one who’d figured out how to use the stove at six years old, without any instruction, when Kate had been too scared to try. Angel was the one who’d come up with the idea to hide stuff in the freezer behind the bags of ice so that they had backup food stored away for those days when Dad went too long without getting groceries. Angel was the one who learned, through trial and error, how to make plain things like condensed soup and frozen peas and canned tuna into meals that actually tasted good. And she’d done it with dinged-up old aluminum pots, chipped mixing bowls, and broken utensils.

Kate hardly knew how to cook, and now she had a fucking Le Creuset dutch oven while Angel apparently had nowhere to live.

She dropped her face into her hands, angry at herself, angry at the world, and crying—again. She wasn’t normally this emotional. In fact, she’d always considered herself somewhat detached. Maybe even a little too detached. But not lately. She dragged in a stuttering breath, eyes squeezed shut against a flood of hot, stinging tears.

She stiffened at the sound of a key turning in the front door.

Naomi came in with a heavy sigh, swinging the door shut and muttering to herself. “…might as well join a convent if this is what—oh! Kate? Oooh, what’s all this? Did you go shopping?”

Kate was struggling to rearrange her features into a neutral expression, even though it was futile. Her whole face was hot and tight from crying, her eyes still stinging.

“Yep,” she said, moving to gather some of the bags so she could take them to her room and maybe somehow keep her face averted the whole time.

“Oh, wow, is that a Saks bag?” Naomi moved closer. “Was there a big sale or something?”

“Um, yeah.” Kate tried to move past Naomi, but Naomi stopped her with a hand on her elbow.

“Hey, are you—oh no. Kate, what happened? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Just being emotional.”

Naomi frowned, lips pursing uncertainly. “Is there something I can do?”

“Honestly? Just pretend everything’s normal.” Kate swiped hastily at her wet cheeks.

“Are you sure?”

Kate nodded, drawing in a slow breath.

“Alright. Well…” Naomi glanced around the apartment, at a loss. “Uh… want to watch another episode of Stupid Cupid? The new one’s out.”

Absurdly, the thought of that dumb show lifted Kate’s mood. “Yeah. That sounds good. Give me one second while I put this stuff away.”

---