Page 67 of Emerald Malice

“Nothing,” I mumble, unable to pull myself out of my funk even for Mila’s benefit. “Just having a blah day, I guess.”

“How about we kick those blues in the ass by throwing some money at the problem?” She claps her hands. “There isn’t a single blah day I’ve ever had that couldn’t be cured with a little good ol’ fashioned retail therapy.”

Considering the jewels glittering on Mila’s wrists, I’d say she’s already indulged in her fair share of retail therapy.

Then again, the woman is married to Viktor Kuznetsov—retail therapy is probably barely scratching the surface of her issues.

“Okay,” I relent. “Let’s set Andrey’s credit card on fire.”

In twenty minutes, I’m clambering into the back of a shiny gray Rolls Royce with a fresh blow-dry and a very excited Mila—although her excitement has more to do with the fact that Leonty and Leif are my designated bodyguards for this little outing.

“Lucky you,” she whispers to me as she straps herself in. “My bodyguards look like the ‘Before’ versions in those makeover shows.”

I guffaw as she gives Leonty a smile that has “bad intentions” stamped all over it.

I wonder what Viktor would have to say about it. Then again, I don’t really care. The Kuznetsov men are not worth a single inch of my mental real estate today.

An hour later, Mila and I are circling the mannequins in a nauseatingly high-end boutique store.

“What about this, Nat?” she suggests, fingering a gorgeous, midnight blue sheath dress. “It would look amazing on you.”

“I thought so, too, until I saw the price tag.” Sidling a little closer so the hawkish saleslady hovering in the background doesn’t hear me, I whisper, “It’s two thousand dollars!”

“Exactly! It’s a freaking steal at this price.”

It’s a shame Mila and Katya have the whole Viktor thing in common; they’d probably get along great otherwise. The irony that I took a break from my friendship with Kat and ended up with another friend just like her isn’t lost on me.

“Mila, I’m not spending two thousand dollars on a single dress. I barely have two thousand dollars to my name.”

“Babes, not sure if you’ve fully grasped this yet, but Andrey is richer than God.”

“Not the point. It’s his money, not mine.”

The defiant flash in her eyes is a far cry from the innocent baby blues I thought she possessed on her wedding day. “That is precisely the point. Where’s the fun in having a rich man if you can’t buy yourself pretty things with his money?” She turns and says to the saleswoman, “My friend will be trying this on.”

“No, I won’t. Mila. Mila!” She waves away my objections and drags me to the dressing room. I’m still protesting. “There’s no point in me trying on the dress. I’m never gonna buy it.”

Mila rolls her eyes. “Didn’t Andrey give you a credit card?”

“He told you about that?”

She shrugs. “No, but I assumed. I got my own shiny black credit card when I married Viktor. It’s part of the package. If you’re gonna be with a Kuznetsov, you’ve gotta look the part.”

“Okay, I feel the need to clear something up.” I glance sideways at the saleswoman, who’s followed us into the dressing room with the blue dress draped over a golden hanger and dollar signs flashing in her eyeballs. “I am not ‘with’ a Kuznetsov. Andrey and I are not together.”

Mila dismisses the saleswoman with a somehow polite flick of her wrist and turns to me with those deceptively sharp eyes of hers. “So, he just sneaks into the pool house at night for a chat, does he? A little light conversation before bed? Couple hands of Go Fish, maybe?”

I’m so caught off-guard that I don’t have the presence of mind to bluff my way through an answer. My jaw drops and I start blushing like an idiot. “Uh…”

Mila laughs. “That’s what I thought.”

I collapse on the white sofa in the dressing room and bury my face in my hands. “It’s just sex, okay? There’s nothing else going on.”

One of her perfectly plucked eyebrows arches. “But you wish there was more going on?”

The blunt question sends a paralyzing wave of uncertainty surging straight through me. Because the natural next question I have to ask myself is…

Do I?

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