Page 127 of Cashmere Cruelty

“I wasn’t even talking to you,” I grumble.

“Don’t care.” Petra shrugs, flipping her magazine. “No drooling over Matvey where I can hear. It’s disgusting.”

How about you make like a tree and leave then?“Bold words for his future wife.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me. You don’t know how good you have it.”

For some reason, her remark makes me bristle a little. But I quickly push it down—pissing off Illegally Blonde isn’t on my bucket list. When it comes to Petra, I get the feeling thefind outpart never comes much later than thefuck aroundpart.

“And I wasn’t ‘gushing’, by the way.”

“Right—and I’m not wanted in fifteen countries.”

“Okay, first:nota flex.” I list off on my fingers. “Second: I’m just…” God, why are words so hard? “… grateful.”

“Grateful,” Petra deadpans.

“Yeah. Grateful. Matvey didn’t have to do that.”

Petra bursts into laughter. “Yeah, right.” Then she notices I’m not laughing. “Oh. You’re serious.” With a sigh, she shuts her magazine. “Of course he had to,durak.Matvey’s an alpha.”

“I literally have no idea what any of those words mean.”

“God, you’re so dumb.” I’m tempted to steal Dr. Allan’s ultrasound wand and chuck it at her head, but my mother taught me better than that. Namely, that you don’t do these things in front of witnesses. “He’s territorial. The littlekomuk’s part of his pack now. That means you are, too.”

For a second, I wonder if I’ve really gone dumb. Hit my head or something. “Are we talking about the same Matvey here?”

“No, we’re talking about his good twin. He has the exact same name and face, only he’s not a complete asshole.”

That sounds boring as hell.

I scold whatever part of me came up with that thought.Bad, bad brain cell! Who told you to unsubscribe from feminism?

“Ha-ha,” I fake-laugh. “I still think you’ve got the wrong guy.” Without my permission, my voice turns bitter. “Believe me, Matvey’s been crystal clear about where we stand.”

“That’s because he’s an idiot,” Petra retorts. “Just because he hasn’t noticed yet, it doesn’t mean he isn’t feeling it.”

“B-but…” I stammer. “But I’m not blood.”

Petra’s eyes roll all the way back into her skull. “Please tell me you’re not taking that fixation of his seriously. It’s all a pile of horseshit.”

I’m stunned. I never expected to hear anyone speak of Matvey’s philosophy like this, let alone so openly. “I don’t think he sees it that way.”

“No shit, Sherlock. That would imply he’s willing to question himself.” With a graceful leap, Petra hops off the couch and glides towards me. She keeps on the other side of the ultrasound machine, face scrunched up in disgust at everything going on around me—including poor Dr. Allan, who’s just trying to do her job and landed herself into a Bratva gossip session instead. “Listen up,koshka: if blood were really that important, everybody would be marrying their siblings, and the world would be filled with hemophilic Habsburgs.”

“That’s really gross.”

“Glad we agree on something.”

“I meant the fact that you’re a history buff. Seriously wrong with your character.”

With a fake smile, Petra flips me off.

“Alright!” Dr. Allan announces. “Everything looks good, but I’d like to review the images to be certain. Is there anywhere I can plug my laptop?”

I point her towards the studio and she hustles off gratefully.

Once she’s gone, I put my clothes back on, feeling slightly more dignified. Being in Petra’s presence makes you feel naked on your best days, let alone when you’re actually naked.

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