Page 53 of Cashmere Cruelty

He rises. So do I. Our mascarpone and blackberry tarts lie untouched on their trays, so I quietly stash them in the fridge. Maybe I’ll share with Grisha in the morning.

And then, because I haven’t learned my lesson yet, I speak up. “I don’t disagree with that,” I tell Matvey, trying to keep the tremorout of my voice. “Betraying your family is horrible. But I still don’t think blood’s the only way to make a family.”

“Is that so?” Matvey comments noncommittally. “Well, we’ve have to agree to disagree.”

When he takes his leave, he kisses my hand again. But this time, for whatever reason, his lips don’t feel half as warm as last night.

Instead, they feel cold as ice.

16

MATVEY

I’m woken up by my curtains being wrenched open.

Forcefully.

“Rise and shine, sweetheart!” Petra’s nightmarish voice screeches. Am I still dreaming? Somebody tell me I’m still dreaming.

Normally, I don’t do slaughter before 9:00 A.M. I might make an exception today.

Sighing, I try to pinch myself awake and fail miserably. “You have five seconds to tell me what the everlastingfuckyou’re doing in my apartment.”

Apparently, my bride only needs three. “We need to talk about Vlad.”

I groan. The last thing I want to do is talk about a wrinkly old man who spits when he talks. Especially when I was just in the middle of dreaming up a certain tailor in handcuffs and nothing else.

“Is he dead?”

“No.”

“Then someone’s gonna be.”

Petra scoffs—actuallyscoffs.“He’s getting restless. I can’t keep him under control anymore.”

“God forbid you keep anything under control.”

“I’m sorry—what was that, Mr. Unplanned Parenthood?”

The lion, the witch, and the audacity of this?—

Something whistles from the kitchen. I jump upright, snatching my gun from under my pillow.

“Oh!” Petra goes, trotting to the stove. “Kettle’s boiled.”

Clearly, I have to rethink myno-slaughter-before-ninepolicy. Homicide doesn’t keep office hours, apparently. “How did you even get in? I don’t remember giving you a key.”

Petra simply laughs. “God, you’re hilarious.”

I make myself count down from ten.You can’t kill her, Matvey. You can’t marry a corpse, Matvey. Think of the mess on the carpets, Matvey.“Tell me you made coffee and I’ll consider sparing you.”

“Strong as hell, just how you like it.” Petra dangles a full pot. “Do I get to live another day,moy pakhan?”

“Hmph. For now.”

I drag myself out of bed. I’m wearing nothing but a pair of sweats, but I doubt Petra’s the modest type. If she were, shewould’ve called ahead. Or, at the very least, she would’ve fucking knocked.

“What’s got Vlad’s panties in a twist?”

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