Page 143 of Cashmere Cruelty

“Hi,” Petra all but spits. “Get out of the way. Girls!”

With a gesture of her manicured hand, two hulking figures emerge from the hallway. I stare at their arms. Specifically, what they’re holding: takeout bags. Heaps of them. “Uhh, are we having someone over for lunch…?”

Petra’s nose twitches like a haughty bunny’s. “I moved up girls’ night.” Just like that, she pushes past me.

The twins follow. They set the bags on the table. I peer at the logos: Chinese, Indian, Greek… “Just how many girls are coming…?”

Petra shrugs. “Didn’t know what pregnant women ate. It was a hassle to ask, so we just got one of everything.”

“We’ll eat the rest,” Lena reassures me.

“Won’t leave a crumb,” Julia agrees.

I let myself take in the scene before me: Petra, turning pointedly away with a blush on her cheeks. The twins, unpacking delicious-smelling food on the kitchen counter.

“Shit,” Petra startles. “What’s wrong with her?”

Belatedly, I realize I’m crying.

“Are there onions in those?!” she bellows.

“It’s okay! I’m not… I just…” Finally, I turn to Petra. “Thank you,” I say sincerely. “I kinda… needed this.”

Petra’s looking at me like I’ve grown horns and a pair of leathery wings. “Alright,” she says briskly. “Here, take a tissue—no, you know what, take the whole pack. I don’t… Goddammit, how do I make you stop?”

But the twins, having already begun stuffing their faces, simply shrug.

I hear myself laugh. “I’m fine!” I tell her. I blow my nose, dry my eyes, fix myself as best I can. “See? Good as new.”

“Really?” Petra leans in suspiciously. “Because Matvey’s gonna kill me if you’re not.”

I wonder if he’s the one who sent her. Maybe not. Maybe Petra’s just catching the friendship bug.

And you know what? That’s okay. I don’t need Matvey to make every single one of my days. I’ve got other options.

“What’s that, Nugget? You’re hungry?” I pat my belly. “Then we’d better set the table. Come on.”

I drag Petra by the hand and head for the kitchen.

Against all odds, Petra doesn’t let go.

43

APRIL

When I hear the keycard beep, I tense.

Matvey’s back. Once, the thought would’ve made me light up like a Christmas tree. But now…

Now, I don’t even know if he’ll look at me.

He strides in. Of course—he lives here now. He’s not going to ring the doorbell anymore. No need for me to let him in. That little ritual hasn’t been gone a day, and I already miss it like hell.

“Good evening,” he greets impassively, putting down his briefcase.

I force a smile. “Evening.”

Then his gaze sweeps over the table.

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