Page 142 of Cashmere Cruelty

“Honestly? I’m kind of glad he is,” June says, surprising me. “Of course, I should get infinite passes, because I’m cool and amazing and your bestest friend forever?—”

“Is this going anywhere?” I mutter.

“But,” June tuts, “I get where he’s coming from. Truly, I do.”

“Really? Because I don’t.”

There’s a noise on the other end of the line, like an old mattress creaking. I wonder if June’s thrown herself down on the bed. Without thinking, I lie down, too. It’s how we used to gossip and cry over our woes: knees to chest, face to feet, the yin to each other’s yang.

Not for the first time, I’m struck by how much I miss her.Us. Our life before this.

But then I think of Matvey—his strong hands, his warmth—and I can’t bring myself to regret it. Not all of it.

And certainly notthispart of it,I think as I stroke Nugget.

“Loving someone isn’t a walk in the park,” June murmurs, quiet for once. “It’s like having your heart beating outside of your body. And here’s the kicker: you can’t do a goddamn thing about it. You can try to shield it, keep it in a gilded cage, but you’ll never be able to protect it from everything. And that’s scary as all hell.”

I try to picture it: the golden bars and the bloody thing inside. Beating, bare. Vulnerable. “Yeah,” I find myself murmuring back. “It’s scary.” Then I shake myself back to reality. “But Matvey doesn’t love me. Not… that way. That’s not how it is between us.”

“Yeah?” June breathes back. “Then why does it sound like you’re about to cry?”

I touch my cheek. Sure enough, there’s wetness there—tears pooled at the corner of my eye, spilling at first touch. “I…”

I feel like someone plucked me from a field. Like someone’s tearing my petals off one by one.

I love him.

I don’t love him.

He loves me.

He doesn’t…

And then, suddenly, the doorbell rings.

“I have to go,” I blurt into my phone. “Bye, June.”

I don’t wait for her to say it back. I drag the red button down the screen and shut the call. I’m too raw right now—if she said anything else to me, I really might burst out crying.

Instead, I pick myself up. I dry my tears. I dust off the pieces of foam. Then I stride towards the door.

At the last second, I stop.

I’m not expecting anyone, I realize.Matvey’s men shouldn’t come around until later. What if…?

I try to swallow my anxiety. Surely an assassin wouldn’t bother to ring the freaking doorbell.

Right?

“Who is it?” I call faintly, my fingers already scrolling for Matvey’s number.

If I call him, he’ll be here. If…

“Moci perhoti, who do you think?!”

I throw the door open.

Petra’s tapping her foot, arms crossed, glaring at me like I’ve committed some deadly sin. Making her wait, most likely. “Hi…?”

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