Page 149 of Cashmere Cruelty

While Petra’s muttering, “God, please kill me now” into the ceiling, I whip up my phone and snatch a selfie of the two of us—me beaming, her scowling.

Then, before I can think twice about it, I pressSend.

45

MATVEY

“What’s wrong?” Yuri asks, leaning over my right shoulder.

“Is it Ms. Flowers?” Grisha chimes in, leaning over my left.

Merry fucking wives, the both of you.But I don’t have it in me to scold them right now. Because what I’m staring at is… concerning.

A selfie with my fiancée and my baby mama, playing dress-up in my penthouse.

“They’re…bonding,” I grimace.

Petra’s face is the worst of it. She always looks like an angry chipmunk: cheeks puffed up in outrage, front teeth biting into her bottom lip like she can’t wait to tear someone’s throat out with them.

And yet, in this one, she’s also… happy?

Behind me, Grisha whistles. “That’s some talent on Ms. Flowers’s part.”

“The dress?”

Even I have to agree with that. I’m not the type to notice what women are wearing. If I’m interested, I’ll just tear it right off—April can testify to that. But when it comes to April’s work… then, even a heathen like me has to recognize talent when he sees it.

But Grisha shakes his head. “The gown’s impressive, but I was talking about the taming of the shrew.”

Ah, right. Petra. “Tamer than I’ve ever seen her,” I agree.

“She hasn’t killed April yet. That’s an accomplishment in and of itself.”

I notice that Yuri seems to be boiling over next to me. “You alright, brother?” I ask him.

“Just thinking that someone here has got guts, insulting an ally like that,” he mutters, glaring daggers in Grisha’s direction.

Here they go again. I swear, whenever these two are in a room together, my Bratva turns into a goddamn kindergarten.

I follow Yuri’s gaze back to the picture. I don’t think the man has blinked. “Should I send you a copy, brother?”

“What?” Yuri shakes himself. “No, I was just… the dress,” he blurts out. “Grisha’s right. April’s good at what she does.”

My third and I share a look. We don’t speak, but we’re both thinking the same thing:Did Yuri just say the words “Grisha’s right”?

“Yurochka?” Grisha asks carefully. “You aren’t running a fever, are you?”

“You are looking a bit flushed,” I agree. “If you’re not feeling up to this…”

“What? No,” Yuri scoffs. “Fuck all the way off, both of you.”

“Oh, good, he’s come to his senses,” Grisha deadpans.

“Shut up.”

“Both of you shut up,” I cut in. “It’s time. Let’s go.”

Even as I say that, I throw the picture one last glance. I can see why Yuri was so mesmerized: April’s work is astonishing. Seeing a dress like this in a boutique’s window display is one thing, but watching it come to life under someone’s hands?

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