Page 178 of Cashmere Cruelty

Still, heat rises to my cheeks. No matter what, it’s still nice to be praised.

Then Petra returns backstage, glaring daggers. “That was humiliating!”

“That was necessary,” I quip back. “What’s that thing you said? I’d ‘do anything to save my life’?”

“You…!”

“Oh, quit growling. All your bits were covered.” I herd her behind the privacy screen again. “Put the uniform back on, then wear this.”

For once, Petra doesn’t argue. She slips back into the hostess uniform and puts on the blue blazer I just pilfered. “‘Ami’?”

“That’s you. For the next five minutes, at least.”

“Enough,” Petra snarls, pushing me against the wall. “Tell me what’s going on. Where’s my tiara?!”

Just then, the crowd roars.

The diamond-studded model struts like she owns the place. The ebony tone of her skin stands out against the pale blue of the dress, each complementing the other flawlessly. On her shaved head, the tiara sparkles with a thousand tiny teardrops.

“Listen to me,” I urge. “In about sixty seconds, your tiara’s gonna waltz back in here. That’s when you’re gonna grab it.”

“Me?” Petra balks. “But you said…!”

“I said I’d do my part,” I cut her off. “I never said I’d commit a crime for you.”

I watch her face go up in flames. “You tricked me!”

“Then I guess we’re even.”

I snatch a pair of glasses from the makeup station. Then I undo my bun and push the hair tie into Petra’s hands.

“Wear these,” I tell her. “Play assistant. As soon as that model walks back in here, you help her out of her clothes. That’s how you pass your audition. After that, you’re on your own.”

“That wasn’t the deal,” Petra fumes.

“‘Deal’?” I scoff. “You kidnapped me, Petra! You held me hostage. You threatenedmy child.What part of that sounds like a ‘deal’ to you?”

“But Matvey…!”

“I’m not Matvey,” I croak. “But you know what I was? I was yourfriend.And if that ever meant anything to you, you’ll let me go.”

I watch Petra’s mask of ice fall apart. “April…”

But it’s too little, too late. “I’m walking out that door,” I tell her. “So either kill me or don’t. It’s your choice.”

I stride out of the changing room. My heart is hammering wildly in my chest, from adrenaline and fear. But no knives come flying my way. No bullet whistles past my ear or into my skull.

I walk and walk and walk.

And Petra doesn’t stop me.

Melting back into the audience is easy. When we were sneaking in, there were eyes everywhere. Now, with the fashion show in full swing, no one’s paying attention to anything but the runway.

I should go, I tell myself.I should find a phone and call Matvey. I should…

But then I hear it: commotion.

It’s not the kind of sound anyone would pay any special attention to—just a bunch of things falling over, something metallic clattering to the ground, hurried footsteps. A behind-the-scenes mishap.

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