Page 188 of Cashmere Cruelty

I grab a pillow and scream inside it. I’m so giddy, I feel like I’m fifteen again. Like I’m falling in love for the first time over and over.

Love. After so long without it, I thought I’d never get to feel it again. To be warmed by it.

That’s when I realize… “I didn’t say it back!”

Gosh, talk about being scatterbrained. The man you’re head over heels for—the same man who’d rather chew on concrete than admit he has feelings at all—finally confesses to me, and what do I do?

I forget to say it back.

Great job, April. Not even married, and already, you’re wife of the year.

“Wife,” I breathe. “Can you imagine that, Nugget?”

I most certainly can. Before I’m able to stop myself, I’m picturing it: me, walking down the aisle in a long white dress, the bridal march playing in the background. And on the other side, waiting for me…

God, I’m itching to call June. I want to tell the world about this. I want to shout it from the freaking rooftops.

But I also want to preserve this little bubble of ours. Every second I spend like this, safe in the knowledge that Matvey loves me back—that he wants me and no one else—makes me feel like I’m walking on air.

“He’ll be there for us,” I whisper to Nugget. “For you. For me. For our family.”

Because that’s what he said, isn’t it? Back at the Mallard, and in the ambulance, too. He called himself my boyfriend. He called usfamily.

That thought alone is enough to get me squeaking all over again.

“I wonder if he’ll propose soon. Matvey isn’t the type to wait once he knows what he wants. Do we think he’ll do it formally? Fancy dinner, ring in a champagne flute, all that shebang?”

I twirl and giggle, the dress in my hands twirling with me. If this keeps up, it’s going to take me hours just to put away this one load of laundry. Matvey might as well find me here, dancing with my wardrobe, and rethink his proposal.

Which, it bears repeating, hasn’t actually come yet.

“But once it does, how long do we think we’ll have to plan the wedding?” I can’t stop myself from gushing to Nugget. “Will he want something grand? Or will an intimate gathering do? God, what about thedress?”

Once that thought is in my head, I’m gone. I’ve sewn wedding gowns for so many brides, it’d be impossible for me to have never entertained the thought.

“But there are just so many options,” I mutter, pacing with excitement. “Mermaid? Empire? A ball gown or tea-length? Do I go for classy or embrace the fairytale format? And do I want lace or tulle? Organza, maybe?”

Nugget gives a polite kick. I decide to take it as a sign that it’s listening. “Crepe would look really nice on a fit-and-flare, though…”

I fold and unfold the same blouse three times, digging a hole into the floor with my slippered feet. “Can’t forget about the color, either,” I mumble on. “Pure white has its charm, but what about champagne? Ivory? Rose petal?”

I’m still lost in dreamy fantasies when I hear the door open.

“Matvey!” I bound up to him.

I absolutely have to say it back now, before I forget again. Before I get so swept up in bliss that it doesn’t even cross my mind to voice it. The reason I’m so happy.

“There’s something I?—”

And then I stop.

One look at his face says it all: something’s wrong.

His complexion is ashen, paler than I’ve ever seen. He looks like he just saw a ghost. Like a specter sucked every ounce of happiness out of him.

It’s enough to make me terrified.

“What happened?” I ask, a thousand worries crowding my mind all at once. “Is it Yuri? Did something happen on the job?”

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