Page 212 of Cashmere Cruelty

Who’d have thought?In this whole mess, someone’s found a crumb of happiness after all. Sure as fuck wasn’t me, though.

I almost give in and head to the bar when my phone rings again. “Goddamn Grisha,” I mutter. I shut it off.

The induction isn’t for a while. If it’s truly life-and-death, someone will risk their neck to come get me at my own wedding.

If it’s not, I don’t want to hear it. Not today.

I have my own crumb of happiness waiting for me.

After I meet my kid,I tell myself.After I meet my kid for the first time, I’ll handle anything that comes my way.

Whatever it is, it can wait until then.

Right?

67

APRIL

What is it with me and cabs? I swear, every time I’ve needed one in the past few weeks, it’s been with my hair unkempt, dress soiled to high heaven, and a life-or-death situation on my hands.

At least this time there’s no handcuffs.

For now.

Next to me, Grisha’s as pale as a sheet. What with being stationed at my door and all, he was the one who found me wailing with pain on the floor.

Not my finest moment.

“You’re sure you don’t have a spare car?” I joke, gritting my teeth against the throb in my belly.

“Afraid they’re all elsewhere occupied today,” he replies, scanning the street for our taxi. Then he goes back to tapping frantically away at his phone, like he’s been doing for the past five minutes. “You’re sure you don’t want an ambulance?”

It’s uncanny, seeing Grisha like this. So ruffled. If anything, it’s a good distraction. Though not quite good enough to drown out the pain.

I shake my head. “They would just take me to the closest hospital.”

“That might be wise.”

“My doctor isn’t there,” I insist. “I’m not doing this without her. I’m not doing this without…”

I don’t finish my sentence.

But apparently, I don’t have to—Grisha’s always been quick on the uptake. He curses quietly under his breath in Russian and tries his phone again. His face growing darker by the second, I watch him make call after call after call.

But no one ever picks up.

I don’t have to ask who he’s calling. I don’t have to ask who isn’t picking up. I may not be that smart, but even I am notthatslow. Or at least, not anymore.

“Bad reception at the wedding of the year?” I try to joke.

He spares me a quick, sad smile. “I’m sure that’s all it is.”

Then my cab finally arrives.

Grisha goes to exchange a few words with the driver. I see him pull out a fat wad of cash and what looks like a particularly nasty threat, at least going by the way his eyes narrow. I swear, mobsters can’t do anything normally.

After that, he helps me into the cab.

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