Page 53 of Cashmere Ruin

“Oh, please. As if you haven’t been regretting it from the second you had to break the news to April.”

My hard-won smile falters. “Careful,” I growl. “I’m not above hitting a lady.”

Petra laughs like I just whispered something funny in her ear. “Yes, you are. Besides, I’m carrying yourblood, remember?”

As if I could ever fucking forget.“If I were you, I’d keep my nephew in there for as long as possible. The second he’s out, I just might lose my patience.”

“Who says it’s a ‘he’?”

“He, she, they, it—whatever the case, it’s the only thing keeping you safe right now. Don’t forget that.”

Petra’s smile finally dims. “See, Matvey, this is your problem: you can’t go two seconds without pushing someone away. As soon as they get too close, your hackles go up.”

This time, it’s my turn to bark out a laugh. “You? Close to me?”

“I’m close to your brother, which is close enough. You know I’m not going anywhere.” Then, just for a second, her eyes turn sharp. “And neither is April.”

Petra’s words have the same nasty habit as her throwing knives: they stick the landing. Try as I might, I just can’t shake them off.

“This has nothing to do with April,” I snarl under my breath.

“Au contraire—it haseverythingto do with April.”

Once downstairs, we’re swept up by the reporters. We give our interviews. We pose some more. We don’t say another word to each other.

And all the way throughout the event, Petra’s words stick into me like a thousand knives.

18

APRIL

The idea of the contest keeps lingering in my brain. Personally, I blame it on Elias’s art of persuasion. That man could sell shades to a polar bear.

“How about this one?” I ask, holding up a design sketch.

Charlie’s face scrunches up. “It kind of looks like the Liberty Bell.”

I slump against the couch, defeated. “Forget it. I’m not doing it.”

“Yes, you are.” He drops down to the floor next to me. “You’ve got this, Apes. You’ve always been great at this.”

“Moping on the floor?”

“Sewing,” he corrects. “Fixing, creating. Remember when I was a kid?”

“Implying you’re not still a kid.”

“Okay, first of all, I’m fifteen. Second, don’t change the subject. You know those sweaters I had? With the long sleeves?”

“The ones that were constantly falling apart?”

“Bingo.” Charlie nods. “If it weren’t for you, I would’ve had to go to school looking like Swiss cheese. You’re the one who patched them all up. Hell, the only one who even noticed.”

“It was nothing,” I protest in a miserable mumble.

“You did itin a single night, Apes.You were worried Mom would get mad if she found out and wouldn’t let you finish the others.”

“To be fair, she didget mad when she found out.”

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