Page 61 of Cashmere Cruelty

“That’s the opposite of how it works, Cor,” June pipes up, earning an instant hair ruffle from her brother-in-law.

“Well said, June-bug.”

Rob.It feels like yesterday that Corey introduced him to us. Two shy teenagers, holding hands as if that simple gesture took all the courage in the world.

Which I guess it did.

Predictably, Corey’s parents didn’t take it well. That’s when both siblings left the nest—and their nest eggs—behind. They never looked back once.

Last spring, Corey and Rob finally tied the knot. It was so beautiful—I cried like a piglet. But I couldn’t help it; not when they looked at each other like there wasn’t anybody else in the world.

I remember thinking,This.Thisis what I want. Nothing less thanthatlook.

Alas, plans change.

“Ms. Flowers,” Grisha calls, materializing at my side like the Ghost of Christmas Past. I barely restrain myself from screaming. “Shall we head back?”

It’s his way of saying,It’s time to go.I appreciate the discretion, but a part of me deflates. I wish moments like these could last forever.

I hug everyone goodbye. “Don’t be strangers,” I joke, trying to hide how much I mean it.

They all see right through me. “Never,” they promise in unison.

Before leaving, June presses something into my hand. “Here.”

I open my palm. It’s a hair ribbon—a new one.

“Since you keep losing them,” she explains. “If you miss me too much, hug it three times and sing the lyrics toFireworks.I’ll appear like Beetlejuice.”

“That’s very funny.”

“I know. I’m hilarious.”

I walk back to the elevator in high spirits. Screw Matvey’s idea of family—thisis my family, and I wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Back at the penthouse, my eyes fall on my workspace. On a scrap of fabric dyed a deep blue, almost violet in the light.A smile here, a token of everlasting love there…

I shake June’s voice from my head. No one is making any tokens of everlasting love. But maybe…

I glance at the hair ribbon. Then I look at the fabric strewn all over my workspace.

Maybe, I think, an idea forming in my head,I can give him something else.

19

MATVEY

Ring-ring-ring.

I groan into my pillow. It’s the second time today that someone’s trying to commit suicide by my gun. You don’t fuck with a man’s sleep—you just don’t.

I pick up my phone like it’s committed a capital offense, not even glancing at the name on the display. So much for my afternoon doze.

“What.” It is not really a question.

Yuri’s voice answers, more solemn than I’ve ever heard it before. “Motya…”

I immediately sit up, on high alert. Yuri’s tone, the tremor in that single word—it’s all wrong. “Tell me what happened.”