Page 102 of Cashmere Ruin
I don’t even have to turn to know who it is, but I do anyway. I want to look them in the eye: the witches who almost pushed mywoman over the edge of reason. Who tried to buy mychild.
If looks could kill, there would be nothing of them left to bury.
“Nora,” April greets tightly. “Anne.”
They don’t acknowledge me. Most likely, they think I’m some kind of driver. Last time they met, April used my name to threaten them—there’s no way they’d be this casual if they’d realized who I was.
I don’t let them in on it. Not yet.
“What a wonderful coincidence,” Nora croons. “I trust you’ve been well? You left so abruptly last time.”
“We didn’t even get to say goodbye to little May,” Anne pouts. “Speaking of, where is she?”
Somewhere you’ll never get your dirty paws on her. My fists go tight at my sides, but I force myself to keep them there.
“Home,” April replies flatly, more tactful than I could ever be.
“Alone?!” Anne gasps with the fakest concern I’ve ever heard.
“Of course not,” snaps April. “She’s well-cared for.”
“No need to be so defensive,” Nora purrs. “Dear Anne was simply worried. It’s only fair, given… Well, no need to rehash.” She puts on a plastic smile, the edges just sharp enough to cut. “We’re here on a happy occasion.”
Given what?I want to press.How bad of a mother she has?
See, this is why I fucking hate catfights. In the Bratva, if you’ve got something to say, you come out and say it. Maybe it earns you a punch in the face, maybe it earns you a bullet, but you still speak your mind clearly. You take responsibility.
Here, cowardice and backhanded jabs are the law of the land.
“Oh?” April says, pretending not to catch the insult. “And what’s that?”
“Anne’s entry for the contest, of course!”
I frown. That any of April’s sisters should have followed in her footsteps is news to me.
Apparently, it’s also news to her. “Anne’s… what?”
With a slide of a manicured hand, Nora pushes the entry form across the desk. “Here. Did you get the dress delivery?”
“Of course, ma’am.” The clerk smiles. “Right here.”
And then she pulls it off the rack.
No fucking way.
Ivory lace. Embroidered leaves. A curving shape that turns bark-like halfway through. In all my life, I’ve only seen a dress like that once.
OnApril’smannequin.
My gaze turns to April immediately. I watch her face fall, her mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. “That’s… that’s my dress,” she whispers once the clerk disappears in the back.
“What was that, dear?”
“I said that’smydress!” she snarls, all fury. “How dare you! How…”
“Yourdress?” Nora laughs. “Perhaps you should calm down, April. Envy’s not a good look on you.”
“Is any look good on her?” Anne quips.