Page 111 of Cashmere Ruin
“Sounds about right. Grisha?”
“In the guest room with the baby. Don’t worry—he’s watching me, too.” She points to a nanny cam in the corner. “I think May fell asleep on his lap, though. He probably can’t get up. Or call for help.”
“He’s faced worse.”
“Wanna go relieve him of his duties?” April grins. “I have a surprise, but I need to set it up.”
“Oh?” I lean in close. “And am I going to like this surprise?”
She puts on a mysterious air. “We’ll see.”
I smirk and head to the guest bedroom. “You dead yet, old man?”
“Nearly.” Grisha’s voice is a terrified whisper.
“C’mon, I’ll take her.”
My third is all too happy to dump the hot potato back into my hands. “All yours, boss.”
May stirs, but only for a moment. The second I put her down in her crib, she snuggles against her fluffy feline bodyguard and quickly goes back to snoozing.
“I didn’t know she did that,” Grisha comments, dejected.
“She’s a baby, not a bomb. You’re allowed to put her down.”
“I’ll make a note for next time. How did it go with Vlad?”
“Strange. I’ll update you tomorrow. Go get some sleep.”
To be fair, Grisha does look like a truck ran him over twice, but that’s not the reason I’m dismissing him early. That wicked glint in April’s eyes, her mischievous smile—I wanted to take her then and there. If he doesn’t get lost in the next five seconds, I won’t care that he’s in the room at all.
Luckily, he seems too tired to argue. “Alright. Goodnight, boss.”
When he leaves the room, I stay behind. I take a moment to watch my baby, sleeping peacefully in her crib.
Your heir is still unborn.Like fuck she is. I don’t care what Vlad says—my bloodline is right here.
Just then, April peeks her head in the room. “All done. You can come look now.”
I follow her out into the living room. She goes to stand next to her mannequin, covered by a long white sheet. She’s wearing the biggest grin I’ve ever seen. “Ready? One, two…three!”
WHOOSH.
It takes me a second to understand what I’m looking at. There’s a dress there, certainly, but there’s also… more.
Guns, for one thing.
The mannequin’s pose is nothing like I’ve seen in any shop’s window: elbows bent, center of gravity low, one Kalashnikov in either hand. Like a bride ready to turn her wedding into a bloodbath.
“Are those real?” I ask.
“I don’t think so? Petra lent them to me.”
Definitely real, then.“Hm.”
I walk around the piece, taking in the details. That pure white bonbon dress I saw two days ago has been transformed completely, ripped in a million different places. Around the waist, a sturdy black bodice. “This is…”
“Kevlar,” April confirms. “Or rather, my take on that.”