55. April

55

APRIL

One after the other, the models begin to strut out. It's a slow affair: only one at a time, to better showcase the pieces. The audience oohs and aahs, praising the dresses as they're shown off.

"Here!" a breathless voice squeaks behind me. "S-Sparkling water. I didn't know if you wanted room temperature or not, so I got you both?—"

It takes almost no effort on my part. The hostess is so nervous to be near me that her hands are shaking on her own. So, when I reach out for a glass…

Splash!

"Oh, dear!" I gasp.

The hostess, now drenched from head to toe, looks like she's about to cry. "I'm s-so sorry! I'll get you another! I'll?—"

"Nonsense," I tut, feeling horrible on the inside. Mass and confession won't be enough; after this, I'll have to tour every church, mosque, and synagogue in the city. A redemption tour to any version of God merciful enough to listen and take pity on me. "Go change, and quickly. Here, I'll take that."

Without letting her protest, I slip the blazer off her shoulders. "B-But?—"

"You don't want to meet Giorgio like this, do you?"

"Giorgio?" She blinks. "As in, Armani…?"

"Who else?" I snap. "Hurry up and change before he comes. You've got a spare, don't you?"

"M-Maybe in the staff room…" she sniffles.

"Good idea," I lie. "Now, go. Chop chop!"

The hostess hurries out again. "Sorry, Ami," I murmur, glancing at the name tag. "Once this is over, I'll send you the most expensive chocolates Matvey's credit card can buy."

Just then, I hear the crowd gasp. The chatter amps up and I peek out to see which dress has them in such a frenzy.

And then I choke.

"Incredible!"

"The fashion sense of this piece…"

"It's a metaphor. No matter how pristine we can pretend we are, in the end, we're still broken on the inside."

"So high-concept!"

I cough into my hand. Part of me wants to laugh; the other wants to cry. I literally just ripped it up. What's high-concept about that?

Still, heat rises to my cheeks. No matter what, it's still nice to be praised.

Then Petra returns backstage, glaring daggers. "That was humiliating!"

"That was necessary," I quip back. "What's that thing you said? I'd ‘do anything to save my life'?"

"You…!"

"Oh, quit growling. All your bits were covered." I herd her behind the privacy screen again. "Put the uniform back on, then wear this."

For once, Petra doesn't argue. She slips back into the hostess uniform and puts on the blue blazer I just pilfered. "‘Ami'?"

"That's you. For the next five minutes, at least."

"Enough," Petra snarls, pushing me against the wall. "Tell me what's going on. Where's my tiara?!"

Just then, the crowd roars.

The diamond-studded model struts like she owns the place. The ebony tone of her skin stands out against the pale blue of the dress, each complementing the other flawlessly. On her shaved head, the tiara sparkles with a thousand tiny teardrops.

"Listen to me," I urge. "In about sixty seconds, your tiara's gonna waltz back in here. That's when you're gonna grab it."

"Me?" Petra balks. "But you said…!"

"I said I'd do my part," I cut her off. "I never said I'd commit a crime for you."

I watch her face go up in flames. "You tricked me!"

"Then I guess we're even."

I snatch a pair of glasses from the makeup station. Then I undo my bun and push the hair tie into Petra's hands.

"Wear these," I tell her. "Play assistant. As soon as that model walks back in here, you help her out of her clothes. That's how you pass your audition. After that, you're on your own."

"That wasn't the deal," Petra fumes.

"‘ Deal' ?" I scoff. "You kidnapped me, Petra! You held me hostage. You threatened my child. What part of that sounds like a ‘deal' to you?"

"But Matvey…!"

"I'm not Matvey," I croak. "But you know what I was? I was your friend. And if that ever meant anything to you, you'll let me go."

I watch Petra's mask of ice fall apart. "April…"

But it's too little, too late. "I'm walking out that door," I tell her. "So either kill me or don't. It's your choice."

I stride out of the changing room. My heart is hammering wildly in my chest, from adrenaline and fear. But no knives come flying my way. No bullet whistles past my ear or into my skull.

I walk and walk and walk.

And Petra doesn't stop me.

Melting back into the audience is easy. When we were sneaking in, there were eyes everywhere. Now, with the fashion show in full swing, no one's paying attention to anything but the runway.

I should go , I tell myself. I should find a phone and call Matvey. I should…

But then I hear it: commotion.

It's not the kind of sound anyone would pay any special attention to—just a bunch of things falling over, something metallic clattering to the ground, hurried footsteps. A behind-the-scenes mishap.

But I know what it really means.

It's gone south.

From the corner of my eye, I see a pair of guards rushing over.

It's a split-second decision. I don't owe Petra anything—not after what she did to me. To Nugget.

I almost hear Matvey's voice in my mind: She's the one who came here without a plan. Who was in over her head. Who let emotions cloud her judgment. If she fails because of that, then so be it.

But it's like I told Petra after all: I'm not Matvey.

" AHH! "

I let out a bloodcurdling scream. The audience turns to me as one; even the guards halt and about face.

I scream louder and clutch my belly.

"Miss?!" One of the guards rushes over. "Are you alright?"

"The baby…" I groan. "I think the baby's?—"

At the edge of my vision, I see Petra behind the scenes: mussed-up, empty-handed, ready to run.

But then she hesitates.

For a second, I'm terrified she won't go. That she'll go back in for the tiara, kill everyone in her way. Or that she'll let herself get caught.

That's when she sees me, too.

Go , I mouth to her. Run.

Then I double down on my charade. I keep screaming myself hoarse, falling to the floor. The guards are on me now, clearly itching to go but unable, because the crowd is walling us all in.

And then, little by little, it becomes easier. Little by little, I don't have to force myself as much. I roll and wail like a banshee and, for the first time in the whole night, I don't have to worry about lying.

Because now, the pain is real.