34. April

34

APRIL

When I go back to the front desk this time, it's with Petra in tow. Partly because Matvey couldn't come, and partly because the fake guns are really heavy and I needed the extra pair of hands.

"They are fake, right?" I whisper while we wait for the clerk.

"The leather straps? Of course. No cows were harmed."

"Actually, I meant?—"

"Here we are!" the clerk smiles cheerfully. "Please fill these forms. I'll carry your dress to the back."

"I'll help," Petra says.

"Thank you, but there's no need—oh, wow, that's bulky. Haha. Wait, these aren't guns, are they?"

"Props," we assure her in unison.

I dot my i 's and cross my t 's on the application form. At this point in the race, I don't want anything to go wrong. Well, anything else.

I force myself not to think of the Daphne dress. What's done is done.

When I hand the form back to the clerk, she grins. "‘The Bulletproof Bride.' Sounds like a winning piece."

I smile back. "Let's hope so."

Then I head to the Mallard lounge.

I sit down with Petra in one of the booths, feeling jittery all over. "You know, maybe coffee isn't the best?—"

"I agree," she says. Then she turns to the waiter. "One coffee and a shot of tequila."

" Petra !"

"What? You can drink now."

"It's not even three in the afternoon!"

She waves me off. "It's night somewhere. Besides, you need to calm down or your heart's gonna burst. I'm not looking forward to explaining that to your boyfriend."

"Why is he only ‘my boyfriend' when he's dangerous?" I mutter.

"‘Cause I need him for the cameras when he's not. Sorry, koshka. "

"It's no trouble," I lie. The truth is, however fake their marriage is, a part of me still smarts at the thought. But it's necessary, and I'm not in the business of rekindling past strife. Water off a duck's back and all that. "Speaking of boyfriends, how's it going with yours?"

She sighs. "I have no idea."

"That's a weird response." I frown. "Is everything okay?"

"Kind of? I just…" Petra slumps in her seat. "I don't know. I feel like he's been distant lately."

"Distant as in, ‘I'm just gonna go out and get some milk'?"

"I don't know, maybe?"

Our orders arrive. Petra starts sipping her coffee. I eye my tequila shot with suspicion. "C'mon, Petra. This is Yuri we're talking about! He's not gonna ghost you guys."

"It's just—he used to be so easy to talk to," she explains weakly. "And I don't talk to people. Like, ever."

"Y'know, I gathered that."

"But now, I can't even tell what's going through his head! It's like he's somewhere else, all the time. Like he's been… keeping something from me."

My frown deepens. This doesn't sound like the Yuri I know. Sure, he's been a little gloomier lately, but he and Matvey have also been fighting pretty hard.

A stab of guilt pierces me at the memory. They have been fighting alright—and I was the reason for it. "Want me to put out some feelers?" I offer. "If something's going on, Matvey might know."

"You'd do that?"

It's my fault to begin with. "Of course. But I make no promises."

For the first time since this conversation began, Petra smiles. It's small, but genuine. A rare sight to see. "That's already more than enough."

Her gratitude is making me uncomfortable. I've been trying to work on this with Dr. Knox—she says I have trouble accepting good things, that I'm only comfortable with giving—but it's an uphill battle. Especially when I'm being thanked undeservedly.

"And who knows!" I say, eager to lighten the mood. "Maybe he's just working up a proposal. You know, for when circumstances allow it."

Petra laughs. "Yeah, right."

"Better have a dress ready," I tease.

"It's funny. Of all the wedding dresses I've tried on in this past year, you know which one's convinced me the most?"

"Which one?"

"Yours."

It takes me a moment to figure out what she's talking about. "Oh! The Bulletproof Bride?" I give a nervous laugh. "To be fair, you were kind of my muse for that."

"Really? I'm not sure whether I should be flattered or offended."

I put on my best puppy eyes. "I'll lend it to you for free?"

"Fine," she huffs. "But I have one condition."

"Which one?"

She points at my tequila. "Chug."

"‘One shot,' huh?"

I hide my face in Matvey's chest. I should've known it would end up like this. Tipsy April has absolutely no filters—and no shame.

Which is how I ended up jumping him the second I stumbled through the door. "Maybe it was two," I mumble against his skin.

"Mhmm."

"I'm serious!"

"I'm sure you are."

I roll on my side and pout. Unfortunately, I'm wrapped in blankets and nothing else, so it doesn't come across as particularly convincing. "Ask your wife. She'll tell you."

"She already told me. Texted me to give you plenty of water."

"Great. Now, I'm a houseplant."

Matvey pushes me on my back, rolling over on top of me. "You're mine," he rasps with that low voice of his, the one that never fails to send chills down my spine. "And I'd rather not talk about my wife when I have you like this."

I feel my body respond like it's the first time. I can't help it: whenever Matvey's this close, I turn sinfully greedy. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

I bare my neck to his kisses. It's slow, deep—like being eaten whole one bite at a time. But before I can surrender completely, I remember. "Oh! I have to ask you something."

Matvey groans. "Right now?"

Yes. Otherwise, you'll make me forget. "I promise I'll be quick."

"Fine. Ask away."

"Did Yuri seem weird to you lately?"

He blinks, caught off-guard. "Where's this coming from?"

I bite my lip. I'm sure how much I'm allowed to say. Eventually, though, I cave. "Petra. I asked her how it was going with Yuri, and she mentioned he felt… distant. Like he's keeping something from her. Do you have any idea if there's anything going on?"

Matvey rolls off me, face suddenly conflicted. He seems to be struggling with himself—torn between speaking and keeping everything to himself.

But in the end, he caves, too. "You can't tell Petra what I'm about to tell you."

"Okay."

"It's about Vlad. I put Yuri on his tail. We think he might be working with the enemy."

I frown. "‘Vlad'… That's her father?"

"Indeed. The devil himself."

I let it sink in. Petra's dad might be a mole, and Yuri's been tasked with finding out the truth. No wonder things might have turned awkward between them. I can only imagine what it must be like, not being able to tell the one you love the truth. Being forced to smile and nod, all the while knowing you have to work against them. Against their family.

"That's awful."

"It's less than ideal. Hopefully, there's nothing there."

I wrap my arms back around Matvey. "I'm glad you told me," I whisper.

A beat goes by. Two. "Of course," Matvey rasps. "No more secrets."

No more secrets.

"Which reminds me."

I tilt my head up. "Of what?"

Unexpectedly, Matvey smirks. "I have a job for you."