Page 70 of Wicked Vows (Suvorov Bratva 2)

She sighs. “Nope. He just thought I was being edgy by taking it over.”

“Thank God for that pride, right?”

“Don’t thank God, thank my dad.”

I laugh. “Always such an inflated ego.”

“Where do you think I get that from?”

A fit of giggles bursts from me as I sift through the pantry. “Come on, Oreos. Where are the Oreos?”

“Already craving?”

“Willow, I was craving evenbeforeI got pregnant.”

I sigh with relief when I locate a family pack that hasn’t been opened yet—which means I can keep them for myself. “Success.”

“And milk?”

“Chocolatemilk,” I correct. “I can’t get enough of the stuff.”

I can hear her audibly cringing. “Chocolate on chocolate? Why don’t you just drink regular milk to wash away the chocolate?”

I gasp dramatically. “And wash away the taste of chocolate?No, thank you.”

A cackle echoes through the phone as I make my way past the table. A huge packet sits on top that wasn’t there before. Peering into the living room reveals that nobody is around. At least, not right now.

When I glance back at the pile, I notice the red logo of Weill Cornell on the corner.

I drop the bag of Oreos and fumble with the glass of milk. “Ohfuck.”

“What? Are you okay?” She stifles a snicker while asking, “Is all the milk gone?”

“I’ll call you back in two minutes.”

She scoffs. “Hey, I didn’t mean anything by—”

I cut the call and set the glass of milk on the table along with my phone. I can’t stop staring at that packet. It’s too big for a rejection letter.

Theyneversend a packet as a rejection letter.

Which must mean…

“Oh.” Holy shit. HOLY SHIT.

I raise my hands to my face, feeling the heat blooming in my cheeks. I can’t stop staring at the red logo, the round seal dominating my focus. Just like Pavel would.

But it’s not Pavel. It’s the school of my dreams. It’smydream.

My lips repeat various curses as I pluck the packet from the pile. I pull on the tab. I slide the papers from the envelope. I stare at the first line as the world sways around me.

We’re pleased to inform you that you’ve been accepted to Weill Cornell Medicine!

The paper quivers. I’m shaking so hard that I think I might vibrate right through the floor all the way to the lobby. It takes effort to grab the nearest chair, but I manage to do it before I can taste tile. I’m bracing myself as I read through the massive layers of information on the page.

“Accepted,” I read breathlessly. “Start in September.”

And then, the world rights itself once again.

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