Arkady Belov is seated at the table too, of course. Slimy even in daylight. He rises halfway when I arrive and immediately regrets it when he realizes no one is making the introduction easy for him.
“Mr. Sokolov,” he says. “We meet again.”
“Yes,” I say, because nothing else is required.
The bastard actually looks pleased to be sharing lunch with two women who would both rather chew through the tablecloth than be there. Men like him mistake proximity for relevance.
Vika finally lets go of my arm. Elena steps in just enough to rescue the air.
“Miss Markova,” she says to Vika, cool as polished stone, “you seem to have mistaken enthusiasm for familiarity.”
Vika turns slowly.
It’s actually impressive how much dislike two elegant women can fit into one glance.
“I’m sorry?” Vika says.
Elena’s smile does not improve. “You nearly spilled on his coat.”
“And that concerns you because?”
“Because I have to deal with the consequences of poor judgment more often than I’d like.”
Vika’s brows lift. “I didn’t realize assistants were allowed opinions.”
Elena removes one glove finger by finger. “I get paid for it.”
Sofia giggles.
Nikolai looks at me like he’s trying to decide whether adults are always this stupid.
Katerina closes her eyes briefly. Then she opens them, looks at the sky as if asking for patience, and says, “I’m going to take the children to the edge of the pier before one of you starts throwing cutlery.”
Without waiting for permission from anyone, she stands.
I admire that.
I also watch her too closely as she gathers Sofia’s scarf, takes Nikolai’s hand, and walks away from the table with the sort of tight, graceful anger I remember intimately.
Arkady begins saying something to me about business.
I do not hear a word of it.
All I see is Katerina reaching the railing with the children, Sofia trying to lean too far over the water, Nikolai correcting her, Katerina bending toward them with one hand on each small shoulder.
I should stay where I am.
But I don’t.
Vika and Elena are still going at each other, so I take the opportunity to step away.
Katerina hears me coming before I reach her. She stiffens, but she doesn’t turn around at once. She adjusts Sofia’s hat, says something low to Nikolai, then finally looks at me.
The river wind has reddened her cheeks. It suits her.
“You must really enjoy women fawning all over you,” she says.
I stop beside her, close enough to lower my voice without the children hearing, not so close that she can accuse me of cornering her.
