Katerina closes her eyes. “Sofia.”
“What? I’m asking.”
Roman says, “Yes.”
Sofia nods, satisfied. “I thought so.”
Nikolai, who has been staring at Roman in that quiet way of his, asks, “How rich?”
Roman glances at him. “Rich enough not to answer that.”
Nikolai seems to respect that.
Arkady laughs too loudly, trying to make himself part of the moment. “Children are always so direct.”
But that’s not it. They’re much too mature for four-years-old. I don’t have much experience around children, but even I can tell something is wrong. The answer comes to me almost immediately.
Sergei Markova.
I saw the way my father raised Lev, even from afar. Was the same happening to Katerina’s children? The thought leaves a disturbing taste in my mouth.
Sofia points at Arkady. “He keeps smiling weird at Mama.”
Katerina nearly drops her fork.
Elena turns her head away, but Roman can see the corner of her mouth move.
Arkady goes red. “I beg your pardon?”
“You smile like you want something,” Sofia says.
“That’s enough,” Katerina says quickly, though her own face is turning pink now. “Eat your lunch.”
Roman leans back in his chair and says, “She’s observant.”
Katerina shoots him a look. “Please don’t encourage her.”
“She doesn’t seem to need encouragement.”
That earns me a brief glare, which I enjoy more than I should.
The waiter appears almost instantly, because expensive restaurants have a way of sensing disruption and translating it into service. He begins to ask if I’d like a menu.
“No,” I say.
Katerina mutters, “Of course not.”
I look at her. “Should I pretend I need one?”
“You could pretend to be normal for thirty seconds. It would broaden your range.”
Sofia brightens immediately. “Mama says that to me too.”
Nikolai says, very serious, “It doesn’t work on her either.”
The waiter is still standing there, trying not to visibly panic.
I order lunch for myself, then glance at the children. “What are they having?”
