One second she’s walking beside me, trying very hard to look like a woman who belongs exactly where she is. The next, her wholebody tightens beneath that dark coat. Her chin dips. Her fingers clutch the strap of her bag.
She’s seen someone. The distress couldn’t be clearer.
I turn around and see a brief flash of blond before it quickly disappears.
I slow my pace by half a step and let my body shift closer to hers, blocking her from the open line of the terminal.
“Keep walking,” I say.
Her eyes flick up to mine.
“You’re hiding from someone,” I say.
She looks up at me quickly. “No.”
A bad lie.
I keep walking. “Then you’re doing a poor impression of a woman who is not hiding.”
Her mouth presses together.
I like her mouth.
What an inconvenient thought.
I ignore it.
“I’m not hiding,” she says. “I’m avoiding.”
“You know the best place to hide,” I tell her, “is the first class lounge.”
She gives me a wounded, irritated look. “I told you, I’m not hiding.”
“And I told you, you’re bad at it, Katerina.”
A reluctant spark moves through her expression. It’s not a smile. Not yet. But it’s something alive.
She stops walking briefly. “Wait, how do you know my name?”
“I’m very observant,” I say dryly, pointing at her boarding pass.
She laughs a hollow laugh. “Oh right… Silly me.”
I stare at her from the corner of my eyes. It seems like a defense mechanism rather than anything else.
We pass through security without issue. The staff glance at my passport, then straighten with the familiar change in posture. I’ve seen it all my life. Men and women rarely know exactly what they are reacting to, only that there is something in my name, my face, my money, or the way I stand that tells them not to delay me.
Katerina notices.
She’s clearly close to collapse, and still she notices everything.
“Are you like a businessman or something?”
“Something,” I say, which isn’t exactly a lie. I mean, I am going to Moscow on business.
After security, the terminal opens around us in a wash of glass and light. Shops glitter on both sides. Perfume counters, watches, handbags, polished bottles behind gold-lit bars. The floor shines beneath our feet.
Katerina slows slightly, and I watch her.
