I let my gaze drop to her bare finger.
She sees me looking and folds that hand into her lap. “Don’t,” she says.
“I have not said anything.”
“You were about to.”
“No.” I lift my eyes to hers. “I was deciding whether the man deserved it, deserved you. And the answer is no.”
Her face stills. The lounge light catches the wetness along her lower lashes. She has not cried in front of me yet, but the tears are close. Angry tears. I can tell the difference.
“You know what?” she says. “I don’t feel like having tea.”
Before I can stop her, she calls the server over.
“Vodka,” she says. “Cold. Neat.”
The server glances at me.
I give him a small nod.
Katerina notices. “I don’t need your permission.”
“No,” I say. “But he wanted mine.”
Her eyes narrow. “Why?”
“Because you look like a woman making decisions she will hate tomorrow.”
“I already made those.”
The vodka comes in a small glass beaded with cold. She picks it up and looks at it for a second, as if she has ordered courage and is trying to decide whether it will work.
Then she drinks it in one swallow.
Her face changes, her eyes tightening around the edges.
I lean back and say nothing.
She places the empty glass on the table. “Another.”
“Katerina.”
“What?”
“You have a long flight.”
“I know.”
“And a bad night behind you.”
“I know that too.”
I study her. The flush rising slowly under her skin. The hard set of her mouth. The way she keeps glancing toward the other side of the lounge and then hating herself for it.
“This is not a solution,” I say.
“No, it’s not.” She smiles without warmth. “And I don’t fucking care.”
