A soft chime sounds near the bed.
I sit up.
There is a small phone on the bedside table. Not my phone. His. I pick it up carefully.
Roman’s voice comes through, low and close. “Come out.”
My stomach flips before I can stop it. “What?”
“Come out, Katerina.”
“I just woke up.”
“I know.”
“How do you know?”
A pause. Then, “Because I let you sleep long enough.”
That’s not an answer, but it’s apparently the only one I’m getting. I hang up, then stare at the robe.
I cannot go out like this.
Except all my clothes are in my overnight bag that is across the room, and the sweater from the plane is rumpled beyond dignity. I find a comb, drag it through my hair, tie the robe more securely, and open the door.
The hallway is empty.
I follow the low sound of voices into the living room.
Then I stop.
Garment bags lie across the sofa. Boxes are stacked on the coffee table. A rack has been set up near the windows, filled with coats, dresses, trousers, sweaters, blouses, scarves, and things I do not even have the courage to identify yet. Shoes sit in neat rows on the rug. Boots, heels, soft leather flats. A tray of folded lingerierests on a chair, and I look away from it so fast my neck almost hurts.
Roman stands near the window, speaking in Russian to Elena.
She holds her tablet like a weapon.
When she sees me, her gaze travels from my damp hair to the robe to my bare feet. Her expression does not change, which somehow makes it worse.
Roman turns.
The room seems to quiet around him.
I clutch the front of the robe. “What is all this?”
“Clothes.”
“I can see that.”
“Then why did you ask?”
“Because normal people don’t turn their apartments into departmental stores,” I say rolling my eyes.
“Elena,” he says without looking away from me.
His secretary closes the tablet. “I will have the remaining items delivered within the hour.”
“Thank you.”
