Page 110 of Sweet Ruin

“I really am.”

I take a deep breath, summon all my willpower, and say, “I’mn’t’much.”

Close enough, right?

Not for Kane Makov, apparently.

His fingertips land on my throat. Light as butterflies, but they might as well be railroad spikes pinning me in place. “Again.”

“I’mn’t’much,” I mutter again.

“Again.”

“I’m not t’much.”

“Again.”

“I’m not too much! I’m not too fucking much. There, it’s done, okay?” I shove him in the chest and he lets the momentum, as sad as it must be to a man of his size, carry him a step backward. “Can you leave me alone now, please? I didn’t sign up for fucking psychotherapy. This is a business arrangement, remember?”

If my angry outburst bothers him, he shows no sign of it. He just nods once, slow.

“Good,” he says.

Then he steps back, and all the air in the room comes back at once. I have to put my hand on the pressing table to steady myself. He takes the garment bag off the hook and holds it out.

“Put this on.”

Then he opens the door, calls down the stairs for Ekaterina in Russian, and sits back down in his chair like nothing happened.

I retreat behind the curtain, breathing hard. That was so silly. Who does he think he is, lecturing me like that? I don’t want his feedback on my life; I just want him to leave my damn bakery alone.

The sooner we get this dumb arrangement over with, the better.

Once the last of the furious fumes has stopped pouring out of my ears, I unzip the garment bag. The dress inside is wine-colored. It has a neckline that goes wide and deep, with sleeves that sit off the shoulder and no engineering in it whatsoever. It’s just cut to go where a body goes.

I wriggle free of the black monstrosity, step into the wine-colored one, and pull it up. When I step out, I don’t bother with the turn. I just meet Kane’s eyes and park my fists on my hips.

“Well?” I snap. “Does this please Your Majesty?”

Kane doesn’t say anything for a long time.

Then, finally, he nods. “That’ll work.”

It’s dark by the time we come out.

Ekaterina brings the dress down herself in a bag, along with shoes she produces from a box under the cutting table. How she happened to have heels in my size remains a mystery that I don’t think I’ll ever get to the bottom of.

She hands the whole thing to Kane at the bottom of the stairs.

Then she stands there on the step, glaring up at him with her glasses in her hand.

“Don’t wait thirty years before you come back again, m’kay?” She raps him on the chest with a knuckle. “You were just a little malyávka when you were here, clinging to your mother’s hand. Remember that? And now, you’re this. Where have you been, hm?”

Kane touches her shoulder. “Around,” he says gently. “But never too far away.”

Ekaterina doesn’t look too satisfied with that answer, but unlike me, she’s willing to leave it alone. She bobs her head, then turns and climbs back up the stairs to her shop.

Kane puts his hand at my back and walks me to the car, and I get in with my head bursting full of questions.