“Yes.”
He gives me a look that says he has reached the stage of our professional relationship where disappointment must be rationed.
And with that, I take my exit.
The drive to the Markov house really gets on my nerves for some reason.
I don’t like going into situations where I already know I’m not thinking clearly. Katerina does that to me. Always has. The problem is, I only ever admit it to myself when I’m already on the way.
The gates open before my car fully stops.
Which means I was expected.
One of Sergei’s men comes down the steps as I get out, and gives me a deep nod.
“Mr. Sokolov,” he says. “Miss Viktoria is waiting inside.”
Of course, she is.
A maid lets me in, flustered enough to be obvious about it, and leads me through the front hall toward the sitting room at the back of the house. The place looks exactly the way houses like this always do. Quiet money, old wood, too much taste in some rooms and not enough in others. The kind of house built to impress men and discipline women.
I hear Vika before I see her.
Then she appears in the doorway in cream silk and satisfaction, smiling as if I’ve just done her a personal favor.
“Roman.”
She comes straight toward me and throws her arms around me before I can stop her.
I catch her automatically, because letting a woman fall flat on polished stone would create a different kind of problem, but I don’t hug her back. I barely have time to register the perfume before I’m already looking past her.
Katerina is standing across the room near the window.
And the look on her face is worth the drive.
Priceless, really.
If she could have set Vika on fire with a glance, I’d have had to explain scorch marks to the staff.
Vika leans back just enough to smile up at me. “You came.”
“Yes.”
“I was starting to think you were all cold messages and good timing.”
“That sounds like a compliment.”
“It is.”
I let go of her and look past her, directly at Katerina. She straightens at once.
“Katerina,” I say.
She says, “Roman,” in a tone that suggests my name is a problem she had hoped to postpone until tomorrow.
I look between them once and ask, “Am I interrupting?”
“Yes,” Katerina says.