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Dmitri’s compliments always came with instructions. Wear this. Stand like that. Smile less. Smile more. Don’t look bored.
Damir just says it and waits.
I look away first. “Thank you.”
His brows lift slightly.
“What?” I snap.
“You said thank you.”
“Don’t make it an event.”
“It may be the first peaceful thing you have said to me.”
“I can take it back.”
“No.”
I go back into the dressing room before he sees me smile.
For a while, it becomes almost normal. That’s dangerous.
Katya brings more clothes. Marina helps with sizes. Nikolai stands near the front like a statue with a gun under his coat. Damir answers a few calls, then puts his phone away when I come out again.
I notice that. I wish I didn’t.
Later, while Marina and Katya are sorting the things I chose, I find Damir near a row of coats. He’s holding a dark green one like he’s deciding whether it deserves to exist.
“You don’t like green?” I ask.
“I like this one.”
“That sounded painful.”
“I am adjusting to your commentary.”
“Wise.”
He hangs the coat back. For a few seconds, neither of us says anything. It’s not awkward exactly. Just quiet.
I don’t know why I ask the next question. Maybe because yesterday I heard too much about Elena and not enough about him from him.
“How old were you when you became Pakhan?”
His eyes shift to mine. “Twenty-five.”
That surprises me. “That young?”
“My father died.”
“In the fire?”
“Yes.”
“And before that? Were you always supposed to take over?”
“No. My older brother was.”
