Vladimir was talking to someone on the phone as we walked to the car. He moved with confident, broad strides. Behind his wide back, I could see nothing. And, strangely, at that moment, I felt protected. Probably for the first time in my life.
He opened the door for me, and I slid into the front seat. A few seconds later, he sat down beside me, and the car pulled away. My hands nervously fidgeted with the strap of my bag, and I bit my lower lip before finally speaking.
"Thank you."
"For now, it's nothing," he replied.
I widened my eyes slightly and turned to look at him.
"What do you mean?" I asked cautiously. "You've already helped me."
"Liza, decide," he said, turning the wheel as we smoothly glided along the well-lit evening road. "Are we speaking formally or informally?"
"Formall
