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
