“Take small steps backwards,” she tells me calmly. It’s the same tone her brother uses when he’s taking control of a situation. “I’m going to help you sit down.”
I follow her instructions and end up on a white cushioned ottoman.
I try, but I don’t let go of her arms. She doesn’t seem keen to let go, either. She keeps a solid hold on me and breathes right alongside me.
I feel a tear slip down my cheek, but I don’t release Nikita long enough to wipe it away. At this point, I don’t even care about my makeup. Let it run. Let it smudge. None of this matters, anyway.
“Paige. Hey. Look at me.”
I look at her. Why does she have to look so much like her brother? I hate her for it with a hot, vicious lash of vitriol that’s over and gone as soon as it appeared.
“What do you need right now?” she
