Apparently, the best way to win over a woman like this is to not try. In some small way, I’ve won her grudging respect.
“I don’t hate you, Paige,” she says after a prolonged moment of silence. “But I am suspicious of anyone and everyone who comes into our lives. Before Petyr Ivanov was our enemy, he was a trusted friend.”
She nods. “He even joined us for family dinners on occasion. He and Maksim were close.”
Her eyes fade to something distant and somber at the thought. “For years.”
“Competition, greed, pride. Who knows?” she says with a delicate shrug of her shoulders. “But things began to change between Maksim and Petyr, and it bled into their respective armies. Then it bled in real life, so to speak.”
I feel a stab of discomfort at the reminder of just how much Misha hasn’t told me.
