“What about Irina?” she asks after a second. “Your nanny. Ivy seems to love her.”
A faint breath leaves me, closer to amusement than anything else. “Yes. She does.”
“How long’s she been with y’all?”
“Almost two years.”
Maggie’s brows lift a little. “Only two?”
“There was someone before her,” I say. “She came right after Clara died. Stayed with us a few years.”
“What happened?”
“She went back to Russia. Her mother got sick.”
Maggie nods, understanding crossing her face. “And then Irina?”
“A family friend connected us. She came in, and Ivy…” I pause, thinking. “She took to her right away.”
Maggie leans lightly against the back of the sofa, listening.
“I like her,” she says. “She has this energy about her. Like she’d feed you, fuss at you, and threaten somebody all in the same breath.”
“That’s accurate.”
A low laugh leaves her as she shakes her head. “Ivy seems really happy with her.”
“She is,” I say. “Irina loves her like her own.”
“That’s good. Having that female presence in her life. Somebody she knows she can count on every day.”
My attention stays on Maggie.
“Yes,” I say, my voice quieter now. “You’ve been good for her, too.”
She stills at that, her eyes locking onto mine.
“She likes you,” I add. “More than most people.”
A smaller smile touches her mouth this time.
“Well,” she murmurs, “I like her, too. She’s a good kid, Alexei.”
“She is.”
I turn toward the bar, reaching for a bottle of wine and two glasses.
“What about you?” I ask after a moment.
She glances at me, her brows lifting slightly. “My family?”
I know enough about her already, pulled from a report my assistant put together that reduces everything to facts, but I’d rather hear it from her. She’s more interesting than anything written on a page.
“Yes,” I clarify. “Who you have. Who raised you.” I sit down beside her on the sofa, leaving only a small space between us.
She exhales softly, and then she begins to speak.
“My mama raised me,” she says. “She was seventeen when she had me.”
