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She keeps her heels dug in, even when I try to coax her to follow me. “I just realized I don’t have a passport.”
I pull her freshly minted passport from my back pocket and hand it to her. She opens it up and stares down at her face. “Paige Orlov,” she reads before looking up at me in awe. “How did you manage this? Oh, never mind, I already know what you’re going to say.I have my waysorI always get what I wantor whatever.” Her finger strokes over the text absentmindedly “It’s weird to see my new name in print like that.”
“Better get used to it. That’s your name from this day forward.”
That snaps her out of her reverie. She closes the book and reaches for her pendant. She wore it through the entire ceremony, I noticed, though she was careful not to touch it in front of me.
“Clara always wanted to take a ride in a helicopter,” she murmurs as we make our way to the gardens. “The state fair had one, but it cost too much to ride.”
“I bet she’d love that you're crossing this one off of her bucket list.”
She glances at me, surprise coloring her eyes. “That’s the only reason I’m here today. Clara would hate me if I gave up. She’d want me to live for her.”
My response takes even me by surprise. “Maksim would want the same,” I whisper.
Our eyes meet, trulymeet,maybe for the first time since before the wedding. She flinches away from the intimacy, but she doesn’t lower her gaze.
That’s a start.
“We understand each other, Paige. We may not have a typical marriage, but we can still be friends.”
It’s the most I can give her.
82
PAIGE
Prague. The City of a Hundred Spires.
I realize why they call it that the first time Misha takes me out of our luxurious hotel suite. It’s the most beautiful city I’ve ever seen. That doesn’t mean much, considering I’m not what anyone would call a world traveler, and Corden Park doesn’t exactly take one’s breath away.
Still, I’m willing to bet that Prague is more beautiful than most.
The buildings are a mix of baroque and gothic with splashes of medieval thrown in for good measure. It is alive with color and stone and winding arches older than time.
I spend the first hour walking around with my mouth hanging open in awe. We end up stopping at a street café for something to eat. I pick a table outside shaded by huge green umbrellas and drop down into a wrought iron chair.
“Wow, this city…” I breathe.
“It’s nice,” Misha comments.
“‘Nice’? I’m actually offended at your word choice.”
“How would you describe it?”
“Gorgeous. Romantic. Poetic. Exciting. Exhilarating. Monumental. Overwhelming.”
He looks at me with amusement. “So you like it?”
The waiter arrives and delivers three different, equally amazing looking dishes. “Czech roast duck, koleno, and smazeny syr.”
“Okay, the roast duck I know,” I say. “What are the other two?”
“Koleno is pork knuckle,” Misha explains. “It’s roasted with herbs and dark beer for hours, which is why it’s so tender. And this right here is fried cheese.”
“How do you know all that?”
“It’s not my first time in Prague.”
