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Maksim smiling mysteriously as I threw down a triumphant hand of cards.
Maksim shrugging as I shot down the last of the glass bottle targets we hung from the willow in the backyard.
Maksim clapping me on the back. Maksim grinning. Maksim proud.
A second later, my opponent re-enters the ring, splashing me in the process, and thumps the ball into the side of my head. Just like that, the memories vanish.
But the feeling they brought with them remains.
We continue with our clumsy game of volleyball sans net. Halfway through the match, I start watching Ilya. Reallywatchinghim. The kid’s giving it his absolute all. He’s hustling after every ball and hitting with all of his strength.
So I lunge for the next ball and, just before I reach it, I pull back, ever so slightly, to let it drop into the water instead.
Ilya hoots with victory, both hands thrust in the air. His eyes are full-moon bright, and the grin spreading from ear to ear is happier than anything I’ve seen on any member of the Orlov clan in a long, long time.
More points follow. I win some; he wins most. As the sun sets, Ilya takes home his first ever game against me amidst raucous applause from the audience.
“I did it!” he screams so loud that I’m sure the neighbors can hear. “I actually beat him! Aunt Niki, Aunt Paige, did you see?”
“We saw!” Paige is standing up now, clapping hard. “That was amazing. You were amazing!”
Nike ushers him out of the pool and towards the house. “Come on, champ. Let’s get you dried off. Your mom wants us back home in an hour.”
As they disappear into the house, I turn my attention fully to Paige for the first time since I arrived. She is gathering her book and her towel, although she doesn’t seem in a hurry to wrap herself with it. She glances at me out of the corner of her eye in a way that tells me she’s still very aware of my presence.
When she bends to pick up her sunglasses, I feel a rush of blood south. I appreciate the mirrored surface of the water for keeping my lower half out of her sight.
She tucks her things under her arm and perches her sunglasses on her forehead. I expect her to walk back into the house without saying anything, but she looks back at me.
“That was nice of you,” she says. “Letting Ilya win.”
I keep my face expressionless. “I didn’t. He won on his own.”
She arches a skeptical eyebrow. “That’s the story you’re sticking to?”
“Yes.”
She almost smiles. “Good.”
11
PAIGE
“Paige?”
I can tell by Cyrille’s tone that she’s been trying to get my attention for quite a while now. I don’t blame her—we made plans to hang out and I’ve been drifting off in La La Land from the moment she arrived.
“Sorry, Cy,” I say, turning to her apologetically. “I was just—”
“Daydreaming,” she finishes with a shrewd smile. “About anyone in particular?”
I bite my lip. Cyrille drops the new dress she was showing me and jumps onto the bed next to me. “Okay, spill. What’s going on with you?”
I take a deep breath, wondering whether I should be telling anyone this. “I’ve been… thinking lately.”
She waves me on. “Yes?”
“Misha and I…”
