Feng Suyin looked at the man across the table and wondered, not for the first time, what she had been thinking.
She knew what she'd been thinking. She'd been twenty-three and lonely and she'd confused his attention for something it wasn't. The mistake was understandable. She'd paid for it with her life. She wasn't inclined to be charitable about it.
Ji Hanjun had dressed down for this. Cap, sunglasses, a booth at the back of the restaurant they used to come to when they were together. He'd pulled the sunglasses off when she sat down, and the eyes beneath them were doing the thing she'd once found compelling — earnest, wounded, slightly searching, the look of a man who believed his own story.
"Suyin." He leaned forward slightly, hands flat on the table. "I know you're angry. But you have to give me the chance to explain. What you saw, those photos and those videos, it's not what it looks like. I think of Yilan as a little sister. I always have. You know that."
