Thirty-Eight

Maria

I don't know why I wore a satin dress. This isn't the prom, not that I went. The material is already wrinkled, and we haven't left the limo. Smoothing it with my hand is not helping. I look like a peach throw pillow that's burst open and been put back together with double-stick tape.

We've driven almost an hour and still haven't arrived. My right leg bobs up and down like a piston until the limo passes through a pair of towering ironwork gates leading down a drive to a massive mansion.

I jump when a man with an earpiece peers into the tinted window directly at me. The only thing separating us is the glass. Intricate tattoos cover his hands and neck, and my heart sticks in my throat. He eyes me warily and then Mikhail.

Mikhail barely turns his head as he continues talking with Rurik, Larissa's husband. Rurik lifts his hand and motions the man away.

The man taps on the window, motioning for the window to lower. I slowly move closer to Mikhail, and he looks over.

"What does he want