Thirty-Nine

Maria

"So, this is the one your brother picked."

"My name is Darya Kuznetsov." A tall, bleached blonde in a tight gold gown looks me over. "Dima's wife."

She pauses and waits for me to comment, but I don't. Dima? Why does that sound familiar?

"He's around, talking to the men," Darya continues as she cocks an eyebrow. "How old are you, girl?"

"I'm eighteen." I try hard not to stare at her huge breasts, but she's wearing heels that put them right at eye level, and she radiates bitch energy.

"Best stay away from my Dima." Darya laughs, her voice shrill and sharp. But her eyes betray no humor, and when she stares, I can see the hate in them. "I told that neryakha that I was twenty when he came to talk to me. One look at you, and he'll know I lied."

I clutch the stem of my glass and pull at the hem of my dress, aware of how out of place my pastel dress looks among these sophisticated designer dresses.

"I'll keep that in mind then," I stammer and walk away before Darya has a chance to throw