Page 21 of Koroleva

"Pathetic, what an embarrassment. I don't know how she didn't die of shame."

"Why do you think R agreed to marry her?"

"Interests. Massimo pressured him, you know, she owns a pharmaceutical company and several businesses... Not that I know too much, R and I don't talk about those things."

"Sure, he keeps you too busy with his miniR in your mouth."

"There's nothing mini about it, he almost dislocated my jaw the other day." *"I'm going to dislocate that bitch's jaw,"* I clenched my fists.

"Doesn't it bother you that he got married?"

"Why would it bother me? He hasn't broken up with me, a sign that the Russian means nothing to him, he probably won't even sleep with her."

I had heard enough. My husband could sleep with the priest who officiated the ceremony for all I cared, but what I wasn't going to tolerate was his mistress taking me for a fool.

I walked in on the pair of harpies, who gasped upon seeing me. If I had my weapon with me, and it weren't my wedding day, I wouldn't hesitate to point it at them until they pissed themselves with fear.

I didn't know which of the two was sleeping with my husband until I recognized the voice of the friend, who addressed me.

"Um... Hello, c... congratulations. We were just talking about your dress, it's a model that leaves no one indifferent," she commented, trying to divert my attention.

I looked at each of them intently.

"Yes, exactly like your comments. You might want to slather them in vaseline, just in case I decide to shove them up your asses one by one so they don't get stuck."

Both were left breathless. The friend blushed a bit, and R's mistress looked at me, lifting that nose too sharp not to have been sculpted by a surgeon.

"We haven't said anything that isn't true."

Redhead, operated on, and siliconed, a delight for the senses. Romeo must like his women in installments.

"I haven't either. There are those who are lactose intolerant and those who are intolerant of idiots; guess which group I belong to?" I threatened. They both put their lipsticks back into their ridiculous little handbags. "I'm Russian, not stupid. Plus, I'm in a good mood today; otherwise, you'd already have one of my bullets in you, and I'm not bluffing." I saw her waver, and the friend trembled. I would have loved to grab her by her hairpiece, tear it off, and wipe that smile off her face against the marble of the washbasin. My exercise in restraint was epic. I breathed. "Take my advice and make sure not to cross my path again, I won't be so lenient next time." I clicked my tongue and pointed towards the door. "Now, get lost, behind every great woman there are vermin criticizing her."

If they were going to say something, they kept quiet. They bowed their heads and left before I could lose my temper.

I entered the stall with that bulky thing and almost peed myself trying to lift it. How did eighteenth-century women manage to pee with such contraptions?

I almost got stuck in the cubicle. I felt like one of those dogs they put those cone collars on to keep them from scratching when they're operated on. Damn my mother and her bridal taste!

I was so fed up with the damn dress that as soon as I got out, bouncing like a spring, I ditched the hoop skirt, the veil, and the damn extensions.

That wasn't me!

Luckily, someone entered the bathroom, and it turned out to be my younger sister.

"What are you doing?" she asked, seeing me struggle with my outfit.

"Don't ask. Do me a favor, go to the reception and ask for scissors."

"Scissors?"

"Just do it, I need a change urgently."

10

Baci, baci

When I saw my newlywed wife head "to the bathroom," walking past the table of her men, and one of the guys who had been at my bar started to follow her, I knew immediately that something was up.

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