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Chapter 1

- Horror. I'm going to vomit from this "cuteness," she muttered under her breath, looking around at the couple standing near the wedding arch.
“I understand,” an unfamiliar male voice rang out, making me blush to the tips of my ears. - I feel the same way.
- Seriously? - The neighbor on the right side nodded his head noticeably, and then tilted his body in my direction.
“He’s old for her,” he winked conspiratorially. - Not true?
You might think it's new?!? There is no place to put a "test" there - that's the point, - the stranger smiled broadly, swallowing a quiet chuckle.
Meanwhile, the newlyweds exchanged rings, beaming with joy, like a bright garland on a Christmas tree. Only the joy was insincere, no matter how the bride tried to play the role of a fool in love to the public. The groom's thick purse is, perhaps, all that Maya (the newlywed) saw in front of her.
I pronounce you husband and wife. And now, Mr. Zverev, you can kiss your young wife, - the presenter announced into the microphone, and I could not help laughing out loud. Well, you must! Even the presenter was not shy in her expressions.
When the solemn ceremony of marriage ended, all the guests moved to a huge banquet hall. I was in no hurry to go to the restaurant for a long time. She sat on the same chair where the painting ceremony took place, as if glued.
- Champagne? Loneliness was broken by an unfamiliar voice. She turned around to look at the man from head to toe.
- Can. Thank you, - she took a sip of her glass, watching the stranger, who, without asking permission, sat down next to her on a nearby chair.
“Oleg,” the man held out his hand in front of him, and I shook it without hesitation.
– Maria.
- Empress of All Russia Maria Feodorovna or the Holy Virgin Mary? Oleg grinned, narrowing his eyes slyly.
“No,” she nodded her head. - Rather, Maria Tarnovskaya.
- So this is how it is. Oleg drawled, smiling wryly. - Insidious villain?
- Even some.
“You can’t say that right away, Maria. So far, an angel is smiling at me, - Oleg raised a glass of champagne to clink glasses.
“Yes, black angel,” I answered, gulping down the remaining alcohol in one gulp, and then got to my feet. And she did it so abruptly that she swayed on the spot, almost falling. Oleg immediately caught himself and put his arm around my waist, not giving me the opportunity to catch up with the asphalt.
I was suddenly out of breath, and my chest was too tight for my rapidly beating heart. We made eye contact and just froze in place. There was a gleam in his green eyes. The man tried to smile broadly to defuse the situation, and I was only able to swallow the lump in my throat.
“Thank you,” she said in a strange, hoarse voice.
“Always at your service, Masha,” the man made some special accent on my name, as if savoring every letter. “I think it’s time for us to return to the guests.
In response, I nodded my head. Oleg opened his arms and stepped aside a few steps, letting me go ahead. Straightening my shoulders, I walked past a dark-blond man dressed in a formal black suit with a classic cut. Footsteps were heard behind. He was definitely following me.
Just before entering the restaurant, Oleg called me, forcing me to turn around:
“Handbag,” I grinned wryly, swallowing a laugh. Handbag, and I thought he decided to ask for my phone number.
My cheeks turned purple as I drew level with the man. A moment of silence hung between us. He was silent, I was silent. We looked at each other, studied. Something seemed familiar about this man, as if they had met before. Although, no. You will not forget such a man as Oleg, even if you really want to. A tall, slender, business suit sits on him like a glove, as if he was born right in this expensive Armani. A short half-box haircut is ideal for the oval of the face, which, by the way, is covered with light bristles, like a real Spanish macho (although the macho is a bit old).
The battle of the eyes came to an end, I took my purse and, without a word, turned abruptly to leave. And she left, although she counted the seconds until the last, hoping that he would stop or run after me. At least that's what always happened in romantic films, when a spark jumped between a man and a woman. One. Went back a meter. Two. She tucked a loose strand behind her ear. Three. I began to doubt the veracity of romantic films. Four five six. It's not fucking true. In real life, no one runs after anyone. Dreaming, Mashenka!
I just managed to go to the restaurant, as the presenter immediately grabbed my hand with the words:
And here are the first latecomers. I ask you to come to the wedding arch to congratulate the "young" and take a memorable photo. - I was slightly pushed forward, forcing me to go to the mentioned arch.
Meanwhile, the newlyweds got up from the table and walked towards me. I put on the widest smile on my face, which my mouth was only capable of, and in a too sugary voice began to congratulate the new unit of society - the Zverev family.
“Mommy, how does this dress suit you?” You are simply amazing, dear, - she said out loud so that the groom could hear. But the groom only frowned, sending me a warning look.
“Thank you,” the bride replied, pursing her Botox-filled lips in an offended tone.
“And you can’t immediately say that just yesterday I was a local slut,” I already whispered in the ear of that very slut, that is, the new stepmother.
- Kostya, Kostya. Take care of your daughter, - the bride chattered, covered with crimson spots from obvious anger.
My father rushed towards me. He hugged me, supposedly in a friendly way, but in fact - he grabbed his shoulders with all his strength and collapsed once. So much so that sparks almost fell from his eyes.
- Masha, the last Chinese warning. Swallow your tongue, otherwise, - and what they promised me “differently”, I didn’t even listen. She broke free of her father's embrace and flew away with a satisfied smirk on her face.
“Kostya, she’s mocking me, she hates me,” Maya was indignant behind my back when I moved away more and more.
The feast was in full swing. I managed to try all the dishes on the festive table and get pretty drunk on champagne. When it became boring, I decided to take part in all the competitions that the presenter held. Father, noticing such activity, only clenched his fists, sitting at the other end of the hall. The great businessman did not like the behavior of his eighteen-year-old daughter. And for me it's the other way around. Liked everything! I liked to dance in public, like an experienced courtesan in front of sailors. I liked to flirt with the waiters when they passed by, carrying a tray of champagne in their hands. I liked that she made the nodules on her father's neck walk in a herd.
At some point, my father's patience came to an end. He jumped up from his chair and, untying his tie, came up to me. Grabbed painfully by the elbow, leading away from prying eyes. In the corner I almost squeezed, hanging over me with his powerful figure:
Masha, stop embarrassing me. What show are you showing here?
“Daddy, relax and enjoy. Although, wait. Not daddy, but Konstantin Vladimirovich, am I ordered to call you that today? I slyly winked at my father, and then, standing on tiptoe, kissed him right on the ear, watching the expression on the faces of the guests. Those, for sure, believed that the groom was trying to calm the former mistress, and not to reason with the unlucky daughter.
- Masha, what kind of tricks are these? Stop acting like a child. I'm tired of repeating to you that people sometimes disagree, but life does not end there. They find their soul mates and again try to build a family.
- Disperse, dad, but do not leave. You left your mother and me when we needed you so much, - the tongue stuttered treacherously, and eyes stung from unshed tears.
“We'll talk to you another time, daughter. Today is my wedding day. Have at least a drop of respect,” Konstantin Vladimirovich continued to scold.
“I hope Maya leaves you too.” A knife will stick in the back when he realizes that you have become too old and uninteresting. By the way, what is it like to sleep with a young body, huh? Is she really having an orgasm or is she pretending to please "daddy"? The sound of a slap in the face shocked me.
- Shut your mouth! My father barked, drilling like holes in my face. In response, I smiled hysterically, winking slyly.
- You don't have to answer. I'll check it myself, and then I'll tell you if your wife is pretending or if men at forty can really give pleasure!
– Just try! - My father whispered in my ear, painfully squeezing my hand. “I’ll skin three of them!” He unclenched the grip of his fingers and walked away, leaving me standing alone and rubbing my bruised cheek.
Half an hour later I got to the condition. At first she silently sat at the table, and then decided to go outside to get some air because of a slight dizziness. When she passed the dance floor, she stumbled upon a man, hitting her forehead painfully.
“Your mother,” she swore aloud, and then froze, feeling other people's fingers on her waist.
- Shall we dance? - The man smiled, bringing my body closer to an indecently close distance.
- Olezhka! - She exclaimed with a stammering tongue, and then wrapped her arms around the man's neck.