“To what do we owe the favor of your presence, Mikhail?” my grandfather asked.“Matushka Alexandra suggested we sit here.”Mrs. Orlova looked ov...r to where Tasha’s parents were sitting with Sasha between them, and shook her head slowly. Somehow she knew exactly what was going on just from the fact that Sasha was sitting between her parents, rather than next to her mom. Usually, Tasha sat next to her dad, with me next to her. Sasha being flanked by her parents conveyed far more than I had expected. “You’re Miss Summer’s model?” The lady wanted to know and looked me up and down with an intensity as if she could see right through me. “Uhm, yes, Ma’am,” I stammered, suddenly feeling five inches smaller, “I’m Brittany Weston.” I had stopped halfway across the room, and she slowly stood up and stepped closer, and I noticed that she looked like the epitome of a British headmistress with the shimmering, dark grey skirt and frilly white blouse, her slightly upturned, aristocratic nose and her. More

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