“I lost my left eye,” Valentina said flatly.
The blonde shut her mouth. “Excuse me,” she said drunkenly.
Zubov looked intrigued. “Let me see - take off the glasses.”
“I would rather not.”
“Let me see,” Zubov insisted.
Valentina glanced at the blonde, who she wished was not sitting there, and slowly took off the sunglasses. She gazed directly at Zubov.
Out of the corner of her good eye, she saw the blonde look away, trying not to show any reaction but obviously repulsed.
Zubov peered at the empty eye socket for a few seconds, looking impressed. “It is beautiful, Valentina. Even more beautiful than the samovar. In Russia, we say the more scars a person has, the more handsome they are.” He glanced at the “singing panties.” “Is that not so, Oksana?”
“Da,” she agreed, a little too quick
