The landlady

"Good morning, you must be Mr. Grey," the blonde cheerfully greeted him in crisp English with barely a hint of a Russian accent, "I'm Alina."

"Hi Alina, nice to meet you in person. I'm glad I got the right address the first try," Samson was working very hard to give her very appealing creme-colored dress only an appropriate amount of attention. As a result of keeping his own eyes focused on her face, Samson was surprised to see her own gaze drift repeatedly down his figure.

"Yes, yes, it is not the easiest place to find. Oh my, it is so warm out here. Please, come in me," she flustered, then immediately corrected herself, "Oh! I mean, please come in with me."

After a quick tour of the apartment in which his eyes occasionally left the very shapely ass in front of him swung excessively, Alina sat lightly on the arm of a love seat and stared straight into his eyes.

"So, Mr. Gray, what brings you to St Petersburg?" she asked, her right hand playing with her hair and not so-subtly showing him her fingers.

"Uh, I'm here for a wedding" Samson replied, belatedly remembering that Russian women wear wedding rings on their right hand.