Mason (Mail-Order Brides For Christmas)

Nope, I don’t need that drama. I need a professional. I mean, what kind of woman would be a mail order bride? She obviously knows what’s up. I shake my head at the thought. My mom told me she talked to Mia, the woman I’m planning to marry, but I didn’t get much more than that. Mom has romanticized all of this, thinking it’s going to be six successful marriages. All I can do is promise her I’ll do my best. I know it’s not going to be some big love match, but we can at least attempt contentment and hopefully just a hint of happiness.

I finish signing and wait for Mr. Davis to give me a copy before giving him a thumbs-up on my way out of the office. I’ve already arranged for a licensed minister to officiate the marriage, paid for witnesses to be there, and by greasing a few palms even got the marriage license rushed through to be ready on time.

It’s all working out. I now only have to pick up my bride-to-be, one Mia Devin, at the airport, and we’ll get married right there. It will be nice and legal once we consummate the marriage. I don’t want this lady getting the marriage annulled as a sham. Not sure what the lawyer would say, but I want it to be legally binding.

I can’t stop the shake of my hand just thinking about it. Intimacy and I are strangers. Once I got back from the service, having received my purple heart and bronze star, I was too occupied with rehab and trying to heal. My hand instantly goes to my face and the puckered skin on the side of my cheek. Luckily the wound has healed, but it’s still ugly. There’s no other way to say it. I can’t help but wonder if my mother informed the matchmakers or Mia about my face.

I just shake my head, trying to shove my insecurities away. This is happening, and I’m going to make the best of it.

It’s a means to an end, just business.

2

Mia

The man that was sitting across from me at the airport is now sitting beside me on the plane, and I’ve learned his name is Serge. He’s a handsome guy and very charming. At least he’s trying to be. We talk most of the way to Snow Valley. Him about the Fortune 500 company he works for, and because I know he doesn’t want to hear about my life as a cashier, I tell him about my family’s winery.

As we get closer to Snow Valley, I start to look out the window.

“I’m only here for a few days, and I should be able to tie up business.”

I know he’s about to ask me out, so I interrupt him. “I’m moving to Snow Valley. It is now going to be my home.”

“I may have a little work do while I’m here, but why don’t you let me take you out to dinner?” he asks me.

If I had met Serge last week, I would have told him yes. But not today. I’m not even the least bit tempted. I’m very flattered all the same, and I smile at him with a twinkle in my eye. “I can’t. I’m engaged.”

He looks at my bare finger. “Why are you not wearing an engagement ring?”

I start to rub the knuckle of my ring finger. I’m still excited about this whole thing, but I’m also a little bit nervous. “Well, it’s uh, been an online type relationship. I’m actually going to meet him for the first time in person at the airport.”

Serge is baffled. There’s no other way to explain it. He sputters and stammers. “But, what, wait!” He warns me, “This guy could be anybody. A crazy serial killer or something.”

I wave my hand in front of me, laughing. Maybe I should be worried, but I’m not. I talked to the man’s mother, for goodness sake, and she was—well, she was perfect. I can’t explain it, but I know I trust her. “He can’t be,” I tell him.

“Why not?” he asks incredulously.

I just shrug my shoulders. “The matchmaker and his mother assured me that he is a good guy.” I clasp my hands in my lap, feeling like that is answer enough, but for Serge it isn’t.

He still looks astounded. “Mia, is this an arranged marriage?”

“Yes,” I tell him as the pilot starts to make the announcements that we are about to land. Butterflies start to swarm in my tummy. Not because I’m second-guessing myself. No, I’m getting nervous because I hope Mason likes me. When this first all come about, I didn’t even worry about it. But now, I can’t help but wonder What if I’m not his type? What if he likes skinny women that are quiet and reserved? I look down at the expanse of my hips and know I’m none of those things. I’m curvy and have been known to speak my mind.