The Russian's Christmas Present

Emily wheels him back toward the wing where my grandfather has his own suite of rooms and Roan and I head to the front door.

Once outside, I punch him in the shoulder. “You could have given me a heads-up, dick.”

He shrugs as we step toward our vehicles in the early evening chill. “She blindsided me when I got here. Told me she wanted me to surprise you when you got here. She’s got skills, man. What can I say? Besides, your grandfather…” He tips his head back toward the house. “There was no way out of it…”

He pauses, looking down then back up his hand covering a crooked smile.

“What? What’s the dumb-ass look on your face?”

“She didn’t tell you everything.”

“You better start talking.”

“It’s a charity auction.” The tone in his voice tells me it’s not that simple.

“Okay, so I’ll bid on something.”

“A bachelor auction. And you,” he pokes a finger into my chest, then jerks it back, his thumb pointing toward himself, “and me, are on the auction block. She’s had us both signed up for months.”

No fucking way.

By the time I get to Mauricio’s, I’m ready to tear the steering wheel off my truck.

Bachelor auction?

My mother knows that would piss me the fuck off but I’ll do nearly anything for my Grandfather so I grit my teeth, pull my truck into a spot next to a beat up old horrible-green Taurus parked way over the parking line, throw my pick up into park and stomp into the shop, where I see Mauricio and his wife, Irina, smiling at me.

“Martel!” Irina throws her hands up and heads my way, hugging me like she has since I came here the first time for my first suit when I was just a kid. “It’s so good to see you.” She runs her hands down my shoulders. “You look tired. Are you hungry? You look hungry. I made some pirozhki—”

“No.” I give her a smile. They are both sweet people, remind me of my grandparents in a lot of ways. “I’m fine. Have to be back to dinner with mom by eight.”

Mauricio only stands to my chest, and his hair over the years has receded until only a few strands cover the shine of his head, but he’s always impeccably dressed in a three-piece suit, pocket watch and antique filigree tailor scissors, on a black ribbon around his neck.

Irina’s dark hair, now swirled with silver, is always spun on top of her head in a tight bun, and she makes Mauricio look six feet tall. She’s in a perfectly fitting suit sort of dress, sturdy black heels and an apron that jumped straight off the pages of a 1950’s Sears catalog.

She designs and sews custom dresses, especially wedding dresses, and anyone who’s anyone around here in the country club circuit makes sure as soon as the engagement ring is on, they have an appointment to have their wedding dress created by Irina.

“Sure, sure. She called, told us you were on your way. We need to get your measurements. You’ve gotten bigger since we saw you last. I think the kids these days call it thick.” There’s a jolly twinkle in her eye as Mauricio waves me to the little measuring platform in front of a three-way mirror, as Irina narrows her eyes at me. “Why are you not married yet, Martel? So handsome, you’re a good man. You’re getting old. You need a wife.”

“And a shave.” Mauricio grabs his clean-shaven chin on a smile and another wink, as Irina gives him a playful swat with a finger to her lips, telling him to shush.

He returns her swat with one of his own, straight to her backside, making her cheeks turn pink and there’s an empty feeling in my chest as she continues to bemoan my continued bachelorhood, and extolling all the merits and comforts of finding me a wife and making babies.

I know she means well, but she’s been telling me the same thing since I was in college. If they had their way, I’d be married with twelve kids by now.

What they don’t know is, I would too. But seems like that’s just not in the cards for me and I’ve made my peace with that.

“One second.” Mauricio leans toward the red curtains separating the front of the store from the back. “We have a new employee. If you don’t mind, they will do your measuring.”

“Sure.” I heave a sigh. I don’t care.

Until I hear him call for the trainee.

“Bria! Come, come. The customer is here. Bring your tape measure and notepad.”

Mauricio winks at me again and I see him look over at Irina, who has a devious look in her eyes.

I curl my fingers into fists at my sides, ready for what, I’m not sure.

But, when I see her walk out from the center of the hanging red fabric, there’s a solid boom in my chest and for a second, I forget to breathe.