Mason (Mail-Order Brides For Christmas)

I start to fluff my hair, and I reapply the lipstick to my now faded lips. We sit in silence for a while, but I can feel Serge judging me. As soon as we land, I gather my purse and carry-on, walking off the plane.

I can tell that Serge is still taking it all in and doesn’t understand what is happening, but I really don’t feel like I need to share it with him, although he is a nice guy, and I do appreciate his concern. As we are walking to the baggage claim, he still seems shocked. “Are you sure about this, Mia? If you need help, I can help you.”

The concern on his face is genuine. Does he think I’m being forced into this? “I want to do this. I do. Thank you for your concern, but really, I’m going to be fine.”

He walks beside me all the way to the baggage area and even helps me corral one of my suitcases. Before walking off, he gives me a sweet hug. “Good luck, well, with everything.” He hands me his business card. “Just in case the matchmaker is wrong, and you need help after all.”

I start to hand it back, but he cups my hand, folding my fingers around the card.

“Thank you,” I tell him again and put the card in my purse. As soon as he turns away, I turn back to the belt, waiting on the next and final piece of luggage.

Mason

I got here early. I didn’t want to worry about traffic and parking. So for the past hour I’ve been sitting at the baggage claim area, watching all the arrivals. I have a bouquet of red and white roses, since this is how Mia will recognize me per the matchmaker’s instructions. Personally, I’m glad I didn’t have to stand here with a sign and her name on it. For some reason, that seems awkward to me.

Mia is supposed to be a woman with long black hair wearing an off-the-shoulder white lacy dress and matching luggage with an image of the Eiffel tower on them.

I spot a gorgeous curvy woman with black hair and a white off-the-shoulder dress, but she’s walking with some guy. I look away and start to scan the room again, but my gaze is drawn back to the woman. It can’t be her. I try to keep looking, sure I’m going to spot her amongst the other arrivals, but as the last person in the crowd enters the area, I’m drawn back to the woman standing with the guy next to the luggage claim belt track.

She bends down to retrieve her luggage, and the man helps her, pulling it off the belt and setting it next to her. It’s white luggage with a big image of the Eiffel tower on the side of it. It has to be her.

I approach her and am annoyed when the guy hugs Mia. I hear the pretty boy in the suit and loafers wish her luck and then give her his number. I touch the scar that runs from just under my right eye straight down for three inches before it splits like branches of a river on a fucking map.

I pick up the second piece of luggage off the belt.

“Excuse me, that’s my…” Her voice trails off as she looks at me. I offer her the flowers and then brace myself for the rejection.

Is she going to deny that she’s Mia? Call the whole thing off?

She takes the flowers, and her smile is beautiful, but she’s a beautiful woman. Her pity smile couldn’t be ugly, not on her face.

Her eyes go to my cheek briefly and then immediately back to my eyes. I can’t read her thoughts; she is keeping them very guarded behind her light blue eyes and big smile. “Nice to meet you, Mason,” she says, and her voice is smooth as honey. Soft and low and filled with melody.

Speechless, I stare at her. Is this really the woman that signed up for an arranged marriage? She’s beautiful and appears to be sweet. Are the men blind where she comes from? Why would she need an arranged marriage? I would imagine men would be falling all over themselves to get to her.

I know I should offer my hand to her, but I stop myself, feeling for sure that she doesn’t want to be mauled by me at first sight. She’s still smiling, and I appreciate the fact she’s still being polite when it’s clear my scar has startled her. I nod toward the belt. “Do you have any more luggage?”

3

Mia

I can’t stop staring at Mason. He’s a tall, powerful looking man. Joy, his mom, said he was just over six feet, with a slight scar on his face, but she’d minimized both characteristics. Mason has to be at least six foot five, and while his scar isn’t slight, it makes him look quite formidable. He’s handsome, and just looking at him almost takes my breath away.