Page 5

Vera

I wasn’t counting on the monster being a nice guy.

I pictured him as socially awkward. As reclusive, as stinky, or with personal hygiene issues. And, of course, I had a plan for what I’d do if he was mean or violent.

I know about mean and violent.

I did not plan for him to be nice.

I crack the door open and peek into the living room and I’m instantly hit with the warm, homely smells of cooking and coffee. Tugging the sweater I slipped over my head down a little lower, I open the door wider.

My orc fiancé is standing in the kitchen with his back to me. His broad green shoulders stretch across the space like ice over a river in the middle of winter. His muscles flex as he flips something in the frying pan, and I catch the hint of a whistled tune I can’t make out.

I’m just about to retreat back into the room, but my stomach grumbles so loudly he must hear it. He turns. A huge grin spreads across his face, making his tusks jut out more. “Good morning—uh, doe-bray-uyoo-tra.” He keeps grinning at me as if I’m supposed to understand the gibberish that just came out of his mouth.

I stare. “Dobroye utro? No, no, no. Like this.” I say it again slowly.

He watches me, his face screwed up into an expression of concentration.

Then he proceeds to mangle the Russian words a second time.

I sigh. “Nevermind. What is smell?”

He tips the frying pan and slides a fluffy pancake onto a plate on the counter. I approach warily. It does smell delicious but looks like I will gain five pounds just sniffing it. “You have kasha?”

His smile falls. “Um. I’m sorry. I don’t know what kasha is, but I have this.” He pushes it toward me hopefully.

I shake my head. “No. Just fruit. You have fruit?”

“Oh sure. I have fruit.” The orc turns and opens the fridge, stretching out one long arm, hardly having to move at all. “I have melon.”

I have to admit his body is impressive. He lifts a huge melon with a single hand and places it on the counter in front of me. I have to use both hands to pick it up. “This will do.”

He hands me a knife and I cut deftly around the outside, peeling away the firm thick skin.

The orc slides a bowl toward me. “Wow. You’re good at that.”

“Hmm?” I look up at him, knife poised in my hand.

“With that knife.” He points .

Do people in America not cut food with knives? I’m left wondering as I slice pieces of melon into the bowl.

“So, I have to work today.” He gives me an apologetic look. “I’ll have to leave in about an hour. But make yourself at home. The TV is all set to stream and I won’t be late.”

“That is good.” I frown. That’s not quite right. “That will be good.”

There’s a pause.

It will be a relief when he goes and leaves me alone. I can already feel the strain of talking to him bunching the muscles in my neck and giving me a tension headache. “Yes. Is good. Go.” I make a shooing motion to indicate that he can leave whenever he wants. I definitely need to practice my English now that I’m going to be living in America. I’m rusty.

“Oh.” He scratches the back of his head. “Good. Well, I’m glad you’ll be OK.”

He fidgets from foot to foot. “So the fridge and the cupboard are all stocked. Oh here, let me give you the wi-fi password.” He opens a drawer and hands me a small card with a network name and password.

“Yes. Good.” This is good. At least I can study and not waste my time.

He sighs. “You sure you don’t want this?” He offers me the pancake again.

I shake my head.

He rolls it up and stuffs it into his large mouth with another forlorn sigh. “I guess I’ll head to work.”

He shuffles off into the bathroom, and pretty soon I hear the water run .

I cast a wistful look at the pancakes on the plate he set aside and my stomach rumbles. If I ate that sort of thing for breakfast at home it would have been accompanied by disapproving looks from my brother or father. If I didn’t keep myself looking exactly the way they thought I must to make myself an attractive match, then what use was I?

I take a bite of melon, and while it’s sweet, I’m still craving the fluffy pancakes and syrup Erik made me.

The sound of water running from the bathroom draws my attention. I’ve upset him. That much is clear.

It’s so frustrating not being able to communicate properly.

I think it’s more than that though.

I thought he would expect me to cook and clean for him. To do the housework. It seems like he wants to do those things for me and that is throwing me off balance. If he wants someone to spoil and take care of, I suspect that also means he wants someone he can be affectionate with, and that’s not what I signed up for.

I remind myself it’s only for a while. I can fake it enough to keep him happy until I have citizenship. Can’t I?

The FBI agent was pretty clear that my fake fiancé can have no idea of the truth. The fewer people who know my true situation, the safer I’ll be.

That’s OK. I am used to wearing a mask and never letting anyone see my real feelings.

I sink my head into my hand. That sounds a lot like the situation I was escaping from.

There’s nothing for it though. I can’t go back home. I have to move forward with my plan and hope it works out .

Despite my resolution, I can’t seem to shake myself out of my foul mood all day. As soon as Erik leaves for work, I tuck myself back into bed and watch English language videos until all the new words are spinning around in my head like a whirlwind. Every time I try to compose a correct sentence, I’m missing a word or it’s in the wrong order or it just doesn’t come out sounding like the presenter in the video.

I’m never going to get any better!

I toss my phone aside in frustration and get out of bed. This apartment is so small. Only a few rooms. They already feel claustrophobic and I’ve only been stuck here half a day.

I wish I could go for a walk. A ride. Go shopping. Go anywhere. But even drawing back the blinds to look through the window feels risky, as if there’s someone hidden nearby, watching.

I draw the blinds closed quickly and sink onto the sofa.

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

Maybe there’s no way to ever be free of my family and the match they wanted for me.

I’m lost in thought when a sound at the door makes me jump.

Erik calls out as he opens the door and strides through, his big booming voice filling the small space. “Honey, I’m home! You don’t know how long I’ve waited to say that.” He stops and chuckles, kicking off his thick boots and letting the door slam behind him.

I wince.

He’s so noisy. So large and clumsy.

How am I going to last a year ?

He looks up and must catch sight of my sour expression. The smile drops from his face. “Did you have a good day?” He steps around the half wall and I realize he has a big bunch of pretty pink flowers in his hand. He’s half crushing them with his massive fist, but for a moment my heart really goes out to him.

I jump to my feet and hurry over. “For me?”

He nods shyly.

As I rush to take them, our hands brush. A sizzle of awareness runs through me and I shiver. It’s been a long time since I let anyone touch me. It’s nice, but at the same time it makes the hairs on my arms stand up. I want to drop the flowers and wiggle my arms to shake off the feeling.

Instead I turn away.

“Inessa?” One of those large hands closes over my shoulder and suddenly I can’t breathe. “You don’t have to be scared of me.”

I duck and dart away from him, pulse thudding in my throat.

I dropped the bunch of flowers on the floor. It’s only when I look down that I realize I’ve trodden on them in my haste to escape from his touch.

I shake my head. “Sorry.” Without another word I scurry to the bedroom and close myself in like a frightened mouse.

There’s a long silence while I lean back against the wooden door and try to calm my shattered nerves.

The sound of a throat being cleared on the other side makes me gasp.

“Inessa?”

I don’t answer .

Eventually there’s a heavy sigh and his footsteps retreat.

It seems I’m safe for now.

What happens if I can’t get it together enough to even fake it? What if he decides he wants to send me back?

I need a way to get a message to the embassy that this will not work out.

I scrub my hands over my face, trying to force myself to go back out there and face my fiancé. It only makes heat creep up the back of my neck and sweat prick my armpits and forehead.

Eventually I give up and throw myself onto the bed.

I need a shower.

I must stink. I haven’t had one since getting on the flight. I need a change of clothes, but unfortunately everything I own is in my suitcase, which is sitting in the living room.

So I lie there in the dark until eventually my breathing calms and I fall asleep.

Some mail-order bride I make.

I can’t even let my husband-to-be touch me.