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nine

Ivan

"D o you think Briella will like this?" Atlas lounges on a light brown suede sofa. The material looks to be soft and comfortable for Briella.

We spent the morning signing with a new agent. The rest of the day is spent picking out furniture for our home that Briella will like. Instead of looking like a frat house with mismatched furniture and hockey posters taped to the walls like it does now.

"It's perfect. She'll love it." I run my hand over the soft fabric, a far cry from the orphanage in Russia I grew up in. I was one of the lucky ones that was adopted to an American couple when I was five years old.

At the time I couldn't believe my luck, but I later realized it wasn't me the little boy they wanted. It was the Russian hockey playing bloodlines I carry.

Cutting my adoptive parents out of my life at age eighteen was the best decision I've ever made. That and now firing Mr. McKnight and going after Briella.

"I hope she likes everything we bought her." Blade walks by with a flustered looking salesman following his every move as he orders one of everything.

If it wasn't for the huge commission our purchases will net him, the salesman would probably be running for the hills right now with how picky Atlas is being.

"Does this couch come in any other colors?" Atlas jumps off the couch, chasing after Blade and the harried looking salesman.

Furniture for the house is the least of my worries, without Briella to share it with us, it doesn't matter.

I hope we can convince her to give us another chance.