The Gift-Wrapped Groom (5 page)

He had come close enough so that she could feel the size and heat of him. A warm scent, something like the smell of smoky, mellowed bark wafted her way. An alien male smell—clean, exotic, disturbing.

A shiver ran up her spine. Strange. Until this moment, her back hadn't felt a bit cold, despite the snow. He took off his coat without a word and wrapped it securely around her shoulders. His hands felt big, capable, warm through the coarse material.

He turned away from her, leaned those hands on the porch railing and looked out at the lazy flakes of snow collecting slowly on the ground.

“In Moscow, two people marry by signing papers. It is a simple procedure, private, over quickly. This afternoon, your grandfather explained the ceremony we will attend—the pledges that we must make to each other in front of your family and friends. These pledges are why you cry, are they not?”

“How did you know?”

“A woman who keeps her word when she gives it would have to cry at the thought of making such pledges she cannot keep. Seeing such tears on your cheeks does not distress me. Not seeing them would.”

Noel stared at this large stranger beside her in growing appreciation and curiosity for the man emerging through his words, spoken so solemnly and with such simple sincerity. It struck her how little she knew about him, this man she had come so close to marrying.

“Dr. Baranov, why did you agree to come to this country and be part of an arranged marriage?”

He did not look at her but continued to stare out at the snow, his silhouette a strong stone pillar against the sheet of white. “You are really interested in knowing this? It is not like most of your questions last night?”

So he knew. Looked as if that genius reputation of his might be deserved, after all. “Yes, Dr. Baranov. I am really interested.”

He leaned away from the porch railing and stood straight and tall. “With the breakup of the Soviet Union, there has been little need for nuclear physicists. I have been a Siberian fisherman and a Moscow street cleaner this last year, surrounded by children who should have been in school but instead had become eager capitalists, selling newspapers and soft drinks in front of cinemas blaring out Western porn and violence.”

“You're sad communism is gone?”

“Its demise has brought hope. Such hope after so many years without any hope is valuable indeed. But it is struggle. Always struggle. And I am sad that socialists now embrace the decadence of striptease shows, gambling casinos, thriving mafias and the corruption of the young. I am also sad there are no jobs for those who wish to think. My mind yearns for the challenge and discipline of the work it was trained to do, Miss Winsome. Can you understand this?”

Noel thought for a moment about his words and his question. “Yes, I understand. I love the work I do. It evolves from who I am. I can imagine how difficult it would be for me if I were suddenly prevented from doing it. Losing it would be like losing a part of myself.”

“Losing a part of myself. Yes. A very good description. I seek to reclaim that part I have lost. The work my mind was trained to do is here. It is why I have come.”

“And accepted even this preposterous arranged marriage to get here.”

“It did not seem so preposterous as I shoveled the dirty snow off the cold concrete walks of Moscow.”

Noel looked closely at the intelligent, well-spoken, sophisticated man in the perfectly-fitting silver shadow tuxedo standing beside her and tried to picture him shoveling snow for a living alongside alien, onion-domed buildings. It seemed impossible. And so terribly wasteful.

“You wanted me to give my word that we would stay married long enough for you to become a citizen so you would have a chance to secure a job here as a physicist.”

“Yes. Also to have sufficient time to save the money I will need to be self-sufficient. The rubles I used to pay my transportation here have left me with few to spare.”

“My grandfather didn't pay your way?”

“He offered to. But I explained to him that I could never accept his money. I would only agree to come if I paid my own way.”

Noel smiled. “And that probably delighted him about as much as another outbreak of gout.”

“I do not understand.”

“No, I suppose you don't. What does your family think about your coming here?”

“I have no family.”

“They're dead? Even those relatives you once visited in that village when you were ten?”

“Yes. They have been gone a long time.”

“I'm...sorry.”

Silence filled a long moment in which the only movement was the slow, lazy snow falling like feathers, pillowing the ground, burying the memories.

Noel knew the time had come to broach the subject that could be put off no longer. How could she tell him? What would be the right words?

Noel would never know if she could have found them; because it was Nicholas Baranov who first cleared his throat and spoke.

“Miss Winsome, I hope you will understand what I must now say. A sworn pledge is a Russian's arteries, his blood. They run red and clean with truth or turn green and sick with the bile of sworn falsehood. I cannot give these pledges your grandfather has spoken of in this marriage ceremony.”

Noel could barely believe her ears. Had she heard right? “Wait a minute. Are you saying you'd rather go back to—”

“Russia. Yes. My mind may die as a Moscow street cleaner, but my blood will still run red and clean and alive. And I will go on. That is what it means to be Russian. To go on, alive in one's word if nothing else.”

She spoke her thoughts aloud, knowing she had to hear their sounds echoing through her ears before she could accept them.

“You're not going to marry me.”

“I thought it proper to tell you of this first. I do not think it distresses you. I will go now to tell your grandfather. Regrettably, I do think it will distress him.”

Noel could barely believe the good fortune being handed to her on a silver platter by this man in a silver tuxedo. She would have to do nothing. Nicholas Baranov would tell her grandfather that he was the one pulling out. She would not lose her store or home. She'd pay her grandfather back and that would be the end of that.

Noel waited for the relief to wash over her, for the joy to fill her heart. She did not have to leave Midwater. She did not have to give up one iota of her independence. She had won!

But strangely, unexplainably, she felt anything but a winner.

No relief. No joy.

Because, as Nicholas Baranov turned to go, all she could think of were those powerful shoulders shoveling snow on a Moscow street and a brilliant mind slowly dying from lack of use. With every step he took, a burgeoning sense of panic rose inside her chest.

“Wait!”

He turned. Waited. Watched her silently, with a face of darkened stone.

Noel's thoughts raced. She didn't know what she was going to say. Or do. All she knew was that it was wrong for this man to go back to being a Moscow street cleaner. Very, very wrong.

Faster and faster her thoughts flew, grasping for something, anything, to make work the very thing that only moments before she had been ready to do almost anything to avoid.

“Miss Winsome? There is something you wished to say?”

Noel wet her dry lips. Her cold hands grasped the edges of his warm coat still draped around her. Yes, there was a way. Dear heaven, was she crazy to consider it? For a moment, she felt herself firmly poised on the brink of an uncertain eternity.

The next moment, she took an irrevocable step forward.

“D
r. Baranov, if you didn't have to give such promises as my grandfather described to you in the wedding ceremony, would you go through with this marriage?”

If his stony expression changed in the dark night beneath the faint light, she couldn't tell. It seemed a long time before he answered.

“You ask this question as though you believe such a thing is possible.”

“It is. The vows my grandfather described are customary, not mandatory. Many American couples today choose the option of writing their own vows.”

“You are proposing we write our own vows?”

“I don't see why not. We could replace the traditional vows to love and to cherish, to have and to hold, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part—all those pledges that are objectionable to us both—with promises that more reasonably represent our situation.”

“What would these promises be?”

“Oh, harmless things. Of course, we could both start by making the traditional statement, that we take the other for our lawfully wedded wife or husband. That would satisfy the basic requirements of the ceremony, and would not be objectionable to me, since marrying you is what I'm prepared to do. What about you?”

“That part would not be objectionable to me. What do we say then?”

“Well, let's see. Maybe you could give me several innocuous assurances like, promising to replace the cap on the toothpaste, program the VCR—”

“VCR?”

“Videocassette recorder. Trust me, programming them takes at least a nuclear physicist. And then maybe you could close by agreeing to always share at least half the blankets on the bed for as long as we are married.”

He did not immediately respond.

Noel shifted nervously in her uncomfortable satin heels. “Of course, we wouldn't really be sharing a bed,” she added quickly. “But the promise you'd give doesn't require that we do. Only that if we did, you would share half the blankets. Am I making this clear?”

For the first time, Noel watched as the bottom half of the stony face in front of her broke into a small smile. The sensation it gave her had a curious feel, like a trickle of warm syrup through her chest.

“I begin to see the possibilities, Miss Winsome. I must program the videocassette recorder—”

“Better call it a VCR. Sounds more American.”

“Yes, of course. To program the VCR, to replace the toothpaste cap, to share the blankets on the bed. This is right?”

“Perfect.”

“Now we must decide on your pledges.”

“Only fair I make a few to you. What do you suggest?”

His lips pursed in thought. “I think you should promise to always serve me the right amount of pepper in my vodka, borrow my good boots only with permission and brush my yak every day.”

Noel barely kept an unruly giggle from breaking through. “Your yak?”

His lips twitched. “A large hairy buffalo with long tusks. When I was a child, my grandfather domesticated some for our farm. I used to make pets out of them. Of course, I haven't had one for more than twenty years. You understand, it is like your pledge about the blankets on the bed.”

Noel sighed, utterly delighted to find he had this surprising and somewhat offbeat sense of humor. “I can see you've caught the spirit of this thing, Dr. Baranov. And then some.”

“These vows would be acceptable to your grandfather?”

“I don't see that he has any right to disapprove. We agreed to legally become husband and wife. We didn't agree to exchange traditional vows.”

“His words carried much emotion this afternoon when he spoke of these traditional vows. He instructed me to memorize them. I do not think he will be pleased with this alteration.”

“Well, too bad. This is our wedding, not his, although he's certainly called the shots up to now. Do him good to get a few surprises.”

His smile flashed briefly at her again. “I think you both like to give surprises but are not particularly pleased to receive them.”

“Well, let's just say there are good surprises and there are the other kind. Dr. Baranov, as long as we're going to be writing our own vows, what do you say we throw tradition entirely to the winds?”

“Throw? To the winds? I do not understand.”

“What I'm saying is that I don't like the idea of my grandfather ‘giving' me away as the traditional ceremony dictates. He doesn't own me. A woman owns herself in this country. She's not the property of whatever male relative happens to be around and willing to ‘give' her to the male who will become her husband. I think we should join hands and walk down the aisle together.”

“This is permitted?”

“This is the United States of America, land of innovation, opportunity and personal freedom. And it feels damn good to be reminding myself of these things. Let's make this a wedding we can feel comfortable with in light of our...special circumstances. That is, if you agree. Do you agree, Dr. Baranov?”

His smile expanded as he offered his hand for a shake. “I think, as they say in your country, we have a deal.”

A buoyant feeling suddenly filled Noel's heart, and she succumbed to its uplifting momentum. She ignored his offered hand. Instead, she grabbed the stalwart shoulders before her, rose on tiptoe and planted a happy kiss on Nicholas Baranov's cheek.

She had meant it to be a quick salute, uncomplicated, after which she would immediately draw away. But she lost her balance in that sudden rush forward in those satin heels to which she was so unaccustomed and fell against Nicholas's chest.

And then suddenly, his huge hands were steadying her, swallowing her waist with a disturbing warmth. Powerful muscles bunched beneath her palms. The warm smoky smell of his skin, the exciting taste of him on her lips, the heat from the closeness of his powerful body—all these sensations swarmed over her.

Her heart began to race. Noel sucked in a surprised breath as she stared at the shadowy face of this stranger and could barely see. But she could feel him—his breath against her cheek, the pounding of his heart through her hands, quickening with every beat. She stood barely breathing, unable to move, suspended in time and space, so acutely aware of him, only him.

Until a voice bellowed from behind her.

“There you are!” her grandfather called.

Noel quickly withdrew her hands from Nicholas's shoulders, stepped back and took a couple of deep, much needed breaths. His hands slid off her waist. But the smile that had earlier lit the bottom half of his face was gone, replaced by the stone jaw. The rest of his face was still swallowed by the shadows of the night.

Noel rubbed her hands together and tried to move feet grown numb. She still felt slightly off balance as she turned to face her grandfather.

“You were looking for me?”

Her grandfather's smile was big enough to have stretched across the entire Mountain time zone. He had obviously misinterpreted the physical closeness he had just witnessed between her and Nicholas.

Noel frowned. It had been nothing, really. She had just kissed him on the cheek to seal their bargain. He had just put his hands on her waist to steady her when she lost her balance in these damn heels. That was all. And the residual tingling in her hands and feet was obviously just due to the cold.

But if her grandfather wanted to jump to other conclusions, well, why should it bother her? That was the whole idea to this charade, after all—making her grandfather believe it was going to be a real marriage.

“Sorry to intrude, Noel, Nicholas, but the ceremony was supposed to have started five minutes ago. Everyone is waiting. By the way, didn't anyone ever tell you two that it's bad luck for the bride and groom to see each other just before the wedding?”

Noel stepped toward her grandfather. Charade or no charade, it was time to wipe that smug grin off his face. And she was just the one to do it.

“We're going to make our own luck, Grandfather. And on that note, I might as well tell you that we plan to also make a few modifications to this wedding.”

“Modifications?”

“That's what I said. Come on, Nicholas. Don't forget the VCR.”

“And you must not forget the yak,” Nicholas reminded as he moved quickly ahead to open the door for her.

“VCR?
Yak?
” her grandfather repeated nervously.

* * *

W
INSOME FROWNED
as he watched Nicholas and Noel walk up the aisle together, accompanied by the soft duet of a guitarist and flutist playing the wedding march. He had expected Noel to still be miffed at his maneuvering her into this marriage, but he had not expected her to completely cut his part out of this wedding. Damn, she got more stubborn and more like him every day. A reluctant smile circled his lips.

“The contract of marriage is most serious. It is not to be taken lightly, but thoughtfully, soberly, with a deep sense...”

The minister Winsome had flown in from Missoula continued his dramatically solemn admonitions. He was an old friend who had played a few bit parts in movies before finding his religious calling. Winsome always thought the best religious speakers had some greasepaint in their pasts.

The photographer snapped pictures from every angle as the minister finished his introductory remarks and launched into the vows.

“Do you, Nicholas Baranov, take this woman to be—”

Noel raised her hand, halting the minister. “Excuse me, but Nicholas and I have prepared our own vows.”

“Uh-oh,” Winsome muttered.

Noel turned to face Nicholas, her voice clear and resonant.

“I, Noel Winsome, take you, Nicholas Baranov, to be my lawfully wedded husband, promising always to serve you the right amount of pepper in your vodka, to never borrow your good boots without permission and to faithfully brush your yak each and every day for as long as we are married.”

Absolute stunned silence struck the hall. All eyes flashed quickly to the groom.

“And I, Nicholas Baranov, take you, Noel Winsome, to be my lawfully wedded wife, promising to always replace the cap on the toothpaste, to always share at least half the blankets on the bed and to faithfully program the VCR for as long as we are married.”

Winsome groaned. Muffled giggles began to erupt throughout the room. The minister's mouth cut into a quirky smile. “Some...interesting choices. Do you have the ring?”

Nicholas took it out of his pocket and slipped it on Noel's finger.

“Is there anything else you wish to say to each other?” the minister asked.

“No,” they chorused.

“Then I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

From the flush beginning to make its way into Noel's cheeks, Winsome guessed that this was one part of the ceremony these two had not rehearsed. He eagerly watched to see what would happen.

They stood there a moment looking into each other's eyes and Winsome's hope grew. Then slowly, Nicholas leaned forward to stamp a gentle, firm kiss at the very top of Noel's forehead. Her eyes brightened in approval as she slipped her arm through his. Together, they turned to walk back down the aisle, the photographer scrambling to snap pictures, the guitarist and flutist hurrying to accompany them.

The audience's amused grins followed their every footstep. Winsome shook his head. A grandfather's lot was not an easy one.

* * *

N
ICHOLAS LOOKED
around the elegant home of his grandfather-in-law in stunned surprise, staring at all the beautiful decorations that had suddenly appeared everywhere and inhaling the wonderful smells coming from long tables filled with food.

Rough-hewn people with calluses on their hands and wool and cotton on their backs milled around the enormous room, among the expensive brocade drapes, fine furnishings, porcelain plates and silver dishes—all seemingly oblivious to the surroundings, focusing on one another and looking happy just to be a part of this thing called a
reception.

Every few minutes, Nicholas felt a mild punch in the arm or a clap on the back followed by the hearty congratulations of some stranger wearing a smile. A couple of hefty women treated him to hugs and a few tears with their version of good wishes.

She stood beside him in that lovely dress, her glorious hair full around her shoulders, her cheeks slightly flushed, her eyes steady and cool. She was more beautiful than any woman, than anything, he had ever seen.

Then to Nicholas's continuing surprise, tuxedo-clad musicians in one corner began to play a light waltz.

“Dance with your bride, Nicholas,” he heard his grandfather-in-law say.

He led Noel to the center of the room, and carefully circled his right hand to the middle of her back, feeling her warmth wrapped in white satin. He netted her hand with his left and inhaled, finding himself suddenly filled with her sweet scent. He eased her into their first steps of the waltz.

He thought he would be rusty. It had been so long since he had danced. But he found that his body had not forgotten the movements. It easily established an instant synergy with the sweet music. He thought that she would be awkward, needing time to become familiar with his moves. But she glided gracefully with him from the very first step, responding to the slightest signals from his hands.

Their first sweep of the room rushed by as quickly as his breath. Nicholas drank in the music's buoyancy and lightness of spirit. Growing energy and enthusiasm flowed through him with each subsequent sweep. It had been such a long time, he'd forgotten how good it felt to dance. And having this beautiful woman as his partner, a woman whose hand lay captured in his, whose body moved at his every direction, proved heady indeed. The rest of the room blurred. Only she remained in focus. Only her cool face fanned by the flames of her flying hair.

“Aw, play some real music,” a male voice finally yelled. “Something the rest of us can dance to.”