by Juniper Hart
“Honey? Do you want your breakfast here?” she asked in a thick Russian accent. Trevor licked his lips and nodded eagerly. She sashayed toward him coyly, her eyes alight with promise.
“Yes, Helga,” he said. “Leave it here and come join me.”
Her sweet, clear blue eyes clouded over, and she hurled the food-filled tray at his head. He barely managed to duck as the breakfast flew over the living room, casting everything in food.
“My name is Olga! OLGA! Not Helga!” she screamed. “How many times do I need to tell you?” Her face contorted into demonic proportions, and she rushed toward him, screaming like a banshee.
Trevor startled awake, and the mouse slipped from his hand. As he began to realize he had fallen asleep at his laptop, he shook his head ruefully, blinking. Even women in his dreams didn’t want him. He abruptly slammed the computer closed and headed to his bedroom, painfully aware that he was still aroused from the ridiculous dream.
2
When Trevor woke the following morning, he could not fathom why there were thick balls of cotton in his mouth. It took him two full minutes to recall the half bottle of scotch he had consumed, and when he managed to part his eyelids, he realized he had half-shifted in the night, his heavy tail weighing down the mattress as he struggled to turn over.
When he was finally able to clear the crusty balls off from his swollen eyes, he read the time to be nine-thirty. Abruptly, the last of his intoxication dissipated, and he bolted upward in dismay and humiliated confusion. Just like that, he remembered why he avoided drinking at all costs. No one wanted to feel like that in the morning, particularly not when he had work to do.
Dammit! I need to have that project outline submitted by 11. Hurriedly, he threw his legs over the side of his twin bed and rushed to splash some cold water on his face before making a cup of instant coffee and setting up in front of his computer.
The snow had finally stopped falling outside, and the sun was shining through, casting a surreal halo-like glow on the city below. As usual, Trevor was enveloped in his own thoughts. Or at least, he was trying to have thoughts through the fog of his headache. So much for his super-healing. Why didn’t it apply to hangovers?
He supposed that was done by evolutionary design so that every member of the Enchanted didn’t remain in a drunken haze for all of eternity. Whatever the reason, he needed to pay full mind to the work ahead. The assignment he was working on was already proving to be daunting.
The client, although a repeat, was insufferably meticulous, and she was known to nitpick the most miniscule details. Under normal circumstances, Trevor would have been up for the challenge, but that morning, the last-minute edit was proving to be painful, and the caffeine was not nearly effective enough to put him in high gear. He could barely see the work in front of him, let alone catch flaws in the designs.
Sighing, he tried his best to address all the aspects of the project, but he had a feeling he was going to be receiving a discontented email from her later in the afternoon. He wasn’t even sure what he was doing at that moment. It didn’t help that his email notifications were pinging every two minutes in between, further distracting him from what he needed to do.
It’s Christmas Day! Leave a man in peace! he moaned silently to himself, but he knew the notifications were likely only from well-wishers and not clients at all. He reasoned that everyone was still residual drunk from Christmas Eve and likely starting again already. Trevor didn’t want to fault them for being so happy over the holidays, but he couldn’t help feeling resentful.
Finally deciding he could not stare at the outline for another moment, he quickly sent it off before he could change his mind. Whatever mistakes he had made weren’t going to be found by his face peering at the screen with a throbbing headache.
Another notification alarm sounded, and Trevor sighed. He switched to his email screen, inwardly cringing.
Being the introvert that he was, he had a hard time with the holidays. Christmas especially he found unnecessary and highly commercial. People came out of the woodwork, folks he hadn’t seen or heard from since the previous year, and nine times out of ten, they asked for something. It was time to dole out donations or offer his presence at a soup kitchen.
It wasn’t that Trevor was particularly opposed to doing any of those things; it was simply that he did not understand why Christmastime seemed to be the only time when people felt the urge to help their fellow man or ask for help of their peers. He constantly donated money anonymously to various charities, particularly ones which helped children. He had always wanted kids of his own, but without a mate, Trevor’s time for procreating was nothing more than a pipe dream.
He logged into his email, sighing as he did. He had a feeling he was going to regret it the moment he did. Instantly, his mouth dropped open in shock. There were over seventy emails in his inbox, the number stunning for his private server. It was used for only personal issues, and Trevor had no illusions about who he may or may not have given his email out to.
Oh, my God! I’ve been hacked! he thought, blinking at the overflow. But as he began to look them over, he realized from where the majority had come.
Shame tinted his face when he saw the subject lines. There were dozens of messages from women who wanted to come to America and be his nanny, housekeeper, or wife. Some offered all three, with enough detail to make him blush. Trevor had all but forgotten about his profile from the previous night and the embarrassment which had just started to go flooded back in a torrent.
More like you blocked it out, he thought grimly, humiliated at what he’d done. He scrolled through the emails, and he saw that he had, in fact, reached out to several Eastern European ladies, and all of them had written back.
His mind now sober, he began to click off the boxes to delete them in their entirety, unread. His fingers couldn’t work fast enough, like he was on fire, but before he finished, his cell phone rang, causing him to pause the task.
It was probably Tristan on Facetime, wanting to wish him a merry Christmas with her child. He eyed the call, his eyes darting back to the offensive server, wanting to speak with his sister and niece. The emails weren’t going anywhere, and Addison was waiting. Trevor forced a smile on his face and accepted the call.
“Merry Christmas, Uncle Trev!” Johnny and Addison yelled in unison. He didn’t see his sister, but he was glad to see his niece.
“Merry Christmas, guys!” he replied, his headache suddenly disappearing. “Did Santa come last night, Addy?” The little girl’s eyes lit up, and she nodded happily.
“Yeah! I got a iPad!” Addison screeched. Tristan finally appeared in the frame, rolling her eyes.
“An iPad,” Johnny corrected, but Addy ignored him.
“Yeah, Santa apparently had a huge budget this year, even though Mrs. Clause told him to be careful. But who needs food, right, Santa?” Tristan chimed in, and Trevor had to laugh.
Johnny scowled at his wife, but four-year-old Addy continued to rhyme off the list of goodies she had received under the tree. Trevor tried to ignore the tension between his sister and brother in law. He was too caught up in Addy’s excitement to pay mind to their endless bickering, anyway.
“Oh, yeah, and I got a baby!” Addison proclaimed suddenly, as if she’d forgotten.
“A baby? Can I see?” Trevor asked, waiting for her to find her new doll, but the flame-haired child shook her head. There was a brief silence as the adults exchanged a look. Trevor could feel the discomfort rising among them.
“No,” Addison answered bluntly. “You can’t.”
“Why not? I want to see your new baby!” Trevor insisted, smiling affectionately. He didn’t quite understand what was happening, but sometimes, that was just the way it was in the Bellamy household.
“I can’t show it to you yet,” Addison explained, waving her hands expressively. “It’s in mommy’s tummy.”
Trevor felt a jolt of surprise course through him, and he stared at Tristan through the phone
as his niece’s words sunk in fully.
“What? You’re pregnant?” he asked, his voice rising a pitch. He immediately heard the accusing tone in his voice and smiled to take the sting from his words, wishing he hadn’t spoken at all. Tristan nodded slowly.
Simmer down there, weirdo. This is good news, he told himself, ashamed that he felt the unsettling knot in his gut.
“We were going to wait until the new year to tell everyone. Don’t tell Mom or Chris yet,” Tristan said quickly. She seemed to sense his mood change and bit on her lower lip, looking away. Trevor managed to bob his head, the smile cracking painfully on his face.
“Congratulations, guys,” he choked. He knew he should be thrilled for her, but he could not help the feelings of resentment building from within.
Another baby. Chris had six children, Ellie the youngest. Tristan, who was a decade younger, had one already. Would it ever be time for Trevor to have a child?
Are you jealous of your sister? That is weird. Oedipus would be proud.
“Thanks,” Tristan said, finally meeting his eyes. “We’re excited.”
“You should be. I bet it’ll be a boy this time,” Trevor yammered on irrelevantly.
“It better be. I’m being estrogen’d out of this house,” Johnny cackled.
“We’ll let you go, Trev,” Tristan interrupted. “We have some traditional shit to do around here.”
“Mommy said shit!” Addy chirped.
“Don’t say that!” her parents chided, and she giggled, running out of the frame.
“Don’t let me keep you,” Trevor said quickly. He was relieved to be given an out.
“Hey!” Johnny called before Tristan had a chance to disconnect. Sighing, Trevor reclaimed his fake smile.
“Yeah, Johnny?”
“Don’t worry, bud. You’ll find someone, too!” his brother-in-law declared. “You’ll see!”
Trevor’s face went crimson as Tristan glared daggers at her husband. “Shut your face. No one asked for your opinion. We love you, Trev. Talk to you soon.”
The call ended before another word was exchanged, and Trevor was left alone, staring in silence at the blank phone screen. For a second, he considered reopening the decanter, but as he thought it, the headache came flooding back in a torrent. Instead, he rose from the couch and returned to his computer desk, sinking heavily into the seat. Slowly, he began to remove the checkmarks beside the emails, the shame he was feeling growing inside of him.
I guess I’m not sending these to the recycle box, he thought, swallowing the lump in his throat. It seemed like he was going to need them, after all. It was going to be another lonely, pathetic Christmas, it seemed.
There were three women who captured him immediately. He exchanged emails with them in poor English, and yet Trevor found himself questioning his own motives again.
He was settling out of loneliness, and he wanted to discourage himself from what he was thinking about doing. Johnny was right. He would find someone. Everyone did. Even those unattractive deadbeats on “Maury” found love. There was hope for him. He was a dragon, and therefore, he must have a mate. Every Enchanted being had a mate. Wasn’t that what they had been taught? Wasn’t that everyone’s prophecy?
But what if his mate had died? Or what if he’d met her and let her go? What if his mate was one of those women on the site? Or what if there was no mate for pathetic dragons like him? Or what if Chris had already married his mate?
His thoughts only grew darker as the day progressed, and Trevor forsook everything but the emails before him. Two of the women were Russian, tall, brunette, and blue eyed. He wasn’t sure why they jumped out at him, but he found himself exchanging emails, trying to decipher what they were saying as they communicated their own desires over the internet.
To their credit, neither one beat around the bush and directly asked him how much money he made and if he felt that he was able to support her and her champagne tastes. While Trevor assured them both that he was well capable in providing the luxuries they desired, he couldn’t help wondering if they had ever seen the likes of expensive clothing or jewelry, given their shoddy clothing from their profile pictures.
It did not bother him; he was glad that the women would find him useful for a time, though in the back of his mind, he asked himself how long the novelty would last. As soon as they were convinced he could maintain them properly, their tones changed, and suddenly, they spoke to him with sensual promise. Trevor was turned off by their greed. He knew they would get there, use him for a green card, and be gone before he could blink.
The third woman who had caught his eye was from Hungary, but by the time Trevor turned his attention to her emails, he was feeling disheartened. Her name was Marika Varga. She also seemed tall, her hair was the color of a tropical sunset, and her eyes were a teal blue that reminded Trevor of a lagoon. The photo was not of very good quality. If Trevor strained his eyes to zoom in on the grainy picture, he could see full lips and light-colored eyes perfectly. She was very attractive, from what he could glean, but it wasn’t simply her prettiness which captured his attention.
There were several things, in fact, that burned into Trevor’s mind about Marika, things that he found hard to forget later. From the start of the correspondence, he realized there was something remarkably different about her, something that he hadn’t noticed in the other women with whom he’d spoken. Her English was perfect, and when they chatted, she asked him questions about himself, his likes, his family. She broached the subject of his career only once, but when Trevor looked back on their messages, he noticed that he had brought it up first. In fact, he found he often reread her messages, long after they had signed off. He started to miss her.
He was sure that she was Enchanted, but without meeting her face-to-face, he couldn’t be sure what species she was. Lycan, maybe? A fairy? He didn’t liken her to a demon or dragon, though it was difficult to know without asking, and that was not something he wanted to do online. That was more of a second date question, wasn’t it?
As the week between Christmas and New Year’s progressed, Trevor found himself talking to Marika frequently. They often conversed in live time, but Budapest was seven hours ahead, so by the early afternoon when Trevor could log on, Marika had signed off for the night, and he was left pining for her sweet banter.
She had an unassuming quality about her, yet the cynic in Trevor reminded himself that anyone could portray themselves any way they pleased online. It would not be the first time he had been misled by a beautiful woman, and he didn’t want to be a fool, though it was becoming harder and harder not to be smitten with her as the days passed.
He reasoned that he could not possibly have a sense for what kind of woman Marika was while she was overseas. However, no amount of logic could stop him from feeling the way he did.
Hell, I probably won’t have a good sense for her while she’s staring me in the face. Still, the dark thoughts did not deter him from becoming intrigued by the slender redhead.
Trevor had been hoping to spend some time with her via Skype, but she claimed that she did not have a web camera, as her computer was outdated. Immediately, he got online and ordered her a top of the line Mac Pro.
I don’t mean to seem forward, but may I have your address? he emailed that night as the eBay screen sat open in the next window. I have a gift for you.
He was still awake at 2 a.m. when she replied. He was finding sleep less and less common now that he’d found Marika.
Her response startled him: I appreciate your kind gesture, but there’s only one gift I want—to come and meet you in America.
Puzzled, Trevor reread the text, wondering if she had misunderstood his intentions. He tried to explain, thinking Marika had lost something in the translation.
Of course, you will come and meet with me one day soon, he wrote. But I would like to send you a gift before that happens. I have purchased a new computer for you so that we can communicate on Skype. I would like you to have a fun
ctional computer.
Immediately, she responded, Thank you. You are very kind. I would prefer to have a plane ticket at your earliest convenience.
Trevor was stunned and slightly put off by the sheer brazenness of her demand. They had been talking like two normal beings up until that moment. Suddenly, he realized that he was pleased with Marika’s demand. On some level, he understood that her desire to come was not based on her interest in him but rather in something self-serving, although what it was precisely, Trevor couldn’t determine.
She hadn’t asked for money or seemed overly interested in how much he made. Quite the contrary, in fact. He had asked about her family, wondering if perhaps she had a clan in America already, but she claimed she didn’t.
Hungary is nowhere the impoverished Iron Curtain country it once was. I wonder why she is in such a rush to leave her homeland. I suppose the green card is still highly coveted, no matter where you’re from.
Trevor didn’t dare voice his question aloud, what she really wanted from him. He was worried that the answer would leave him disappointed, and he much preferred to indulge in the romantic fantasy that Marika might possibly find him appealing and want to meet him.
His hands paused over the keyboard. He chose his next thoughts carefully.
What am I doing here? Am I sending her a ticket? Or should I just call this off? Trevor knew what he wanted to do, but the repercussions of doing it could be humiliating if he was taken for a fool.
He gnawed on the insides of his cheeks and posed his fingers to produce a response. As he did, his cell phone rang, startling him to the point of jumping. He blinked in dismay, his heart beginning to race when he noted the time. Who the hell was calling at 3 a.m.?
He sat back and snatched up the phone, inhaling sharply. Nothing good could ever come of a call at that hour, he was sure.
“Hello?” he murmured, noting the private number on the display.
Maybe it’s a sign, he thought with grim optimism. Trevor didn’t believe in signs. Whatever this was about, it couldn’t be healthy.
