The Gift-Wrapped Groom by M.J. Rodgers

her it was Nicholas Baranov.
    She didn’t know when he’d come out on the porch. He might have been here before she arrived or he might have slipped out after her. For a big man, he certainly could move silently.
    â€œDr. Baranov, you startled me.”
    â€œIt was not my intent.”
    Noel turned her head as she swiped at the tears still glistening on her cheeks.
    â€œYou are crying, Miss Winsome.”
    No emotion in that deep bearlike voice. Just as studiously polite and remote as before. Noel dried her remaining tears.
    â€œWhat are you doing here?” she asked.
    He took a step closer. “I’m engaging in profound second thoughts as to the wisdom of this marriage, Miss Winsome.”
    Noel stared into the shadowed face of the man beside her, surprised speechless at his words.
    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.
    â€œIn 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?”
    â€œHow did you know?”
    â€œA 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.
    â€œDr. 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.”
    â€œYou’re sad communism is gone?”
    â€œIts 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.”
    â€œLosing a part of myself. Yes. A very good