Candles everywhere. The long table covered in white linens, crystal glasses catching the light. Plates of food covering every surface. Traditional Russian dishes my mother spent days preparing. The Christmas tree visible through the doorway, all lit up and beautiful.
The entire family is here. Dimitri and Anya. Their daughter Natasha, excited and bouncing in her chair. My mother's sisters and their families. Cousins I haven't seen in years. At least twenty people, all dressed up, all talking at once.
And Jemma, sitting beside me in that green velvet dress, looking like she belongs here.
Looking like she's mine.
"Your mother keeps looking at us,” she whispers.
"She's hoping for grandchildren."
Jemma's face flushes. We both know that's a real possibility now. I've been filling her with cum for four days straight. Her virgin body, taking everything I give her.
"Konstantin."
"Everyone!" My mother stands, clinking her glass. "Before we eat, I want to say something!"
Oh no.
"Mama?"
"Hush! I talk!" She's already crying happy tears. "I am so grateful we are all together for Christmas. Family is everything. And this year, we have special blessing—my Kostenka finally brings home girlfriend!"
Everyone applauds. Jemma smiles, but I can feel her tension.
"I know some of you think, oh, Yelena makes up stories about her son! But no! Look! She is real! She is beautiful! And she loves my boy! I see it!"
"Mama, maybe we should—"
"No, no! Let me finish! Jemma,devochka, you make my son happy. First time in years, he smiles. He laughs. He is... alive again." She's really crying now. "Thank you for loving him. Thank you for seeing good man under all the..." She waves vaguely. "The pakhan things."
Jemma's eyes are welling up too.
"To family!" My mother raises her glass. "To love! To Christmas! To my son and his beautiful girlfriend!"
"To Konstantin and Jemma!" everyone echoes.
We drink. Under the table, Jemma's hand finds mine. She's shaking.
Dinner progresses. Course after course. My mother has outdone herself. The food is incredible. The conversation flows—family catching up, stories being told, laughter filling the room.
Dimitri leans over at one point. "Your mother is going to be insufferable now. She'll have you married by Easter."
"Probably."
"You actually going to do it?"
"Yes."
He blinks. "You're serious."
"Completely serious. I'm going to marry her. Have children with her. Build a life with her." I look at Jemma, who's talking to Natasha about something. She's smiling, relaxed, beautiful.
As dinner winds down, people start standing to make toasts. It's tradition—everyone says something about family, about the year, about hopes for the future.
Dimitri toasts to the family's success. Anya toasts to health and happiness. Various cousins toast to prosperity and peace.
Then everyone is looking at me.
