My Favorite Gangster

Christmas

Marcela

I can sense a twist in the plot. Let's dive in:

Unlike many people, I detest Christmas. I'm not sure about other places, but here in Colombia, families are extensive, even considering the cousins of cousins as family, and everyone gathers at a house for Christmas Eve.

And I don't get along very well with my family. I can't be in a place with my father without ending up arguing. Since I'm not good at lying, I don't want a family argument on Christmas Eve when he asks about my job at Ortiz Lawyers.

Vlad had invited me to spend the holidays in Russia with his family, but if there's one reason I want to be with my problematic family, it's my brother, who comes to visit us from abroad.

My little brother, Mateo, went to study in Germany three years ago, and he plans to work there. He definitely doesn't want to stay in Latin America, where the job market is tough, and the pay for professionals is an insult to all the effort they put into getting their degree.

As soon as Dad learned that Mateo plans to stay in Germany, he stopped supporting him financially. Dad genuinely expected his son to take over the cattle business when he got old or simply left this world, but Mateo never liked the farm business.

I, despite appearing as a very refined woman who takes good care of her acrylic nails and would never trade her heels for rubber boots, can milk cows, herd them, fight crop pests, and negotiate good prices for the milk, meat, pineapples, avocados, and cocoa we produce on our farms with the most important buyers in the sector.

But since my dad is a damn sexist, he doesn't even want to imagine that I could take charge of his businesses someday.

So here I am, getting out of my car, with my 15 cm high heels, my gold sequin dress that leaves very little to the imagination, my long platinum blonde hair falling in waves, dragging a bag full of gifts to my parents' mansion. The same house I lived in until I was 22.

Yes. Of course, I grew up with all the comforts that anyone could desire. It was expected, considering I was born into a marriage between a cattle rancher and a real estate agent. But I left all those comforts as soon as I graduated, and my mom helped me get an apartment at a good price; of course, she paid the down payment, even though I insisted that I could do it alone. I will always be her spoiled little girl.

I enter the house walking with my head held high, making my heels resonate on the floor. My grandparents, uncles, aunts, cousins, and my father look at me as if I were dressed like a prostitute. My grandmother even invokes the name of Jesus Christ when she sees me.

Each and every one of those here has hurt me at some point with their words.

I grew up in a Christian family, one of those where women wear long skirts and don't wear makeup, so, of course, my way of dressing seems very immoral to them.

"The life of the party has arrived!" I exclaim, throwing all the gifts I bought with my last savings under the three-meter-high Christmas tree. "There are gifts for everyone, even for the little crybabies whose names I don't even know."

My father's cousins glare at me. Of course, I am referring to their children, who always, when there is a family gathering in this house, enter what until a few years ago was my room to cause havoc.

And even though I don't really want to be here with them, I approach to greet everyone with a kiss on the cheek because Mom taught me manners, and no, it's not hypocrisy. Or well, maybe it is in my case, but I don't give a damn.

My mother and my brother come out of the kitchen and greet me with many kisses and hugs, seemingly the only ones happy to see me.

Oh, my little Mateo. How much I adore him. Hard to believe my baby is about to turn 22.

We look a bit alike physically. We inherited Mom's piercing brown eyes, and we got Dad's high cheekbones and beautiful smile. But it's only in some facial features that we resemble each other because otherwise, I'm a 1.63 m (5'4") shorty, and my brother is a giant at 1.82 m (6'0").

"Wow. Always dressed to impress," my little brother says, looking me up and down. "You're giving Dad gray hairs right now."

"I gave them to him since I was little," I say, and then we leave that room full of harpies to have a cocktail on the balcony.

Mateo has been here since the beginning of the month, so we've had plenty of time to catch up, and he's the only one in the family who knows that I got fired from Ortiz Lawyers and that I'm trying my luck as a litigator, but with little success because I still can't manage to get clients.

"You should accept Vlad's proposal," Mateo says when we're on the second glass.

Vlad's proposal.

A few days ago, before my best friend left for Russia, he made me a very uncommon proposal for the modern times we live in: that I give him children, and then he supports and gives me a life of luxury for life.

He's openly gay, like his parents, so he's not trying to cover anything up. He just wants a child without going through the whole adoption or surrogacy process, and since we love each other like crazy, we could be a perfect family, each with their own lovers on the side.

It's actually a good proposal. Vlad is the Russian ambassador in Colombia, has an attractive salary, diplomatic immunity, a dream penthouse..., and I've always been in love with him.

Yes, I'm one of the many unfortunate girls who ended up falling for her gay best friend, but of course, Vlad hasn't yielded to my advances. He might have helped me masturbate a few times, but things never went beyond that.

Moreover, our friendship could be described as toxic. I've scared off all his boyfriends, and he's done the same to mine. We always threaten to break our friendship, but we always end up back in each other's arms.

A child... a child could definitively unite us, and I wouldn't have to worry about working ever again.

But there's the little matter that I've always enjoyed being an independent woman. Although my parents gave me everything while I was studying, I still worked from the age of 18 as a judicial assistant in small law offices to have my own money and gain experience, until I found the vacancy of a clerk at Ortiz Lawyers, and I could work there from a very young age and also do my internship.

Besides... there's also the fact that I had to stay up late and burn the midnight oil to get my law degree and then the specialization in civil law; I'm not going to throw all that away to play house with Vlad, and Mateo already knows it, but he's probably noticing my miserable face under my five layers of makeup.

"I don't want to be a kept woman," I reply. One thing is to have a provider husband who doesn't bother with the 50/50 nonsense, but it's very different to depend entirely on someone. I have no problem having a husband who takes care of all the household expenses, but it's crucial for me to keep working. My professional career won't suddenly tell me it doesn't want me anymore.

"But... you love him," my brother says, in a very low voice, in case someone happened to pass by the balcony without us noticing. "And no. It's not wrong to sometimes give up everything for love."

I burst into laughter, spitting out the sip of cocktail I drank just before Mateo came up with that nonsense. He's definitely a kid who pays more attention to romance stories he reads on youth reading apps than to real-life facts.

"I won't be happy in a fake marriage where Vlad can sleep with any guy that comes his way, while I drool over him," I say, feeling the drink bitter, and I check the time on my Cartier watch, which was a gift from... Vlad. "Come on. It's time for the Christmas dinner."

"Besides, straight men are also unfaithful," my brother murmurs as we head to the luxurious dining room, and I kick him in the shin with my heel. "Ouch. That hurts a lot."

While we dine, I think about the pros and cons of accepting Vlad's proposal.

It could work. We love each other as if we were a married couple, and we have enough trust to be together for a lifetime, and well... maybe looking to have children is the only way I can finally have s*x with Vlad. Sleeping with him has been my biggest dream. Whose isn't? If he's a sexy two-meter-tall Russian, with a super-humorous body and a package that I know won't leave me unsatisfied.

And leaving the matter of s*x aside, I really feel that he's the only man I fit with in every sense. Vlad accepts me as I am, doesn't question my way of dressing or behaving, and doesn't judge me for having slept with many men. No other man will want anything serious with me, let alone marry me, knowing that I am what the macho and patriarchal society considers "promiscuous," just because I enjoy my sexuality as most men do.

Men only want me for the moment, but Vlad... he really loves me for who I am, not for my breasts or my pretty face, and him wanting me to be the mother of his children makes me very happy.

I'll talk to him as soon as he gets back from Russia, and I'll make my decision based on what comes out of that negotiation. If anything is clear, it's that Vlad wants babies, and I want Vlad, and in these modern times, there are many types of families, not just the one where the couple is monogamous and heterosexual. Maybe ours can work.