Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or the world they're based in. I only own the dialogue and plot that I've created in spinning this tale.
The last time Rose had enjoyed Thanksgiving—had really even celebrated it, with family and friends gathered around a huge, elaborate dinner—was before the car accident. After Lissa's family had died, well… their holidays were never quite the same again. They had either been stuck at the academy or on the run—and neither situation was conducive to celebration.
Since she had so much to be thankful for this year, she was determined to do it properly. With a table covered in delicious food and surrounded by the people she loved. There was only one teensy little problem with her plan.
She couldn't cook. At all.
Christian and Olena had both tried to teach her time and time again. But for some reason, she just couldn't get the hang of it. Maybe she was too impatient, or maybe she had the tendency to not measure things properly… Whatever the reason, she was a complete and total flop when it came to mastering even the most basic of culinary tasks.
The Belikovs—being Russian—didn't celebrate the holiday, so asking Olena for help was out. Besides, she was craving the American dishes she remembered the Dragomirs serving, things like sweet potato soufflé and green bean casserole. Things that Olena wouldn't have the slightest inkling about preparing.
Christian wasn't really an option either, since he'd just flown halfway around the world, returning from a depressing trip to see his aunt. Having been to Tarasov herself, she knew the effect it had on people. Having to see your only real family locked away in such a place… it would be heartbreaking, even though he knew she deserved to be there. Rose couldn't—wouldn't—burden him by requesting he prepare a complicated meal right now.
No, if she wanted an old fashioned, traditional dinner, she'd just have to find a way to do it on her own.
Having decided on a course of action, she plowed ahead with her typical Rose Hathaway determination to succeed. She scoured the internet for recipes, bought the necessary ingredients and invited all her friends to join them for a feast. This, she said to anyone and everyone who would listen, was going to be the best damned Thanksgiving ever.
Dimitri was nervous. Rose, bursting with excitement, had filled him in on her grandiose scheme, and nothing he'd said could dissuade her from what he was positive would turn out to be a disaster of epic proportions.
His stomach rolled uneasily as he remembered her past attempts in the kitchen. When they'd first moved in together, she had been insistent on making him breakfast almost every morning. The eggs—no matter how he requested them: fried or scrambled—always came out the same. Either so undercooked they slid around his plate or so overcooked they were rubbery. Sausage patties turned into tiny charbroiled hockey pucks. The pancakes… dear God—better to forget the pancakes ever existed.
Then there were the failed attempts at dinner time. Pasta cooked until it was a congealed, slimy mass, sticking to the bottom of the pan. The meatloaf—Christian's recipe—that somehow set the oven on fire. And whatever it was she did to the black bread, it had been hard enough to chip one's teeth.
All in all, Rose was someone that should never be allowed in the vicinity of the kitchen.
It wasn't that he didn't have faith in her ability to learn new things. He knew she could do anything she set her mind to… But learning to cook took patience, and that wasn't something Rose was known for. He thought about confronting her, but that would just bring out her stubborn streak. Still, he had to do something. It was one thing for his own stomach to suffer—after all, he loved her more than life, and appreciated the fact she wanted to take care of him—but there was no way on God's green earth he could let his family and friends suffer like that.
So how to keep her from carrying out this latest crazy idea…. That was what he had to figure out—and he had to do it fast, because Thanksgiving was just around the corner.
"Roza…" He leaned against the counter watching her as she attempted to stir what looked like a giant vat of paste. He bit back a smile at her look of intense concentration—she had flour on her cheek and was biting her lip, as she beat whatever it was into submission. "Why are you so insistent we do this? Why not wait until next year? That would give you a whole twelve months for Christian to help you master the recipes."
"Because Dimitri, I want to do it now. Look, this year I lost you, got you back—only to lose you again because you were being a jackass—got framed for murder, went on the run, got you back—again— and then got shot. Only to end up with our own little version of happily ever after." She glared up at him, shoving her hair out of her face. "Don't you think we should be grateful?"
Smiling, he leaned down, brushing his lips against her forehead. "I'm grateful every day, Roza. I don't need a big meal to be thankful."
"Well I do. Now taste these. I think I finally got it right." She filled the mixing spoon and stuck it in his mouth before he could even ask what it was.
Wincing, he tried to ignore the lumps and the overabundance of salt, immediately deciding his initial assessment had been right. It had to be wallpaper paste. With difficulty he swallowed, grabbing a glass of water to rinse his mouth. "What was that?"
"Mashed potatoes." Her face was crestfallen, her voice small sounding and filled with hurt.
"Of course it was. Try less salt next time." Pulling her into his arms his kissed the top of her head, ignoring the lump in his gut that had in no way tasted like anything resembling a potato.
Thanksgiving was only a few days away when he finally figured out what to do. Sneaking out of the house he made a hurried phone call, explaining the situation to the person who answered in a quick whisper. Ignoring the loud laughter coming from the other party, he obtained the answer he wanted and ended the call. Just in time, too, because Rose was looking for him, ready for him to sample her latest masterpiece. Dear God, the things the woman did to him.
"The table is ready Roza. I'm going to run and get a few bottles of wine. Do you need anything?" He pulled on his duster, sticking his head in the kitchen, shocked by what he saw before him. Rose was sitting on the floor in the middle of the kitchen with silent tears streaming down her beautiful face. "Roza? Baby? What is it?" Rushing over to her side he gathered her in his arms, worried beyond belief. Rose didn't cry. Ever.
"I suck at being a girl. I can't cook Dimitri. Look at my pies. Look at them." She pointed towards the counter, at what he assumed were supposed to be the pies in question. "Everyone is going to be here for dinner in a like an hour, and everything is inedible." She buried her face in his shirt, hiding away her tears.
"You don't know that, Roza. I'm sure the turkey will be fine. How much longer does it have to cook?"
Her answer was muffled by his chest so he pulled back, gazing down at her with tenderness. "What was that?"
"I haven't started it yet. I was going to do that next." Sniffling, she pulled away, walking over to Olena's large, stand-alone freezer.
"Um, Rose? You didn't take it out to thaw?" He hated to ask it, but it had to be done.
She turned to face him, her lower lip trembling slightly. "Was I supposed to?"
"Oh Roza." He crossed the kitchen in three large strides, pulling her to his chest. "It takes hours for a turkey to thaw and then even longer to cook."
"I thought it was like cooking chicken."
"Sweetheart, your chicken was inedible." He ducked his head, pressing his forehead against hers and staring into her tear filled eyes. "I love you. I love every single thing about you, even your non-existent cooking skills. You know that, don't you?"
She laughed, which was the response he'd hoped for. Pulling her out of the kitchen he pushed her towards the stairs. "Go get ready for our guests, and don't worry about dinner. Everything will work out, I promise." He kissed her softly, making sure she went upstairs before hurrying out the door.
Thirty minutes later he loaded the last covered dish into the back of his already loaded down SUV. Each and every dish his Roza had been talking about had been prepared to perfection, but none other than his snarky charge. Thanking Christian profusely, he hurried home and had everything unloaded and in place by the time Rose made her way downstairs.
His breath caught at the sight of her. Her long dark hair was cascading down her back in shining waves, free and loose, the way he liked her to wear it. Her makeup was minimal and her outfit simple—black pants and an off the shoulder black t-shirt—but she made it look like a million dollars.
"You look beautiful, Roza."
"Thanks Comrade, but what are we going to do about din—" she broke off abruptly, a look of sheer astonishment on her face as she took in the spread on the table. It was quickly replaced by a look of such heartbreaking happiness that it made every single torturous minute he'd spent sampling her cooking worthwhile. "Wha… How?"
He stayed silent as she walked around the table staring at everything, her expression similar to one a child might wear on Christmas morning. He smiled as he surveyed the masterpieces on the table. Each dish was beautiful, and he knew it would taste even better than it looked—Christian really was an artist in the kitchen. "You're not the only one who's thankful, Rose. You have people who love you—who are grateful for all you've done. People who want to celebrate with you."
"Christian. You told Christian, didn't you?" She attempted to raise an eyebrow questioningly, earning a chuckle in return for her failed effort. "You do realize he's never going to let me live this down, right?"
A knock at the front door saved him from answering. Before he could move to answer it, her arms snaked up around his neck and her lips claimed his. She pulled away all too soon, leaving him breathless. "Of all the things I'm thankful for Dimitri, you top the list. I love you."
"And I love you Roza."
She watched him as he left the room, headed towards the door with a smile on his face. Reaching over to light the candles on the table, she brushed away a happy tear before it could slide down her cheek. Only Dimitri would do something so thoughtful. Only Christian had the skill to pull it off on a moment's notice. Smiling, she went to greet the people she loved, pleased to have this wonderful Thanksgiving to add to the memories of the ones she'd cherished in the past.