Story of a Disastrous Internet Romance

By Svetlana Repina

story of a disastrous internet romance unfolds as a powerful and mesmerizing tale. The heroine, natalia, a young russian woman who dares to dream of a better life, is one that will stay in the reader's memory for a long, long time. The american she weds, carlos, is quite unforgettable also, but for polar opposite reasons

• Language: English
• Publisher: Svetlana Repina
• Release date: Jan 28, 2010
• ISBN: 9781465967411

Svetlana Repina

I grew up in the former Soviet Republic in 80-s. My love for reading books came from studying classics at school and I often succeeded at writing compositions.I moved to USA in late nineties and experienced a huge culture shock. After the first few years in the states I started writing my book which then was co authored with and also edited by Steve Fortosis.

Book preview

Story of a Disastrous Internet Romance

A novel about a Mail Order Bride

By Svetlana Repina

With Steve Fortosis

Copyright 2010 Svetlana Repina

Smashwords Edition

This book is dedicated to Maryanne, my best friend.

The people and the events in the Story of a Disastrous Internet Romance have been changed to protect the innocent and any similarities to actual persons, either living or dead, are merely coincidental

Chapter 1

The Letter

Someone’s knocking on our door, my mother called.

My sister and I were sitting at the kitchen table sipping tea.

Are you expecting anyone? I glanced at my sister Vera.

Who would I be expecting? Maybe it’s a mysterious stranger from Casablanca, or maybe a new customer for you. It was probably my sister’s client. Sometimes they came by without a warning.

I went to open the door. There was a twelve year old girl with dark-brown, braided hair. She looked at me curiously.

Zdravstvuite, she remarked, enthusiastically greeting me. She passed an oversized, international yellow envelope.

It is to your address, she said, but they put it in our mailbox.

I thanked her for her trouble.

What is it? my sister said curiously.

I showed her the envelope and she raised her brow at the unusual shape and color of it. In a continuous flow of letters from men, this was something out of the ordinary. Inside, I found five photos and a lengthy letter.

Wow, this is a long one compared to some, I commented.

Usually first letters were brief introductions with no photos; guys just wanted to see if there was likely to be a spark of romance.

Look, I pointed to a photo, cute, a little chubby, but athletic.

Yeah, very nice. Let’s see who he is. Could be the one, she joked. His letter almost got lost; it is a sign!

I had been registered on an international dating website for a while now. Correspondence from various men had become a bit boring, I was growing jaded. Was this just another letter in a chain that did not seem to end? There were many letters in my drawer from men who wrote me once or twice. There was a couple who wrote for longer periods.

Few men seemed serious, and I had not clicked with anyone. Men wrote and occasionally called, and the soap opera continued. I plopped down on the couch and began to read:

Baby, I often look into the night sky and see all the stars in this lonely world. I know God has designed this magnificence as an inspiration. I know there is a calling for me and I’m predestined to follow it. All of the stars in the sky lead me to you and there are lots of things unfolding as if God designed them specifically for me. He leads my way to you, and nothing is impossible to me. After all, life is all about the opportunities we take and you know, baby, there is nothing impossible for me and you in this world.

I felt a hint of intrigue with this one. I turned to page two. The next few paragraphs expanded on the fact that everything is possible in this world for those who reach out boldly and take.

I was impressed, but he seemed a little nutty. Why would he call me baby before he even knew me? It was somewhat off-putting but at least he had goals. I was definitely not such a go-getter as he appeared to be. Maybe I could learn from him what I lacked. Perhaps it was not such a bad thing… He was definitely very decisive and confident.

I sighed and read on.

Natalia, I just started my new business and I’m so excited about our future…I am being mentored by a genius and I am going to be a real estate guru.

What? Is this another one of those get-rich-quick guys who gets-poor-fast? But he struck a curious note in me. Maybe I was just afraid of our differences. He was from another country, another culture. I thought of my boredom in Russia; maybe life with a man like this would be exciting...

I want to take care of you, my princess, and provide for the children we might have. We will live in a castle and you will be my queen. I will take care of you, honor you with my life, and protect you from all harm.

Wow… charming words. Those words I only heard in fairy tails. He made big claims, but at least he was not boring. Every girl longs for a true romantic. Maybe he is for real.

He signed his name, Carlos, with a flourish. I felt connected in some mysterious sense to Carlos. He expressed so confidently and boldly that I was the one he had always been looking for. I had felt no lasting connection with any of the other men, and none of the letters I received were quite like this one.

What do you think? said my sister, taking the letter. Wow, she said, you are already his baby. She laughed. He is quick, this Carlos, hah?

We looked at the photos again. He is definitely cute.

I sat down to write Carlos a letter. This was the beginning of a relationship far different than I would ever have dreamed.

Chapter 2

America: Unreachable dream

As a young girl I was enamored of everything American. I looked at magazines and there were always faces of American women who’d succeeded in life and appeared self-assured. Americans were bold, brash, and free-spirited. They laughed and bubbled with life. I wished I had what they had---few people in Russia seemed to possess that same self-satisfaction and happiness in their lives.

My overblown concept of Americans was of a joking, resilient people who lived their lives to the full whether or not in happy circumstances. I saw my fellow Russian people as sorrowful, grumpy, and discontented both in real life and in movies. It is true that people in Russia truly do not use their smile a lot.

My college friend Irina and I would discuss celebrities on our way to school.

Did you see Paula Abdul’s new album? Irina said. She’s so nice and so beautiful.

I know, and I still like some of her old hits too.

What celebrity guys do you like the best?

I like Micky Roorke with his cool movies and that crooked little grin.

Yeah, but Michael Jackson is the greatest all-round performer, said Irina with a delicious shiver. No one will ever beat him.

I nodded. It’s funny how celebrities are always changing in America. Why can’t they be loyal? They think people like Paula and Michael Jackson can’t last forever, but time just makes them greater stars, you know, like Elvis Presley.

One evening Irina and I went to a movie starring Steven Seagal. We walked out of the theatre blown away. What a man! Now, that is a movie! And Steven Seagal, hah?

There are no men like Seagal, I said to Irina.

He is so charming, she commented dreamily as we strolled toward home.

We passed a couple of guys holding bottles of beer in their hands. They smiled and waved at us in greeting, slowing down their pace for a desired chat with us, but we ignored the strangers and continued our conversation. We did not want any encounters with these guys. They were nothing like Steven Seagal. Irina shrugged her shoulders in disgust. We continued talking about the movie.

It is not only that he is handsome and well built, I said. He would never get drunk. He is all about honor, respect and charm." Irina thought the same.

I sure wished such a noble, strong man would come along and sweep me off my feet. He would treat me like a princess, he would protect me from any harm and my happiness would be his happiness.

Everything about America appeared uplifting and fun. Of course, I didn’t think of the fact that being multi-millionaires and receiving hero worship wherever they went might be one reason these prominent people could seem so carefree and self-satisfied. Even though it was just another movie, Seagal was still a very charming man whose voice alone made me feel loved and appreciated.

The following week, I and my friends, Elena and Laura, were in the library.

While I checked out some books, I glimpsed the girls motioning to me. They raised their brows and waved at me, begging me to come and look at something very significant.

I was distracted. What could be so important in a boring newspaper?

Just look what we found!

They pointed me at the ads with pictures of American men looking for Russian wives. I had heard of this.

I looked at them in disbelief. You are not seriously considering answering these, are you?

We are going to do this, Laura stated mysteriously.

But these men are ancient; some are thirty-five or older. They’re looking for older women.

No, they are looking for us! Little bit older is okay. They are more mature, just read their ads! We will just give it a shot to check if it is real, they said. Come on.

Whatever has gotten into you? I said. How could you consider this? These men are halfway across the globe. They don’t even speak our language.

We were too young, we didn’t know English, we had no money, and who knows how many other girls answered these ads.

Still, there was something that intrigued me about these men in general. It was their outlook---they exuded optimism and enthusiasm about life. And thinking of where they lived made my heart ache. America - a dreamland located all the way across a seemingly endless ocean. I sighed. Certainly I would never have the guts to take such a step. I was still in my early twenties and I waved the seductive thoughts away. At that time, any desire to go abroad was negated by feelings for my family and also a simple lack of money. Yet, I did like to read about the Americans and admired their freedoms and opportunities, with perhaps a moderate dose of jealousy thrown in.

Chapter 3

My Air Castle

My bumpy road to America started sometime in 1994. I remember this day clearly. It was in very early spring. The sun had melted the remaining ice on the streets and the last muddy potholes on the streets were drying up. The only traces of winter were the little snowy islands scattered among green patches of grass that had sprouted for a new season. Fresh soil was being released from its icy prison, filling the air with a pungent fragrance. Everyone seemed to be outside, and kids were playing in the sun.

Sometimes spring in Russia exploded into a world of color. In a week or so, suddenly, all whiteness would disappear, as if it had never been; and grass, trees, and flowers would begin budding.

It was a Sunday morning and my friend, Ula, dropped in. Come on, I want go somewhere, she said. I quickly dressed, threw on some makeup, and we were off. We ended up at a flea market. This place was crowded with people selling and buying Chinese goodies. We browsed for a while, got ice cream cones, and headed home.

As we headed for the bus, I grabbed a newspaper. Flipping through the paper at home, I came across an ad that jumped out at me: a company was looking for people who knew some English. It magnetized my interest. The possibility of working with foreigners seemed unreal to me; my city was not known for attracting foreign business. At home, I passed the paper to my sister Vera, curious how she would rate that post.

"Does this seem like