Page 15 of Koroleva

I felt happy with my hands full of grease or roaring down backroads on one of those beauties.

That's how I met Yuri Korolev, by chance. His motorcycle wouldn't start, and I offered to help him.

He was a freshman, and I was a junior. We met mid-semester, and the connection was instant. He was somewhat reserved but fun, the kind of guy you'd instinctively trust with your life, as I later found out.

He had brilliant ideas, a spark not everyone could see, and we got along perfectly.

There was only one issue between us: our last names.

We didn't immediately realize who our parents were and the insurmountable difference it would pose for our friendship being the sons of who we were.

We shared the same campus but not the same major; he studied Chemistry, and I studied Business Administration. I was the heir, so I figured it was the smartest thing I could do to help with the family business, plus, I was always more into math than literature. I liked numbers and wanted to contribute my bit to grow the business. I've always had a competitive spirit.

From that day, we started greeting each other, realized we frequented the same cafe, shared similar musical tastes, and enjoyed each other's company.

The friendship grew, and one day, a few weeks before the end of the semester, as we were having a beer in the cafe after the last class, one of his classmates called him by his last name, wanting to invite him to a party. I looked at him puzzled as soon as I heard it, because, even though he was Russian, I had heard it more than once.

"Korolev?" I asked. He smiled.

"You didn't expect my name to be Giménez, did you?" he joked sarcastically.

I knew his background. Plus, his features, his accent, and his place of birth gave him away. What I didn't know was whether that surname was as common as calling oneself Fernández in Spain or Rossi in Italy.

"What's your father's name?" I cautiously asked.

"In Russia, we tend to have the same names."

"Yuri?" I pressed, relieved.

"No! Korolev, dummy. My father's name is Vladimir."

I turned pale. Okay, I wouldn't jump to conclusions; maybe

Vladimir was also a popular name.

"What does your father do?" was my next question. Yuri seemed uncomfortable and several seconds passed before he gave me an answer.

"Business."

"What kind of business?" I persisted.

"What is this? An interrogation? Or are you trying to see if I'm a good catch to ask for my hand? Because I warn you, I'm not into guys..."

I let out a laugh that almost propelled my beer through my nose.

"No, it's not that, it's just that I've realized we hardly ever talk about our families." «And it was true» "I also like women, in case you didn't notice the other night, especially blondes." «We had gone out partying and I hooked up with one» "Don't take it the wrong way, but as much as I like you, I would never sleep with you."

"Good to know. Remind me not to introduce you to my sister then."

"Your sister? I have one too, she's a nightmare, though I love her."

"Well, the truth is that I have three, but Nikita is my doppelgänger as a wife."

"Yuck!" I exclaimed. "Does she have a mustache?"

At that moment, Yuri was pretending to let some fuzz grow under his nose. My friend clicked his tongue and looked offended.

"No, you are an idiot! He was referring to our personalities. Physically, she is exactly like my mother." He took out his cell phone and showed me a photo in which he was with an impressive girl. I let out a whistle. Okay, she was only a teenager, but she had allure. She had a pretty face and a body that promised to mature into something precious and very desirable. "Stop drooling, she's a minor."

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