Page 124 of The Oligarch's Daughter

A long pause. Paul was about to repeat his question when she replied, “Papa has invited some rich, important people, and Polina will be here.”

“Isn’t she always?”

“Not always. She doesn’t like to be in the sun. It ages your skin. You’ll be delighted to hear that Niko’s coming, too. With the latest in his parade of beautiful bimbos. A couple other people I don’t know. And of course, Berzin and the security guards.”

She emerged from the shower, dried herself with one of the big Turkish cotton bath towels, wrapped her hair with another, smaller towel.

“Pasha, is everything okay with you?”

“Me? Sure, what do you mean?” What was she picking up from him? She did know how to read him pretty well.

“Us, I mean. There’s, like, this distance. Or, it feels cooler between us. And not in a good way.”

He drew closer, put his arms around her. Was she sensing the guilt that seeped from his every pore?

“You’re not cheating on me, are you?”

Softly, he said, “Come on.”

After a moment, she said, “Well, something’s changed. Anyway, I have to do my hair before it dries.” She pulled away.

She blow-dried her hair, applied her makeup. They dressed for dinner. Tatyana looked amazing; she wore a silky white maxi dress that was extremely sexy. He’d brought his blue blazer and a light-blue linen shirt.

Tatyana brought Pushkin to dinner in his little plaid carrier. “Pushok gets nervous if I leave him alone anywhere that’s not home,” she explained. She had once told Paul that “Pushok,” her nickname for her dog, meant “Fluff Ball.”

Paul put theDONOTDISTURBsign on the suite door. It was in English and Russian.

“Why?” she said.

“We don’t need turndown service.” He was leaving his laptop in there, and he didn’t want their suite searched.

Like that was going to stop anyone.

82

Dinner was to be served in an outdoor dining area on the aft deck, which was beautifully illuminated. With them so far away from the lights of the shore, the sky was black, crowded with stars. The yacht’s railings were glass. Several bodyguards, in their gray suits, stood around awkwardly, a couple of them leaning against the bulkhead. That meant the boss was nearby.

Sure enough, Paul spotted Galkin sitting at a small table by a full bar, talking quietly to someone, a younger man with a mop of gray hair. Galkin was wearing a blue blazer and an ascot, like someone out of an Edith Wharton novel. When he saw his daughter entering with Paul, he stood up and extended his arms. He greeted them in Russian and hugged and kissed Tatyana and then, to Paul’s surprise, hugged him. In English, he said to Paul, “Welcome to thePechorin. You know who is Pechorin?”

“He’s the hero of our time,” Paul said.

“Prekrasno!” Galkin said. Terrific. “You understand?”

Paul nodded. “Yes.”

“You read this book?”

Paul shook his head. “But I will.”

“Pechorin is brave and lives his life fully. ‘To the hilt,’ you say, yes? He doesn’t care about society. He never needs to impress people.” Then Arkady changed the subject. “How is your room? Is okay?”

“It’s great,” Paul said. “Amazing. What a beautiful boat.”

“Thank you,” he said, nodding. “Not bad for half a billion dollars, yes?”

“Not bad at all.”

“We talk later, yes?”