The Mistress(20)
“It really is incredible, and even bigger than it looks from onshore,” he said admiringly as he accepted the glass of champagne she handed him.
“Yes, it is,” she agreed. “Do you like boats?” she asked, curious about him too, and he laughed as he answered.
“I do, but I’ve never been on one this big.” It was an entirely self-contained world, almost like a city. And she hadn’t taken him to their suite, or Vladimir’s office, which were never part of any tour, but she had shown him everything else. And he noticed that the security guards had disappeared once the painting had been delivered. They hadn’t brought any guards to the restaurant either, which surprised him. He imagined that for a man as rich as Vladimir, security must be a constant issue, but he didn’t comment on it. “Thank you for the tour,” he said as they sat down on the couch, and looked at the coastline quietly for a minute. He liked being there with her. She seemed like a sweet person, and when he looked into her eyes, they were wide open and clear, and she looked intrigued by him too.
Neither of them spoke for a long moment, as he felt himself being inexorably drawn to her, and for an insane moment, he wondered what would happen if he kissed her. He would probably be grabbed by a dozen bodyguards and thrown overboard, or maybe killed, he mused to himself, and then laughed at the insane fantasy. She smiled at him as though she could read his thoughts, and what attracted him to her most was that while she was sensual and beautiful, there was nothing vulgar or overtly sexy about her. She was the most delicate woman he had ever seen, and she seemed innocent somehow, as though she wasn’t really part of any of this, and yet she was, and lived with the man who had created it and could afford to pay for it, and four other boats, and several houses that were just as legendary. He wanted to ask her what it was like to live like this, but didn’t dare. They finished their champagne quietly, and then she stood up. She seemed more relaxed than she had the night before, and was clearly at home on the enormous boat, with an army of crew members around her to meet her every need.
She walked him to the lower deck, and smiled at him as he got into the tender. The sailors onboard were already gunning the engines, ready to take off, as he wondered if he would ever see her again, and doubted that he would. Even if she came to the restaurant, he wouldn’t be there—he would be at home painting in his studio. And then she thought of something right before he left.
“I forgot to ask your name.” She looked like a child as she smiled at him. They had spent nearly two hours together without introduction.
“Theo.”
“Natasha,” she said, sounding very Russian. “Goodbye, Theo. Thank you.” He didn’t know it, but she was thanking him for two hours as a normal person, talking about ordinary things, even as they toured Vladimir’s boat. She never got to spend time with people like him, and had given up the opportunity to ever do that when she became Vladimir’s mistress. She lived in the lofty isolation of his universe now, and renounced mundane pursuits like coffee or drinks or even lunch with a friend, or laughing about silly, unimportant things. She lived in the shadows of Vladimir’s life, far from the nightmare of her youth but also far from an everyday life. She was like a precious jewel being kept in a safe and was rarely out in public.
She waved as the tender pulled away, and ran back upstairs on light feet. She stood at the rail, and watched the tender speed back to the dock at the hotel, and he turned to look at her, and saw her like a speck at the rail, her hair flying in the breeze, as they took distance from the yacht and approached the shore. And then at last she walked away from the rail, and he couldn’t see her anymore. All he had left was the memory of two hours in her company, a memory he was sure he would cherish forever.
—
On the drive back to his studio, after assuring Gabriel and his mother that the painting had been delivered, he decided to stop and visit Chloe. Part of him didn’t want to see anyone after spending two hours with Natasha. He didn’t want anything to spoil it, or intrude on his mental vision of her. And another part of him wanted to reenter reality and get both feet on terra firma again. His mother had been somewhat right—women like Natasha were fatally attractive and totally unattainable. He needed to touch a real woman now. One who wasn’t out of his reach. And Chloe seemed like a simple solution.
He pulled up in front of her house, and walked into her studio. She was drinking a glass of wine, and had just finished work for the day. She was completing some commercial canvases that she had promised to a bath shop in St. Tropez. She turned in surprise when he walked in.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, not sounding entirely welcoming. She was still annoyed by his call the night before.
“I just delivered a painting of my father’s to one of the big Russian yachts.”
“I thought your mother didn’t sell them,” she said, waving him to a chair, but she made no move to kiss him.
“She usually doesn’t, but made an exception for this one.” Chloe could guess easily that the Russian must have paid a fortune for it, or his mother wouldn’t have sold it. It irritated Chloe at times how uninterested he was in material comforts. But he didn’t need to be—his father had left him a huge fortune. She had been struggling for years, trying to make ends meet, and she was tired of it. She was ready to settle down, stop working, and have someone pay her bills. And his lack of interest in commitment had been aggravating her and made her irritable with him. She hadn’t been satisfied with the relationship they’d had for several months.