The Mistress Read online

  And then she thought of something, and guessed it might be nice for him. “Would you like a tour of the boat, as long as you’re here?” If it meant leaving her presence, and roaming the huge yacht with a deckhand or even an officer, he didn’t want to. He would rather talk to her for a few more minutes, especially since Vladimir was obviously not there, or he would have received the painting himself. He was about to decline the offer, when she suggested taking him around herself. She looked like a young girl as she led him inside the boat, and down the grand staircase. Theo followed her in fascination. She was far more intriguing than the boat, and completely unaware of how taken with her he was.

  He couldn’t keep his eyes off her as she took him through the engine room, the galley, the food-freezing units, the spa, the enormous gym fully equipped with every kind of machine, and the ballet studio with an exercise barre. There was a hair salon, a racquetball court, outdoor and indoor swimming pools, a huge hot tub, a bar in some form on every floor, a dining room that would seat forty people, and an outdoor dining room just as large that they used every day. There were leather floors and walls that had been installed by Hermès, incredible wood paneling, gorgeous furniture, and mind-boggling art. He counted six Picassos on their tour, and now his father’s work would be part of their permanent collection, and Theo was proud of that.

  Theo noticed at least a dozen staterooms, and living quarters for the seventy-five crew members she said lived and worked onboard. Four full-time chefs, and twenty sous-chefs. He was startled to see an entire cold room where a full-time florist worked, making arrangements for every room on the boat. They had their own fire department, a huge room for all the security guards, a gigantic laundry and dry cleaning facility, a luggage room for all their bags, and another where all the uniforms for the crew were kept and dispensed, with three attendants. There were different uniforms for every job and rank.

  She showed him a movie theater that could accommodate fifty, with large comfortable chairs that swiveled, and several locked rooms she didn’t explain to him. He wondered if weaponry was involved since one was next to the security guards’ position. It seemed obvious to him that a man as rich and powerful as Vladimir would have arms on the boat to protect him. And they ended up at the wheelhouse, where the captain and several officers were talking amiably in front of radar screens and state-of-the-art computers and electronic equipment. The captain was British, as were most of the officers, but Theo had noticed that there were many Russian crew members too, and all the security guards were Russian. There were deckhands from Russia, the Philippines, Australia, and New Zealand. The kitchen staff was all Italian. And he heard a veritable United Nations of languages spoken, from French to Chinese, as they walked through, though mostly Russian.

  Natasha greeted all of them as though she knew them, and they were polite and respectful to her. She clearly had an important position. She wasn’t just some bimbo or pretty face brought on to entertain Vladimir. He was the lord and master here, but she was the lady of the house, and it was obvious that they liked her, with her gentle ways. She didn’t show off as she took him around, or put on airs. She was simple and casual, and acted like an ordinary person. When they got back to the outdoor bar where the tour had started, she offered him champagne. He accepted but didn’t know what to say. He had never seen anything like it, and it had taken them nearly an hour to tour the gigantic boat. It was as intricate and complete as a cruise ship, but so much more beautiful. And every single thing in it was of the finest quality, from the art to the fabrics, the furniture, and the priceless objects scattered around as part of the décor. Vladimir had an eye for beauty in all things. And Natasha was proof of that as well. Theo couldn’t help wondering what it was like to live in his exalted world and be part of such a dazzling machine.

  “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 touc
h 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.

  “I’m always impressed by the women who hang out with those Russians. They must be real pros in bed, for the men to spend money on them the way they do. Couture clothes, incredible jewels, furs, art. I see a lot of that stuff come up at auction, when I go to Drouot in Paris. Those girls really know how to work a guy and make their bodies pay off.” He felt sick as he listened to her, and thought of Natasha, who was a far cry from what she was describing. He couldn’t see her in that light and didn’t want to.

  “I think there’s a big difference between the hookers they hire, and the women they live with, their mistresses,” Theo said in quiet defense of them.

  “Not really,” Chloe said confidently. “Maybe the mistresses just do it better. They’re the elite. But they sure know how to make a guy pay his dues.” Her views on relationships made his skin crawl, as he looked at her, feeling as though he were seeing a stranger, someone he didn’t want to meet.

  “Is that what it’s all about? ‘Making a guy pay his dues’? Forgive me, maybe I’m an idealist, but does love fit anywhere into that picture?” His parents had adored each other, and their love affair had started when his father was dirt poor. He liked that model a lot better than the one she was describing, and obviously looking for. She had gotten more direct about it recently.

  “Probably not for those girls. And let’s face it, marriage is probably just a better version of the same idea. You give up your life for a guy, service him forever until you can’t stand each other’s bodies anymore, and he takes care of you. What’s wrong with that? At least I’m honest about it. And so are those Russian girls, and the guys they’re with know what they’re buying. You play, you pay, and if a girl knows how to operate the machinery, she gets a lot more. Take a good look at those Russian girls. They know what they’re doing.” He felt as though she were insulting Natasha when she said it, and there was something so pure about her. Vladimir might be supporting her, and surely was, but she looked like a woman with a heart and soul. Chloe made all relationships between men and women sound like prostitution. He stood up after he had listened to her for as long as he could stand to. He had dropped by to take her to dinner, and hopefully go to bed with her, but it was suddenly the last thing he wanted, and all he wanted to do was run out the door.

  “You’ve got a very materialistic view of marriage,” he said, looking down at her, sitting on the couch, holding her glass of wine. She had a nice body, and knew how to use it, and now he realized why. She was using it as a bargaining tool, hoping he would marry her and pay her bills. She had never made it quite this clear before.

  “My father didn’t leave me a lot of money like yours did,” she said bluntly. “I can’t hide in my ivory tower, perfecting my brushstrokes. I have to be more practical than you do. And if playing my body like a harp makes you want to marry me, and support me, what’s so wrong with that?” She had no idea how she sounded, and didn’t care.

  “Because playing your body like a harp isn’t enough,” he said honestly.

  “You thought so last night when you tried to come by to get laid when you left your mother’s restaurant.” He couldn’t remember her being as openly venal as this before, but the months they had spent together hadn’t been fruitful for her. He wasn’t in love with her, he didn’t want to marry her and never would. And she was angry that things hadn’t turned out as she had hoped since the beginning, when she found out who his father was. She thought she had hit a gold mine when she met him, and instead he wanted to live as if he were a starving artist, and become an important painter like his father, and she wasn’t getting any younger. And she was turning out to be precisely the kind of woman he went to great lengths to avoid.

  “I still have this crazy idea that I want to fall in love with someone before I spend the rest of my life with them, or pay their bills, as you put it. I didn’t realize the bills were such an essential part of the deal on the way in. I’d like to think that a woman could fall in love with me, before she falls for my wallet.”

  “It’s all part of the same picture,” Chloe said cynically.

  “So why don’t you go after one of the big Russians? There are plenty of them around here.” He sounded angry as he said it.

  “They only go for their own. Have you ever seen one of those major Russian guys with a French mistress? Or even a French date? They only date Russian girls. They stick to what they know.” He had never thought about it before, but she was right. The Russian men he had seen at his mother’s restaurant always had Russian girls with them. And Natasha proved the rule. “Those girls must know something we don’t.”

  “Maybe you could take lessons from them,” he said, disappointed. He hadn’t fallen in love with her, but he had liked her for a while. Now he couldn’t stand what he was hearing. She had never been this honest with him before.

  “Maybe I need some practice,” she said, smiling at him. He had disappointed her too, and hadn’t spent enough time with her or made a commitment, but she was willing to overlook it, for a night at least. “Want to go to bed?” She took all the romance and seduction out of it. And he had gone to see her with that intention, but suddenly it was the last thing he wanted.

  “Actually, I don’t. I think you just summed it up pretty well. You’re looking for a guy to pay your bills, long term, in exchange for sex and your other talents. And I’m not looking for marriage, but I still have these childlike illusions about being in love with the woman I’m with, if I’m going to stick around long term. I think we’ve exhausted the possibilities here, and we both need to move on.” She was startled when he said it, as he stood at the door and turned to look at her. “Good luck, Chloe, I’m sure you’ll find the guy you’re looking for.”

  “I thought you might be it for a while,” she said softly, and then shrugged.

  “I’m not.” He looked relieved as he took one step out the door.

  “I know. I figured that out for myself,” she said coldly.

  “Russian lessons, maybe?” he said in a slightly cynical tone. She had all the makings of a gold digger and had finally tipped her hand. He hadn’t seen it before. She had played a better game at first.

  She didn’t answer, and he walked out, and all she saw as she watched him go was the gold mine he represented, slipping through her fingers, again. She wasn’t sure why, but it always went wrong. She threw her empty wineglass at the wall, and started to cry when it broke.

  And all Theo wanted to do was go home. She made him feel unclean somehow, as though it were all about a trade of sex for money. There had to be something more meaningful than that. He thought of Natasha then, and she was exactly what Chloe was talking about and aspired to, but Natasha wasn’t crass or che
ap and didn’t seem like a gold digger, even though she was a kept woman. She seemed like a nice girl, and talking to her had been so easy and light and fun.

  He walked into his studio the minute he got home, and stood there looking lost for a moment. He knew what he had to do, and felt compelled to, although he knew he shouldn’t. He couldn’t stop himself—it was a force more powerful than he was. He picked up the blank canvas he had pulled out the night before, and set it on his easel. He knew the only way to get her out of his mind was to paint her. He didn’t even lay the groundwork with a sketch before he started painting her in oil. He didn’t need to. She was seared into his memory, and he could see her face as though she were standing before him. He could see her laugh when he said something to her, and her wistful smile as the tender pulled away from the boat, taking him away from her. He could hear the way she pronounced her name when she said it. Natasha…Natasha…the sway of her hips, when he followed her down the stairs, the way her hair flew in the wind, when she stood watching him from the rail…she filled every inch of his mind and electrified his body as he started painting her, and within a short time he could see her emerge from the mists on the canvas…Natasha…she had bewitched him body and soul…he felt possessed as he continued painting her in a frenzy until dawn. He didn’t know or care what time it was, just so he could be near her. Her eyes were already looking deep into his by then.

  Chapter 4

  Vladimir landed back on the boat three days after Theo had delivered the painting. He asked to see it moments after he came onboard and sent one of his security guards to get it from his office. He unwrapped it carefully, and slowly unveiled it, as Natasha watched. He hadn’t asked who had delivered it, which was immaterial and didn’t even occur to him, so she had nothing to explain. She never had guests onboard, so the time she had spent with Theo was unusual, but there had been no harm in it. It was just a tiny slice of a “normal” life she had never had and never would, and had willingly given up to be with Vladimir. It was fun just tasting it for an instant, talking to someone close to her own age, who wanted nothing from her. She had so little contact with anyone beyond Vladimir’s world. In lieu of friends, she had Vladimir. And she had no regrets about it. But it had been nice talking to Theo about art and life, and showing him the boat, like two kids exploring each other’s homes, although she had a sense that Vladimir wouldn’t like it. He saw no need for her to talk to anyone but him. She wondered where and how Theo lived—probably in a small apartment somewhere, or a room, with his job at the restaurant. She didn’t know people like him. Theo was the first man she had actually talked to in years, other than Vladimir, or without his being present and watching her closely. And she could only have conversations with Vladimir when he was in the mood and on the subjects he chose. Her conversation with Theo had felt so open and free, although she knew nothing about him.