“Don’t worry. I’ll find something to do.” She put her arms around him, and he felt her breasts rub against his chest, and he leaned away to cup them with his hands.
“I should take you with me, but I’ll be busy, and you’d be bored in Moscow. Stay on the boat. Don’t go to the house without me.” She knew the risk of random attacks and burglaries, and never went to the house in St. Jean Cap-Ferrat without him. “We’ll do something fun when I get back. Maybe St. Tropez or Sardinia.” She looked pleased at the idea, and followed him to the door of their bedroom for a last kiss. He slipped his hands into her satin nightgown, and dropped it to the floor at her feet, to reveal her remarkable body in all its splendor. It still thrilled him to know that she was his, like a dazzling piece of art he owned, and he knew that he was envied by all who saw her. They kissed one last time, and then he stepped out of their bedroom, and gently closed the door behind him, as Natasha headed for the bathroom, smiling as she thought about him, and turned on the shower. And as she got into it a moment later, she heard the helicopter take off from the upper deck. She didn’t even think about why he was going to Moscow, and didn’t need to know. There were questions she never asked herself. All she needed to know was that she belonged to him, and in his own way, to the extent that he was capable, he loved her. It was enough. And she loved him too—he was her savior.
—
Maylis was going over the restaurant books that morning when Gabriel called her from Paris. She kept a close eye on everything, and always made sure that no one was stealing. Their food bills were high, the produce costs were ridiculous, flown in from all over Europe, and their wine bills were astronomical, but so were the prices they charged, and everything appeared to be in order. She sounded serious when she took Gabriel’s call.
“Is something wrong?” He was sensitive to all her moods, and tried to solve all her problems. He had protected her almost like a child since he began representing Lorenzo, and did so even more now that he and Maylis were lovers. He treated her with all the respect due a wife, and the concern of a loving father, although he was only four years older than she was. And at sixty-seven, he looked considerably older than she did. They both had white hair, and hers was no longer premature, but her face was youthful and unlined, and her body was still sensual and appealing, just as it had been when she modeled for Lorenzo.
“No, I was just going over the books. Everything looks fine. When are you coming down from Paris?”
He smiled at the question. “I just left you three days ago. I have to spend some time here, or Marie-Claude will scold me.” He spent as much time as possible in St. Paul de Vence, even though he still owned the gallery in Paris. For the past three years, since becoming a couple with Maylis, however unusual their arrangement, he tried to be with her as much as he could. But in her mind, she was still married to a dead man, and treated Gabriel like an illicit lover. She rarely admitted to anyone that she and Gabriel were lovers, but he accepted all her quirks and eccentricities to be with her. And his daughter Marie-Claude had run his gallery for years now. She had just turned forty, was married to a successful lawyer, and had two teenage children, whom she said Gabriel saw too little of, because he was always in St. Paul de Vence with Maylis, and far more involved with her and Theo than with his own family. It upset Marie-Claude, and she had resented it for years, and was very vocal about it with her father.
“Marie-Claude can manage without you. I can’t,” Maylis said simply, and he smiled, and knew that it was true. Maylis had proven capable with the restaurant, but was much more intimidated handling her own financial affairs, or Lorenzo’s, which were considerably more complicated. Gabriel had a great head for finance and loved taking care of her in any way he could, and making her life easier. He had done it for years. His daughter was an excellent businesswoman too, but she didn’t like being in constant competition with the Lucas for his attention. She thought his single-minded attachment to them unhealthy, and his efforts unappreciated. She thought Maylis was an incredibly selfish woman who never hesitated to monopolize her father’s time, to his detriment, and used him.
“I’ll be back soon. I thought I’d spend a week here and see what Marie-Claude has been up to. She signed a flock of new artists.” In recent years, he had become barely more than a silent partner in the gallery he had founded. Lorenzo’s affairs still took up all his time—the estate was huge, and more intricate than ever to manage. He wanted to make sure that Maylis would be in great financial shape forever, in case anything happened to him, and he also advised Theo and managed his finances for him. Theo was more astute about his affairs than his mother but preferred focusing on his painting. “I had a call this morning that I want to discuss with you, Maylis.”
“Oh, please don’t tell me they’re raising my taxes again, and how you want to manage it. It always gives me a headache.” She sounded instantly nervous as she said it. “Can’t you just take care of it for me?”
“Not this time. It’s not about taxes—you have a decision to make. I got a call from an attorney in London, representing a client. He wishes to remain anonymous but is an important art collector. He wants to buy a painting he saw at the restaurant.”
“Don’t bother going any further,” Maylis said brusquely. “You know I’m not selling. There are ‘Not for Sale’ signs on every painting in the house.”
“He’s offering an important price, Maylis. And I had to at least relay the offer to you. I didn’t want to turn him down without your consent.”
“You have my consent. Tell him Lorenzo’s work is not for sale.” She didn’t even want to hear the offer.
“They did their homework. And they’re offering the same price the last of Lorenzo’s paintings sold for at Christie’s. That’s a very handsome price, and this is just their opening offer.” Although the price was high, Gabriel guessed from the lawyer’s tone that they would go higher.
“It was seven years ago, and they would go for more now. If I were selling, but I’m not. Just tell them no. Do you know who it is?”
“No, I don’t. The prospective buyer does not wish us to know.”