The streets were already crowded. It was the weekend, and even though it was early June, the season had begun. In July and August, the crowds would make it unbearable, but for now it was still easy to get around. And Vladimir wandered through the town with her after lunch, and then they went back to the boat, and pulled out, so they could swim. They started toward Sardinia at dusk. They were going to stop in Portofino in the morning, for more shopping, and then head south to Corsica, and Sardinia after that. It was a route they both knew well.
As Natasha lay on the deck after she swam, and they picked up speed, she watched the wake behind them and looked at Vladimir, asleep in the sun. She was grateful for her life with him. It was like life in a bubble, alone with him, on his terms. She felt safe there with him. She knew that there were risks involved with his work, which was why he had bodyguards, but he kept all that well away from her. She was like an innocent child, in his shadow, which was the impression Theo had had of her as well. There was nothing conniving about her, or manipulative. She just existed like a bright flower to cheer Vladimir when he wanted to talk to her, or make love to her, or take her somewhere to show her off.
The only thing she really missed was the opportunity to learn more, and she would have loved to go to a school, or take classes at a museum to study art. But there was no time for her to do so, given how he lived. Vladimir traveled a lot, and took her with him at the drop of a hat. He would tell her to pack, and they would leave to go to one of his homes, or to the boat. And he always objected whenever she mentioned taking classes, and told her she already knew all she needed to know for him. He saw no reason for her to learn more, other than by reading books or going on the Internet, which she already did. He had no degrees and had barely gone to school, and thought education superfluous, particularly for her. Her job was to entertain him in all the ways she already did so well. She was like a geisha of sorts, without the restrictive old-fashioned traditions, but the concept was the same. And in some ways, she was proud that she had kept him happy for so long, still interested him, and satisfied him. And as far as Vladimir was concerned, all she needed to do was please him. And she didn’t need to go to school for that.
Vladimir made a comment to her at dinner, once they were under way to Sardinia. The boat was so large that it was steady even while moving at full speed, and it had stabilizers. It was pleasant dining outside in the gentle breeze, as two stewardesses and the chief steward served their dinner.
“Why did you give the delivery boy a tour of the boat when he brought the painting?” He looked at her steadily, his eyes boring into hers, and her heart skipped a beat. She felt suddenly guilty, although she had done nothing wrong. But she had enjoyed Theo’s company, and he had been onboard talking to her for two hours. She wondered if Vladimir knew that too, or that she had offered him champagne. There were no secrets from Vladimir. But her beautiful face was a portrait of innocence when she answered.
“It wasn’t a delivery boy. It was the ma?tre d’ from the restaurant who brought it. He was fascinated by the boat, so I took him around before he left.”
“Were you afraid to tell me?” His eyes dug deeper into hers, but she didn’t react, although her heart was beating faster. He had made his point. He knew everything she did, and everything that went on. He had the ultimate control.
“Of course not. I didn’t think it was important. I was just being polite. I think he was hoping to see you.” Natasha always knew what to say to put him at ease, and she looked uninterested in the subject, although she had enjoyed the two hours she’d spent with Theo, which didn’t show in her face now.
“You should have sent him with the purser, if he wanted a tour of the boat,” Vladimir corrected her gently.
“I think he was onshore. I had nothing else to do, and I was excited about the painting.” She smiled at him, and he leaned over and kissed her hard on the mouth. He said nothing more about it, he had said all he needed to, and the kiss reminded her that he owned her. Natasha got the message loud and clear. She always did, and lived accordingly. Her two hours with Theo had been a momentary slip she wouldn’t do again. She knew better than to upset Vladimir.
—
Theo had been working on the painting of Natasha for days, barely taking time to eat or sleep. He was driven and felt compelled to stay with it until he captured her, which proved to be harder than he thought. There was something elusive about her that he kept wrestling with, and finally realized it was something in her expression, or her eyes. There was too much about her he didn’t know, and yet she had hooked him to his very soul. And there was no one he dared confess it to, for fear that they would think he was crazy to be obsessed by another man’s mistress, and even worse that it was Vladimir’s. There was no way he could compete with that, and he was sure Natasha wouldn’t want him to. She seemed content where she was.
He was sitting in his kitchen, lost in thought and eating a stale sandwich. It was the first meal he had eaten in two days, and he looked crazed, his cheeks covered in beard stubble, his hair a tangled mass, his eyes vague as he thought about the painting. He didn’t even hear his friend Marc walk in. They had gone to the Beaux-Arts together, and known each other since they were boys. Marc was a sculptor, and had only recently moved back from Italy. He worked in marble, and had gone to work in a quarry to better understand the stone. He was a talented artist and barely made enough to live. He worked for a company that made tombstones when he needed money to pay his rent or eat.
“Oh my God, what happened to you? You look like you’ve been shipwrecked. Are you sick?” Marc had flaming red hair and freckles all over his face. He was tall and thin, and still looked about sixteen years old, although he was thirty-one, a year older than Theo. He had a fatal weakness for needy women and was always giving them the little money he had, and was constantly broke, but didn’t seem to care.
“I think I am sick,” Theo said in response to his question. “Or maybe I just lost my mind.” Marc sat down at the kitchen table across from him, took a bite of the other half of the sandwich, and made a face.
“Where did they find that? In an archaeological dig? It must date back to King Tut. Do you have anything decent to eat here?” Theo shook his head with a grin.
“I haven’t stopped to eat.”
“No wonder you’re nuts. Are you out of money? Do you need a loan?” Although he needed it more than most, Marc was his only friend who never borrowed money from him. He made enough to just squeak by, and their friendship was based on the bonds of childhood, not on who Theo was, which made him a trusted friend. “What are you working on that has you looking like that?”
“A portrait of a woman. I can’t get her out of my head.”
“A new romance?” The fiery redhead was intrigued. “What happened to Chloe?”
“We broke up. She wants a guy to pay her bills, which is her interpretation of romance. It seems so depressing to me. She wants to trade her body for a guy to pay her rent.” Marc looked thoughtful for a minute, pondering what Theo had said.