As he had promised her he would, Vladimir flew from Italy to Paris on Friday afternoon, and arrived just in time to see the apartment before nightfall and the realtor left for the weekend. He had already had the money wired to an account in Switzerland earlier in the week. The owner did not want to be paid in France, and had moved to Switzerland the year before. They were giving up the apartment so they no longer had a residence in France, and had become tax refugees. They were anxious to sell, and couldn’t believe their good fortune when Vladimir offered to pay them all cash immediately. And he was able to get a better price from them by doing so. And the realtor was pleased too. The deal was done and sealed, and Vladimir had told Natasha that the apartment was theirs the day before. It was the fastest transaction the realtor had ever done, although she had done business with Russians before, and knew how quickly it could move with the right ones. They had plenty of cash available and were easy to do business with. They made up their minds, knew what they wanted, and were very straightforward.
She met them at the building, and Natasha held her breath when Vladimir walked in. She was suddenly panicked—what if he hated it, didn’t like the wood paneling, the windows, or the antique floors? He looked serious as he examined everything and walked around, and then after they’d been through the last room, he put his arms around her with a broad smile.
“It’s perfect, Natasha. You found us a spectacular apartment. We’re going to love being here.” She almost cried, she was so thrilled that he was pleased. She showed him all the little details then, and it was fully two hours before they left and went to the hotel. She was going to be spending a lot of time there while she shopped for the apartment, and even the George V was starting to feel like home.
He made love to her almost as soon as they walked into their suite, and they took a bath together and dressed for dinner. He was taking her to La Tour d’Argent, one of the fanciest restaurants in Paris, to celebrate their new home. And she couldn’t stop thanking him all through the meal.
“I wish I didn’t have to leave you tomorrow,” he said over dinner. He had ordered caviar and champagne for both of them, and a shot of vodka for him. “But you’ll be busy here.” She knew she would, but she missed him when he was gone for that long. He had a lot to do in Russia now, with his new involvement in the mineral business. And she had overheard him talking about buying more oilfields, and they were drilling in the Baltic Sea. His empire was still expanding by leaps and bounds. It was hard to imagine that it could get any bigger, but it had in the last six months, and he was still fighting to acquire more. While other economies were failing, Vladimir was making bigger and bigger deals every day. He was insatiable in what he wanted to run and own.
They went back to the hotel after dinner, and she lay in his arms again, as he slowly began making love to her. He had missed her all week, and hated it when she wasn’t nearby, but he rarely took her to Moscow with him. He had too much to do there, she was only a distraction, and he knew that it wasn’t a happy place for her. She had too many bad memories there, and preferred waiting for him in London or on the boat, and now she would have the Paris apartment as another home. It was perfect for her, and she tried to meet his every fantasy and need as he made love to her, to show him how grateful she was for all he did for her. Their relationship was a trade-off of sorts, she gave him all she had to give of herself in exchange for all the material bounty he bestowed on her.
Her life with him made her think of her mother at times, and she wondered if she was anything like her. Her mother had traded her body, and sex, for money, as a prostitute. And Natasha couldn’t help asking herself if that was what she was doing, giving Vladimir her body and her freedom, her life and dedication to him, in exchange for the golden existence she led with him, and the gifts he showered on her. Or was this more like marriage, where a woman cares for a man, gives him her body, and has his babies, while he provides for her? Was it respectable or shameful? Sometimes she couldn’t decide and wasn’t sure. He was always kind and generous with her. There were no babies involved, and he didn’t want any, but she gave him every other part of her, and all she could give.
He lay spent and sated in her arms after they made love. He had roared as he always did, and was sometimes rough with her, but she knew that sometimes it was what he needed, as a release from the pressures he lived with every day. She was the escape he used to free himself from the tension he dealt with, some of which she never even knew about. But she welcomed him into her body whenever he chose. And it didn’t seem wrong to her, given all he did for her.
He was up at six the next morning, and she ordered breakfast for them. He left the hotel at seven and looked at her longingly for a moment. Her beauty never ceased to amaze him, and she had only gotten lovelier and more delicate looking in the past seven years.
“Start shopping for the apartment,” he said with a smile as he kissed her. She was standing naked in his arms, with the scent of their lovemaking on her, and he wished he could stay. But they had to be in the air on their way to Moscow by eight, and it would take him half an hour to get to Le Bourget.
“I’ll miss you,” she said softly, as she kissed him.
“I’ll miss you too. I’ll call you when we land.” And then he was gone. He rarely said he loved her, but she knew he did, just as she loved him, or believed she did. It was love as she knew it.