“Why didn’t you call me? Did he do that because of me?”
“Maybe—who knows? He thought I betrayed him, and he was right. I did. I had to. What he did was so wrong, I couldn’t let it happen to you. And he probably would have done that to me eventually anyway. That’s who he is.” Theo had seen the level of his fury the night he had refused to sell the painting to him. And the art theft was his revenge. “And I didn’t call you because I needed to figure it all out for myself, what I want to do, who I want to be, how I want to live, and what I’ve been doing for the past eight years. It was a lot to think about, and I didn’t want anyone to help me, not even you. Except for my handyman, Dimitri.” She grinned at Theo. “He’s terrific. He put all my IKEA furniture together for me.”
“You have IKEA furniture? This I want to see.” Theo looked amused.
“You can come to dinner next time you come to Paris, after I learn to cook.”
He was smiling at her. His mother had been wrong about her, and so had he. She wasn’t with another Russian billionaire. She was with herself. “Do you want to have a cup of coffee somewhere before I leave for the airport?”
She hesitated and then nodded, and they left Drouot together. It was pouring, and they found a cab a block away, and he gave the address of the bistro where he went with Gabriel sometimes. And when they got there, they ran in to get out of the rain, sat down at a back table, and ordered coffee, and he ordered a sandwich and asked her if she wanted anything to eat, but she said she didn’t. They talked for two hours about his painting, his mother planning to close the restaurant and turn it into a permanent museum, and her being in Paris with Gabriel now, and her epiphany about it. Theo said it was sweet to watch.
“Some people wake up very late. At least she woke up,” he said, and Natasha nodded.
“He sounds like a nice man,” she said gently.
“He is. And he’s always been good to her. Much nicer than my father was. He was a genius and impossible at times. Gabriel is the way everyone wishes their father was. He’s a kind person. And he puts up with my mother,” Theo laughed. “So what are you going to do now?” he asked her, and she thought about it for a minute.
“I’m still figuring it out. I found an apartment. I’m taking a class at the Louvre. I’ve been selling everything Vladimir gave me, so I have something to live on, and some savings. Now I want to find a job. I want to finish the class at the Louvre first. That’s all I know for now.”
“You want to stay in Paris?”
“Maybe…probably…yes…I think so.” She smiled at him, looking like a young girl again, and he smiled at her.
“My mother is going to be looking for someone to run the museum for her. She doesn’t want to be tied down the way she was with the restaurant. It was fun for a long time, but now she wants to be free to be with Gabriel.”
“Me too. Free, I mean. I was a robot for eight years, a slave. A doll he dressed and showed off to enhance his image. I could never do that again. It’s scary sometimes now, when I don’t know what I’m doing or where I’m going. But then I remind myself I can figure it out. I think I can. It’s not as bad as it would have been at nineteen when he found me. And I had nothing then. I’m twenty-seven now. I can work it out.”
“I’m thirty-one,” he said, smiling at her, “and I ask myself the same question sometimes. Everyone always looks like they’re doing it better. Maybe no one knows what they’re doing.”
“I’m trying to decide what I want. Not what someone else tells me to do.” It was a big change, making decisions on her own. It was all new to her.
“Will you call me if you need help, Natasha?” he asked her seriously. He knew how alone she was, and that she had no family or friends. She had told him that at lunch long ago.
“Maybe. I don’t know. I kept your number, just in case. But I didn’t want to use it.” He could only imagine how scary the last four months had been after Vladimir threw her out, after protecting and controlling her so completely. But she seemed to have done well, and he admired her for it. “At first, I didn’t want to talk to anybody, and I didn’t want anyone to help me. I had to do it for myself. And I think I’ve done okay. Some things I haven’t figured out yet, like a job, but I have time.”
“Think about coming to work at the museum. It might be interesting, if you want to live in the South.” And that reminded him of something else. “The house is empty now. There are six bedrooms upstairs. She used to rent them out occasionally. If you want a place to stay, or need one, or just want to be there for a while to think, you can stay for as long as you like. Those rooms won’t be used anymore this winter, except for art storage or maybe an office or two. Come whenever you want. You don’t even have to talk to me. And I live in my own house a few miles away. I won’t bother you, and my mother lives at the old studio, or here now. You’d have the house to yourself, with two bodyguards to protect you.”
“It’s nice of you to offer.” But he could sense that she wasn’t going to take him up on it. She wanted to be independent.
“Do you have a number where I can call you?” he asked cautiously. “Just in case.” She hadn’t offered, and he didn’t want to leave without knowing where she lived or how to reach her. She jotted it down on a piece of paper and handed it to him solemnly.
“You’re the only person who has that number.”
“I’ll text you if I come to Paris. I hope you come to my show.” It was four months away, and he hoped he’d see her before that, but he wasn’t sure he would. “And remember the offer to stay at the house anytime you want. You can use it as an escape.”
“Thank you,” she said, and followed him out of the restaurant after he paid. He hailed a cab to take him to the airport, and she ran toward the subway, and he waved at her as they drove past. He laid his head back against the seat in the taxi, reeling again with the sight and sound of her. He couldn’t believe it. He was falling in love with her all over again. And this time it was worse. She was real. And just as unattainable as before, only differently. She had vowed never to let anyone clip her wings again. She was always somewhere out of reach. Before, she’d been a prisoner and belonged to someone else. Now she was free. But either way, she wasn’t his.
Chapter 17