Page 37 of The Oligarch's Daughter

“I went into therapy. I—how could I trust anyone again? I just became really wary of everybody. Do men just want me for my money? What about friends who take advantage of me because they know I’m rich?”

“Do you think I love you for your money?”

“No, but I’m getting the feeling you’re going to break up with me because of it.”

Paul felt stung. “Seriously, Tatyana?”

“I know you don’t like that I kept it from you.”

“That’s true. I don’t.”

“I wanted to know you loved me for me.”

“I get that now. Obviously I do.”

“Are we okay?”

“Of course we are.”

“I know you want to be the big breadwinner in the relationship. Isn’t that the conventional thing?”

He smiled. He didn’t want to admit to her that that was exactly how he thought: the conventional, patriarchal mode. “It’ll take some getting used to. I know you don’t like spending money on anything.”

“But that’s not true! I’ll spend money on clothes—have you taken a look at my closet? My clothes aren’t from, you know, a vintage clothing store.”

“I did notice that,” he admitted.

“So let me ask you something.”

“Yes?”

“As long as our relationship isn’t the traditional patriarchal . . . thing.”

“Yes?”

“You’re the first guy I’ve ever met who bothers to understand me. Who appreciates my work. Who isn’t after me because I’m rich. You’re a regular guy, and you seem really grounded andreal. And we love each other.”

He nodded. “Yes,” he said. They’d been seeing each other for eight months, had lived together for two. Every once in a while, they’d make flip references to marriage, jokes about the “institution of marriage,” punch lines.

“When Charles Helmworth asked me to marry him,” she said, “it made me start thinking about the idea of marriage. What it means, and am I ready for it. I feel like I’ve been adulting recently.”

He rolled his eyes. “That’s why you’ve been thinking about marriage?Adulting?”

She nodded, then said, with a catch in her throat, “That and . . . I love you. The person I am with you is the person I want to be. And that person wants to build a life with you. And I kinda think you might feel the way I do.”

He realized she wasn’t joking. His throat went dry. He began to think about what it would mean to lose her, about how much she meant to him. The fact was, he was in his thirties and had shopped around enough to know what he was looking for, what he wanted. And what he wanted was Tatyana. She was a happy, sparkling presence. She lit him up. She loosened him up, straitlaced workaholic that, he had to confess privately, he was. His heart lifted when he thought about her. She was everything: she was smart and talented and kind and fun, the whole package. To him, the world was an obstacle course; to her, it was a playground. He was a better person when he was with her. She brought out the colors in the world.

His heart was pounding. “Same,” he croaked out. He swallowed. “You said you wanted to ask me something?”

“Well, this isn’t very traditional, I guess, but . . . Pasha, will you marry me?”

24

Paul met Rick Jacobson for an after-work drink at a bar off Times Square. It was crowded, and there was no room at the bar, so they were forced to sit next to a table of rowdy guys in their early twenties. Paul and Rick hadn’t seen each other in a few months. The longer Paul went out with Tatyana, the more time they spent together, the less he saw his old friends.

“Been a long time,” Rick said.

“I know. Sorry about that. Been crazy at work.”

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