Page 39 of The Oligarch's Daughter

Paul looked at him for a moment. “I don’t know about that. We’ll see.”

“Listen, uh . . . be careful, man. These Russian oligarchs are bad guys.”

“Or he might end up being perfectly nice.”

“Yeah,” Rick said. “Right. Maybe. Just be careful.”

25

Paul was thinking about the Galkin family dinner they were going to. They were planning to announce their engagement, and he wondered how it would go over, what the reaction would be. Besides polite congratulations, would her father be pleased—or not? He seemed friendly enough, but he’d met Paul exactly once. And what about her brother?

“You said tonight is a special occasion of some sort,” Paul said to Tatyana. “I mean, besides telling your family we’re getting married.”

“It’s an old Russian holiday called Maslenitsa.”

“Which is?”

“It means something like ‘Butter Week.’ Or ‘Pancake Week.’ It’s hard to explain. A spring festival. It’s just a lot of food. Oksana, who made you the pastrami—she’s cooking tonight, and I thought you’d enjoy it.”

“I love Russian food. Especially hers.”

They lapsed into silence. Then she said, abruptly, “I should warn you that my brother, Niko, can be difficult.”

“How so?”

“He can be an asshole to my boyfriends. He’s just very protective of me.”

“Maybe he’ll be different to a fiancé.”

“Doubt it. He’ll be even worse.”

*

There was no security in front of the double town house this time. They went to a room on the first floor, next to the kitchen, that Paul hadn’t seen the last time. Ten people were already crowded around a dining table meant for eight.

Tatyana’s brother called out to her, “Always late, always making a grand entrance.”

Everyone laughed. She grinned and bowed.

Her father emerged from the kitchen. He was wearing jeans and a blue-and-white fleece that emphasized his large belly. He announced something in Russian, and then Oksana came out, stout and cross-looking in a faded housedress under a white apron, with a platter full of thin pancakes or crêpes. Her famous blini.

“What did he say?” Paul asked Tatyana.

“Oh, he . . .” She shook her head. “Just about the holiday. Maslenitsa. We say goodbye to winter and welcome spring and the, uh, fruit-bearing powers of nature. The renewal of its life force. Like that. And he says Oksana’s blini are the best in the world.”

Tatyana directed Paul to sit next to her, so she could be his tour guide for the food. On her other side sat Niko, her brother. He worked for their father, Tatyana had said, but she hadn’t explained what he did. Niko was a couple of years younger than her and spoke English without an accent. He and Tatyana exchanged words in Russian.

Paul turned to Tatyana and furrowed his brow. She looked irritated, shook her head, sighed. “What’d he say?” Paul persisted.

“Just that it’s a family dinner, and why is an outsider here.”

“Oh. That’s a little awkward. What did you tell him?”

“Just that I consider you a member of the family.”

“I take it that didn’t satisfy him.”

Quietly, she muttered, “I told you he can be an asshole.”

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