Page 40 of The Oligarch's Daughter

Paul leaned past Tatyana and extended a hand to Niko to shake, which he ignored. “I’m Paul,” he said.

Niko nodded, looked bored, and didn’t bother to introduce himself.

The blini were served with trout roe, shining orange beads, and sour cream plus vodka in carafes. This was followed by a traditional Russian cabbage soup called shchi, and Russian pierogis filled with meat. It was delicious—everything except the trout roe. The soup was cabbage soup, which didn’t sound good but was in fact zesty and delicious and had an appealing amber color. The pierogis were half-moon-shaped savory dumplings, steamed and then pan-fried, and were extraordinary. All with Oksana’s sourdough black bread, which Paul already loved.

Toasts followed, and voices grew louder. Most of the conversation around the table was in Russian. During a pause in the toasts, Niko poured out a shot of vodka for Paul and one for himself. Handing Paul the shot glass, he said, “You work for some hedge fund?” He made it sound exceedingly boring.

“Yeah,” Paul said. “Aquinnah Capital.”

Hoisting his glass high, Niko said, “To the almighty dollar,” and downed the shot.

“How do you like working for your dad?” Paul asked.

Niko narrowed his eyes hostilely, pretended he hadn’t heard the question. “You make good coin, eh?”

“Not by your standards, I’m sure.”

“No?” He lowered his voice, turned his head. He poured out two more shots, handed one to Paul. Without looking at him, he said, “Then it’s good you found yourself a rich girl, yes?”

Did he have to explain that he’d asked her out not knowing who her father was? That seemed too defensive. With a bland smile, he finally said, “Well, rich in the things that matter.”

Tatyana, who didn’t seem to have heard the exchange, tapped Paul on his shoulder and said, “Now?”

Paul held her gaze a moment and then nodded, feeling a tightness in his belly, apprehension despite the number of vodka shots he’d just imbibed.

Tatyana clinked on a glass with a spoon and said, in English, “Excuse me. Excuse me! I have something I want to say.Izvinitye!”

The room quieted down. She looked around the table, smiled hesitantly. “Paul and I are so happy to let you know that we are engaged to be married.”

There were gasps and exclamations of delight and a smattering of applause.

Arkady Galkin was beaming. He rose and held up his little vodka glass and said, “Wonderful, wonderful news!Za vashe schastye!”

“He says, ‘To your happiness,’” Tatyana explained to Paul.

Everyone except Niko drank a toast. Paul kissed Tatyana and hugged her. Arkady came lumbering over to his daughter and hugged and kissed her. Then he said to Paul, “Welcome to the family,” and gave him a big, damp bear hug. He said something quick and cutting to Niko and made a knife-slicing gesture. Niko bowed his head, apparently chastised.

Polina rushed over from her side of the table, squealing, and gave Tatyana a big hug, then Paul. Niko said something to Tatyana in Russian; he didn’t sound pleased. Tatyana replied in Russian, then turned to Paul. “He says, Where’s the ring?”

“Tell him it’s coming.”

She nodded. She already had the ring. On his lunch break, Paul had picked out an engagement ring at a wholesaler in the Diamond District whose owner was a friend of Bernie Kovan’s. Given the wholesale price, he was able to buy a bigger diamond—three carats, good color and clarity and all that—than he ordinarily might have. Tatyana had exclaimed over it, said she loved it. But for this dinner, she had chosen to leave it at home, so as not to spoil the surprise.

Then Niko said something in Russian to Arkady, who shook his head dismissively as he returned to his seat at the head of the table. Paul heard Niko say a Russian word that sounded exactly likegigolo. Then another word:zhopa. At Reed, Paul and his Russian-language classmates had made a point of learning Russian obscenities, and he knew thatzhopameant “asshole.”

Niko appeared to be drunk by now. He said to Tatyana, “Yemu ne ty nuzhna, yemu tvoi den’gi nuzhny.” Paul was fairly sure it meant something like “He doesn’t want you, he wants your money.”

His father called out from the head of the table, “Khvatit!Zatknis!”

Paul knew that meant “Enough! Shut up!”

Then came yet more vodka. Paul was now blearily drunk. He’d learned that Russians don’t sip their vodka. They knock it back.

Then more blini, served with berries and condensed milk, for dessert, followed by cognac.

The family began to get up from the table after dessert and stand around talking. The room grew louder. Paul remained seated.

Polina had been watching him throughout dinner, Paul had noticed, and now she came up to him and gave him a kiss on both cheeks. “You are doing okay?”

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