Page 65 of The Oligarch's Daughter

She nodded.

“About the wedding?” He knew that Polina was out of control when it came to the wedding planning. She’d hired a planner, was obsessed with giving Tatyana an over-the-top celebration. Polina wanted a showcase event, something that would show up their oligarch friends. She wanted to talk over every last detail of the ceremony, from the wall of flowers she wanted to the designer of her own dress—should it be the one who’d done Kate Middleton’s dress, Sarah Burton? What about David and Elizabeth Emanuel, who’d designed Lady Diana’s wedding gown—but weren’t they now divorced? Who had designed Kim Kardashian’s dress? Paul had pointed out that Kim and Kanye West were divorced, too.

It soon became clear that Polina and Arkady considered this wedding mostly theirs. And it was to be lavish. There were discussions about whom they should hire to perform—Lady Gaga or the Stones, Elton John or Sting?

The planning seemed to be largely Polina’s obsession, though. Arkady didn’t seem particularly interested.

“Of course about the wedding. What else?” Tatyana said.

“Let me guess,” Paul said, trying for levity. “About the flavor of the cake?”

Tatyana took a long, annoyed breath. “Papa wants me to wear his grandmother’s ring, which looks ridiculous,” she said. “It’s clunky and very antique-looking. Not my style at all. But he says it’s a family heirloom.”

Paul thought,I’m staying away from that one.

“And there’s more,” she went on after draining her wineglass and immediately refilling it. “He said he wants to invite all three of his exes, and Polina hit the roof.”

“But you have to at least invite your mother, don’t you?” Her mother lived in Moscow, Paul remembered.

She nodded, gulped some more rosé. “Polina hates my mother. Because my mama calls her ‘the Snake.’”

“They don’t have to sit together.”

“Polina’s so extra. But today she wasextraextra. She said if my mama is there, she won’t go. I can’t deal with this anymore.”

Paul thought for a moment, taking in Tatyana’s distress. “Listen,dushen’kaya. It’s going to be okay. I have an idea that’ll put a stop to all this.”

She looked up at him, a sliver of hope visible on her face, her eyes beseeching him to relieve her of her misery.

“What if we just went to City Hall?” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“We just walk in and sign some papers and swear an oath, maybe, and we’re married. What do you think? No wedding party, no ex-wives. We just walk in there, you and me, and do it.”

“Are you serious?” To his surprise, she was smiling.

“You know I don’t joke around.”

“No party?”

“Maybe we can have a party later, but not awedding. No wedding dress, no argument over whether to have a rabbi or a Russian Orthodox priest, no ten-tiered wedding cake. No Lady Gaga.”

“Really? You mean it?”

“I do.” He laughed, touched her cheek lovingly.And what a wonderful thing, to see how happy you look already, he thought.

“Oh, Pasha! A huge weight just came off my shoulders.”

*

That night, Paul was brushing his teeth and getting ready for bed when his phone pinged, an incoming text. He glanced down and saw that the text was from Eugene Frost.

Car will pick you up tomorrow 7 a.m. in front of your building and take you to Teterboro. Cancel any appointments you have tomorrow.

Paul read it over a few times. Teterboro, he knew, was the private airport half an hour away in New Jersey. That meant, probably, that he was meeting Galkin’s plane. But for what? He hesitated a moment, finally typing,Where will I be flying?

Chicago, came the reply.

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