Gold Digger Read Free Page A

or at home?
    Whenever they met, Vadim usually showed him a part of New Zealand—probably, Nikolai suspected, a part he’d just explored himself. He remembered the long nights in Rotorua, finally talking about all the things that had remained unspoken for way too many years. Vadim never found that easy, talking, but he appreciated it when they could speak somewhere with few distractions.
    Wellington, Nikolai emailed back. I’ll book a hotel there. I’ll be done here on Tuesday.
    He’d barely typed “hotel” and “Wellington” into Google when Vadim forwarded him a booking confirmation for the Museum Art Hotel in Wellington. Seven nights. Suite.
    Nikolai pulled his phone from his pocket and hit the speed dial.
    “Krasnorada.”
    “Yes, same here,” Nikolai muttered, slightly exasperated at being outrun by his old man. “How are you doing?”
    “I’m doing well. I was just at the computer.”
    “I figured.”
    Vadim huffed softly.
    “I mean, it’s appreciated, but I’m earning my own money these days.”
    “You’re covering the flights.”
    “That’s . . . beside the point, but yeah, you’re right.” His father was financially comfortable. A few hundred Kiwi dollars more or less wouldn’t kill him or lose him the house. Damn, it was that same eggshell dance again. Somehow, dealing with his father always made him cautious, and it wasn’t just because they were missing so many years of shared history and frankly still had no idea how to treat each other naturally or easily. “I mean, thank you. I assume that’s a good one?”
    “Jean and Solange loved it when they came over.”
    “Jean’s going to love anything near the gay district,” Nikolai said half to himself.
    “Well, then trust Solange’s taste.”
    “Mixed results there, with that husband.”
    Vadim chuckled. “You don’t like him?”
    “Did I ever tell you he tried to come on to me?”
    “When was that?”
    “When you and your husband got married. He got drunk and I thought he was getting awfully close.”
    “Jean’s always been challenged in terms of personal space.”
    “Or, you know, truthfulness and honesty.” Cheating on his beautiful wife with a number of gay buddies.
    “He’s not going to be here when you come over. They’re in France.”
    “Anybody else going to be there?”
    “No.” That meant his partner was traveling and meeting friends. But digging for specifics was useless. Vadim shared as much as he was comfortable with and nothing more.
    “Any other responsibilities?”
    “I’ll let people know I won’t be teaching that week. It’s fine. I’ll leave them in the hands of one of the advanced students.”
    “Okay. I just don’t want to disrupt your life too much.” That was one of the harder lessons he’d learned in life so far. That other people had normal jobs and owned houses (or were still paying them off), and that he couldn’t just blunder into their routine and hope they’d always welcome him.
    Thoughtful silence. His father might be building up to say something very profound out of nowhere, like he sometimes did.
    “I mean, I’m looking forward to it,” he continued, aware it sounded lame.
    “That’s all that counts,” Vadim said. Something creaked in the background. Maybe he was getting up or pacing in the living room. “Send me your flight details. I’ll pick you up.”
    “Palmerston North?”
    “That would be ideal. We’ll drive down to Wellington together.”
    “Okay.” Nikolai smiled. “Thanks, Dad.”
    Vadim hung up, and Nikolai turned back to his laptop. He checked a dozen websites, but even the connecting flight via San Francisco was something like six and a half thousand Canadian dollars. He grimaced. So much for a quick dash down to New Zealand. There were places in the world where he could live quite comfortably for many months on that kind of cash.
    But his father had already booked the hotel and was looking forward to seeing him, and calling again to tell him it