Lucie slumped into her chair and put her sunglasses on, feeling the first twinges of a headache. Several squealing German kids sprinted through the garden and did cannonballs into the pool, the sound of their splashes causing her to have a flashback to the night before. She was in the pool on the yacht…the smaller one on the top deck…and were someone’s toes getting sucked? It wasn’t hers…thank God not hers. And then suddenly she recalled seeing George last night. He was definitely on the yacht. Was he the one in the donkey costume? Yes, it was him. The hair on the nape of his neck was a little wet from being in that furry mask for so long, and she knew that because her fingers were caressing his head as they were dancing, right before she had to rush into the bathroom to throw up. Yes, that’s what happened. How mortifying. Did he see her throw up? Did she say something idiotic to him that she might regret for the rest of her life?
It was a question she was still pondering three hours later when she arrived at the gates of Villa Lysis for the event that everyone had been anticipating and speculating endlessly about—the wedding ceremony! From the lovely beach club lunch and divine dinner held in an ancient grotto to the exclusive Villa Lachowski excursion and the grand banquet in a fourteenth-century monastery, each event had been more spectacular than the last. How on earth was Isabel going to top all that?
Isabel did not disappoint.
Villa Lysis was arguably the most advantageously situated house in all of Capri. Perched on the easternmost edge of the island, high up on the mountain, the secluded villa was an homage to Louis Seize and classical Greek architecture, boasting Ionic columns decorated with filaments of gold mosaic tiles and marble steps spanning the entire front facade and leading down to a circular garden of towering trees that framed a commanding view of the sea, the dramatic cliffs, and Marina Grande in the distance.
Today, it looked as though God had sprinkled millions of seeds from the heavens onto the estate, as the villa appeared to be in full bloom. Flowers burst from the ground to the rooftop, from every corner and crevice; boughs of white and pink delphiniums draped over the grand portico, while camellias and stephanotis wound up each column and millions of rose petals blanketed the terrace in front of the house, creating an ombré pattern so that the petals gradually intensified from white to blush to the most intense magenta in the middle, where they formed the shape of a blooming lotus flower. On this decadent carpet of flowers were hundreds of gold Hepplewhite chairs meticulously arranged into a spiral pattern, ending in the very center at the lotus.
“It’s like a giant mandala made out of rose petals! Can you imagine how many flowers it must have taken to cover this whole garden? Are there any roses left on the planet anymore, or did they all sacrifice themselves for this?” Olivia said, shaking her head in disbelief.
“It’s just beyond! The flowers alone must have cost Isabel’s family several million,” Charlotte surmised.
“The Chius own the biggest plastics manufacturer in Taiwan—I wouldn’t worry too much about it,” Olivia quipped.
“I’m kicking myself for not thinking to cover this wedding for Amuse Bouche. I wonder who has the scoop. Is someone from Vogue or Harper’s Bazaar here? Or Town & Country or maybe even Elle Decor?” Charlotte wondered, thinking like a competitive magazine editor as she observed the army of black-clad videographers piloting the UFO-like drones that circled over the villa, capturing every moment of the event from different vantage points.
“Isabel is much too private to have any media covering her big day. Didn’t you see in the orientation letter that they requested no one pos
t any pictures on social media?” Lucie reminded her cousin.
Rosemary Zao suddenly appeared next to them in a gold lamé ball gown with immense ruffled sleeves and said, “Lucie, let’s take a selfie and I’ll put it on WeChat!”
“Um…Mrs. Zao, I’d be happy to take a picture with you, but I don’t think we’re supposed to post anything,” Lucie replied.
“Nonsense! I just won’t tag our location, and no one will know we’re at Isabel’s wedding. You look so pretty in that dress. Lanvin, right?” Rosemary asked, admiring Lucie’s deep scarlet gown, which had a tea-length skirt of translucent pleated panels that created the most beautiful rippling effect as she moved.
“Um, no, it’s Morgane Le Fay.”
“Huuuuh? I’ve never heard of that designer. Is he French?”
“No, she’s Argentinean but based in New York—her real name is Liliana Casabal, and she’s got a great boutique in SoHo.”
“You know all the coolest designers. If I had a daughter, I’d want her to dress just like you!” Rosemary praised.
Charlotte, who looked rather regal in her buttercup point d’esprit lace Oscar de la Renta gown and a four-strand pearl choker borrowed from her mother, gave Rosemary a mischievous look. “And who designed your dress? Alexis Carrington?”
Rosemary let out a loud gasp and slapped Charlotte on the arm excitedly. “Hiyah, how did you know? This is vintage Nolan Miller! I bought it at a charity auction and they said that Joan Collins actually wore the dress on Dynasty! I think it was the episode when Blake tried to choke her to death.”*1
“The famous choking gown! That is just too fabulous for words. You win the grand prize for most original outfit, Mrs. Zao!” Olivia remarked.
“No, no, you should win the prize too,” Rosemary said rather unconvincingly as she tried to decipher Olivia’s asymmetrical, deconstructed black Comme des Garçons dress that looked like it had been savaged by pinking shears. After Rosemary had made all of them pose for what seemed like ten dozen pictures, Lucie asked as casually as possible, “Where’s George?”
“Oh, didn’t you know? He’s one of the groomsmen. Dolfi asked him to step in at the last minute because his friend Colby, the one from Dallas, had to go to the hospital when he broke his cock.”
“His whaaat?” Charlotte’s eyes widened, not sure she had heard right.
“You know, his cock. His pee-pee, his birdie. Yes, apparently Colby took too much Viagra at the party on the boat last night and his cock got so swollen it got trapped in a donkey costume with some girl? I don’t really know the whole story, but apparently they had to fly him to the hospital in Naples to drain the blood from his cock.”*2
Lucie held her hand to her mouth, looking like she was shocked but actually trying to stop herself from having a laughing fit. She knew if she looked at Charlotte she would totally lose it.
“I do hope the boy doesn’t have a hard time recovering,” Olivia said with an absolute straight face.
“Who’s recovering? Is Isabel okay?” Mercedes Ortiz asked, suddenly appearing alongside the foursome with her sister.
“Isabel’s fine,” Rosemary assured her. “It’s this schoolmate of Dolfi’s from Texas who had to get his big co—”
“My goodness, you ladies look incredible!” Charlotte loudly cut her off. For as long as she lived she did not ever again want to hear Rosemary utter the word that, if it had to be used, should be used only in reference to roosters.