Lucie quickly got to her assigned table, crossing her fingers that George would be seated there too. Instead, she found herself between an Italian youth with long blond hair who didn’t speak a word of English and, if the engraved place card next to her chair was correct, BARON MORDECAI VON EPHRUSSÍ. Her heart sank, and to make things worse, from where she was sitting she had the perfect view of George two tables away taking his seat between Sophie, Isabel’s beautiful Australian friend, and some equally stunning Asian woman named Astrid. One of the wedding’s black-clad videographers was not so discreetly documenting the scene of the photogenic trio greeting one another as if they were longtime friends meeting up at the front row of New York Fashion Week.

Mordecai, who had been chatting with some English duchess at the next table, returned to his seat rather reluctantly and raised an eyebrow at Lucie. “Where have you been, young lady? Up to some mischief, I hope?”

“Not quite. We were at an impromptu piano concert given by George Zao.”

“Really? And what was our strapping young Narcissus playing?”

“The aria from the Goldberg Variations.”

“How predictable!” Mordecai grumbled.

“He played it quite beautifully, actually.”

“I’m sure he did. But just once I wish someone would bust out Schoenberg or John Cage when they sit down at a piano. There’s nothing more trite than playing the Goldberg Variations, except perhaps ‘Für Elise.’”

Not wishing to challenge him, Lucie tried to change the topic. As the waiters began ladling the steaming zuppa di pesce into her bowl, she held up her spoon. “I think this is the heaviest spoon I’ve ever come across.”

“Ah, yes, the famous De Vecchi silver. Forged in Firenze in the seventeenth century, I believe. They had it flown in from the family vaults yesterday.”

Admiring the immense silver candelabra at the center of the table, Lucie said, “It’s all so grand, I’m not sure how the wedding banquet tomorrow is going to top this!”

“Well, since the Chius are picking up the bill for the entire wedding week, the De Vecchis obviously had to do something impressive for tonight. They couldn’t let those gauche Asians steal their thunder, could they?”

Lucie said nothing but thought that Isabel was anything but gauche.

Mordecai mistook Lucie’s silence for anger and began backpedaling furiously. “I do hope you weren’t offended by what I just said. I didn’t mean anything by it. I love the Asians! Some of my dearest friends are Asians, like the Chius and the Sultanah of Penang.”

“No worries, I wasn’t offended at all.” Lucie smiled, amused that he was flustered.

“I’m so relieved. I just think it’s fascinating to witness all this—a Chinese girl of immense fortune marrying into one of the oldest families in Europe, splashing her money around on one of the most decadent weddings the world has ever seen. It’s like Henry James all over again, avec le Chinois. I can see all the old Roman and Neapolitan families sneering in the corners. But there’s a new world order in place, and Old Europa better get used to it. I forget you’re partly Chinese, you see. I’m actually quite color blind—I don’t ever think of people in terms of their skin tone. I think of you as a New Yorker.”

Lucie nodded diffidently. Just when she thought Mordecai could do no worse, he piped up again. “Tell me, dear, what do you consider yourself?”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“When you look in the mirror, do you feel more Asian or more Caucasian?”

“Well, I’m equal parts both …”

“But do you lean toward a particular side? It’s rather marvelous that you could pass for either.”

Lucie gritted her teeth, finally angry. “You know, I’ve never tried to pass for anything. I feel like I’m just me.”

“Very well put, young lady. Very well put. Now, tell me, are you out?”

“I’m assuming you’re referring to the cotillion and not the closet?”

“Har har! Yes, indeed.”

“I decided not to take part in all that debutante stuff, although my grandmother wanted me to.”

“This would be your Churchill grandmother? Tell me, how exactly are you all related to the English Churchills?”

Lucie reached for the crystal goblet in front of her. She wasn’t much of a drinker, but if she had to endure this inquisition for another three courses, she might as well get completely shitfaced. She gulped down the entire glass of wine, and the rest of the evening soon blurred at the edges. She was feeling super chill for a while, and then events started happening as though everything was in fast-forward, going so fast until there was nothing but flashes of moments …

… tasting an incredibly tender rack of lamb that, in the words of Baron von Ephrussí, went “improbably well with the 1988 Musigny.”fn2

… trying to use Google Translate to converse with the golden-haired Italian youth seated to her left. His name was Sandro, and he was Dolphi’s seventeen-year-old cousin from Como. He liked drum and bass. And Reese Witherspoon.

… watching a dish of delicious-looking zabaglione with Venetian white peaches being placed in front of her, but not recalling if she actually ate it.

… feeling a hand on her shoulder and Isabel saying to her, “Let’s ditch this joint!”

… taking a tender to an immense, futuristic yacht moored just off Marina Piccola, where Isabel’s girlfriends had arranged the “Couture Costume Bachelorette Party.”

… putting on a gold Jean Paul Gaultier bustier top, Azzedine Alaïa cheetah-print leggings, and electric-blue eye shadow.

… gobbling down four red velvet cupcakes in a row before realizing that they were infused with cannabis.

… going to the karaoke lounge and the girls all wanting to sing 1980s hits.

… belting out Whitney Houston’s “I Wanna Dance with Somebody” with Isabel and Daniella.

… staring at the Italian paratroopers storming the yacht by helicopter as the girls screamed and screamed.

… realizing that the absurdly over-tanned paratrooper in the shaggy wig was Dolfi when he stripped off all his clothes and did a cannonball off the top deck of the yacht.

… seeing another guy colliding midair with one of the drones as he tried to do a somersault into the sea.

… getting blindfolded and being forced to play Pin the Donkey on someone dressed in a furry donkey costume.

… hearing Isabel shouting, “No, guys, leave her alone! Don’t touch my little angel! Lucie has immunity tonight!”

At some point, she remembered stumbling below deck, vomiting red velvet into the pristine white toilet with a sleek automatic lid that kept trying to decapitate her, and curling up in a big circular bed with an immense white fur throw thinking how warm and cuddly it was but how sad that it had to be made of so many cute dead animals, and all of a sudden she was back in the chapel again, where a choir of Italian boys dressed in white robes stood in front of her singing Crowded House’s “Don’t Dream It’s Over” a cappella, and as she sat there listening to their angelic voices, she looked up at the fresco on the ceiling again, staring skyward at Jesus, and suddenly his bare pink torso transformed into the golden-brown perfection of George’s chest, and there she was too, floating above the clouds next to George in his blindingly white Speedo, as he turned to her saying, “you have a freedom within, Lucie, you have a freedom without.”