Lucie found herself saying, “I’m ready!”
Stretching out his arms Christ-like, George grabbed her hand, and together they plunged headlong out of the heavens and into the deep, unknown depths of the sea.
Hey now, hey now, don’t dream it’s over.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Villa Lysis
Capri, Italy
“I’m surprised you’re even alive,” Charlotte remarked when Lucie appeared at the hotel’s poolside café just as she and Olivia were finishing lunch. “How hungover are you?”
“Actually, I feel fine,” Lucie said, downplaying it by a mile.
Olivia peered at Lucie’s bloodshot eyes and chuckled.
“This is completely unlike you, Lucie! Disappearing like that without telling us and partying all night on a yacht? I had to find out where you were from Mordecai, of all people, and you know what loose lips that man has,” Charlotte chided as she took the last bite of her parmigiana di melanzane.
“Charlotte, there’s nothing scandalous for him to say. It was Issie’s bachelorette party. It was my duty to attend.”
“Well, clearly her duty did not involve thinking of your wellbeing. You are so much younger than her other friends, and I wasn’t born yesterday—I’m sure you all did not spend the night on board a super yacht playing Cards Against Humanity,” Charlotte quipped.
Olivia leaned in toward Lucie. “I heard a rumor that there were mountains of pure Colombian cocaine and Isabel’s friends hired male strippers dressed as ninjas?”
“Ninjas? There were no drugs, just fashion, and the ‘male strippers’ turned out to be Dolfi and his crew,” Lucie said, trying to sound blasé but quietly alarmed that she couldn’t recall anything about the evening past a certain point. Her roommate at Brown would come back to the room on weekends after getting completely trashed, claiming to not remember a thing, but Lucie never believed it was possible. Now she believed.
“What do you mean ‘fashion’?” Charlotte probed suspiciously.
“There were all these fun couture designer costumes waiting for us on the yacht, and we each picked an outfit. I wore a vintage bustier that had been designed for Madonna’s ‘Blond Ambition’ tour, and we all sang karaoke and ate cupcakes,” Lucie explained.
Charlotte gave her a dubious look. “Thankfully you appear to have all your limbs, or I would not know what to say to your mother! Now, Olivia and I are off to the hair salon. You clearly forgot about your one p.m. appointment.”
“Oh, shoot!” Lucie sighed, rolling her eyes.
“Well, get some food into your system and take a hot bath. You don’t have all day, you know. We have to leave for the wedding by four o’clock at the latest, and it’s already almost one thirty. God knows how long our appointments will take with these Italian stylists! If you are dressed and ready by the time we get back, I might just help you with your updo,” Charlotte said in a gentler tone as she got up from the table.
Olivia leaned over and patted her on the shoulder. “Tomato juice with a raw egg, Lucie. It will fix you right up. I’ll order you one on our way out.”
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 post 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.