Lucie reached around, trying to take off her gown. “This dress is impossible! Will you help unbutton me, Cecil?”
“Of course. Right after I check if Patrick’s photos are up on his website,” Cecil said.fn2 “Son of a bitch! Nothing yet. Patrick, get off your lazy ass and upload your pics!” Cecil ranted at the screen as he got up from the bed and headed over to where Lucie was standing. He began fastidiously undoing the tiny buttons along the back of her gown. “I know you had your heart set on wearing that little black Mouret, but thank you for wearing this dress my mother bought you.”
“You’re welcome, and you were absolutely right, Cecil. It matched the red in the Richter perfectly. I got so many compliments. I’m just not used to wearing such a bold color.”
“You looked stunning, everyone said so. Mother wants you to come with her to the couture shows next January.”
“Oh, Cecil, I’m not sure I would ever be comfortable spending that kind of money on clothes …”
“Don’t worry, my pet, Mother will pay for everything. She’s just dying to introduce you to all her designers and spoil you rotten. By the way, do you have a family tiara?”
“A tiara? Actually, believe it or not, I think my grandmother has one. It’s an old heirloom with mine-cut diamonds. I’ve never seen it in real life, only in pictures, but I hear it’s in her vault.”
“Oh, goody.”
“Cecil, I told you, Cacky’s going to get everything of Granny’s. You know what she’s already done? She’s gone around putting Post-it notes with her name behind every painting she wants in the apartment.”
“The nerve of that woman! Don’t worry, I’ll work on your grandmother, and until that Magritte and the tiara become yours, Mother thinks you need your own. She’ll take you to get one at Mellerio in Paris. Hmm, maybe we can find one that has some Chinese provenance, maybe something with jade!”
“Cecil, when am I ever going to need a tiara?”
“Baby, you’re going to need it for the wedding! Besides, Mother and I get invited to court dinners all the time when we’re in Europe. The von Habsburgs, von Auerspergs, von Hohenlohes—all the vons dress formally for dinner. You’re going to need a tiara like you need oxygen.”
Lucie’s gown fell to the floor as soon as Cecil unfastened the last hook, and she bent down to pick it up.
“Those Ludovic de Saint Sernin panties should be illegal. I just went from six to midnight. Why did you have to bend down in front of me like that?”
“Why did you let the dress fall to the floor?” Lucie retorted with a chuckle.
Cecil pulled her toward him and began kissing her neck, reaching that sweet spot right below her ear. Lucie sighed softly in languorous pleasure.
“Er … will you do Lady Mary, please?”
“Okay.” Lucie nodded, clearing her throat and breaking out her best British accent: “What on God’s earth are you doing here? I really don’t think it’s appropriate for you to be in my bedchamber, sir.”
“I couldn’t resist, I had to see you! Please, let me worship you in my seraglio and bring you to the gates of paradise,” Cecil said in a vaguely Omar Sharif–esque accent.
“But my lady’s maid could discover us at any minute.”
“Don’t worry, I gave Anna a very generous tip to disappear. Besides, she’s too busy schtupping that gimp Bates in the servants’ quarters to notice your cries of pleasure tonight.”
“No, you’re wrong. Anna is always watching over me.”
“Well, let me watch over this,” Cecil said as he slowly unhooked Lucie’s bra from behind. As she turned to face him, he stared at her with his mouth agape.
“Don’t move!” he whispered, utterly transfixed by the sight of her body. As he traced the curve of her breasts with his finger, he muttered, “I can’t believe you’re mine. You’re absolutely perfect! You’re more exquisite than the Venus de Milo!”
He buried his face into her chest as she began to unzip his perfectly pressed Dormeuil trousers.
“Mr. Pamuk!” Lucie let out an exaggerated gasp. “My goodness, is this what happens to boys who eat too much Turkish delight?”
“Sorry, Lady Mary isn’t doing it for me tonight. Can we transition to Alexandra?”
Lucie almost wanted to roll her eyes. She was enjoying the Lady Mary pantomime, but she knew this was going to happen—Cecil always ended up wanting Alexandra.
As if sensing her reticence, Cecil pleaded, “I promise this is the only time I’ll ask you for the rest of the month.”
“Well, in that case …” Lucie gave him a mischievous smile and took a deep breath, raised her arm, and slapped him clear across the face.
Cecil gasped loudly, grinning. “The beef Wellington is fully baked now!”
“Nikolai Alexandrovich, you have behaved very badly,” Lucie scolded, her Agent Amasova impersonation spot-on.fn3
“What have I done to disappoint you this time, Alexandra Feodorovna? Is the new Fabergé cigarette case not to your liking?”
“Why would you ever give me a cigarette case? First of all, smoking causes cancer, and those vulgar diamonds on the case …”
“Wait—there aren’t any diamonds on the Fabergé case, baby. Remember, it’s jeweled silver gilt and lavender guilloche enamel.”
“Don’t interrupt me, you miserable serf! The enameled cigarette case looks so common, like something Prince Felix Yusupov would give to one of his lesser servants.”
“I’m truly sorry, my empress. I have failed you.”
“Let’s see … how should you be properly punished today?”
“Check out my royal scepter, baby,” Cecil said eagerly.
“You peasant! How dare you insult me with your … your filthy Rasputin?” Lucie roared with outrage.
“Ooohh! Ooohh!!!” Cecil moaned in delight. “Scold me more, my queen!”
“I am not your queen. I am your imperial majesty! Pathetic excuse of a man! How will you ever defend us against the revolutionaries? Do you not hear them chanting for our heads outside the gates of Tsarkoe Selo?”
“I’m a contemptible fool, Your Imperial Majesty!”
Lucie bit her lip so she wouldn’t laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. She couldn’t believe how much he was enjoying this. “The revolutionaries are at the gates of the palace! And here all you have is this jeweled heirloom dagger to defend yourself …”
“Tell me about the heirloom dagger! Tell me more about it, baby,” Cecil grunted, his jaw clenched and his breath quickening.
“It’s a scimitar with a gold filigree handle studded with ancient Burmese jade and a scabbard crafted of lapis lazuli and inlaid amber. The razor-sharp blade is hand-forged of meteoric iron, hardened and hardened by centuries of pounding against the jagged steppes of the Caucasus.”
“Agggrrrhhhh!” Cecil shuddered in ecstasy, hugging Lucie tightly as he began sobbing against her shoulder like a little boy. “Alexandra Feodorovna, I love you.”
“I love you too, Nikolai,” Lucie murmured softly.
“Call me Alexei,” Cecil whimpered.