by Kevin Kwan
“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.
“Yes, what terribly chic ball gowns!” Olivia echoed, admiring the sisters dressed in complementing shades of lilac silk festooned with intricate beading and ostrich feathers.
“Let me guess…Elie Saab?” Rosemary asked.
“Valentino!” Mercedes and Paloma said in unison, appearing offended that Rosemary would even dare mention any other couturier.
Olivia turned to Lucie covertly. “Are you ever going to tell me what really happened on that yacht?”
Before Lucie could formulate a response, she was quite literally saved by the bell. A line of groomsmen in dove-gray linen suits, led by George, came scattering out of the villa ringing antique Tibetan bells, indicating to the guests that it was time to take their seats. As Lucie observed George guiding several elderly guests, she found herself desperately trying to recall one thing: If he wasn’t the one in the donkey suit last night, was he even at the party? Or did I dream that too?
After everyone was seated around the spiral, a woman in a silvery halter-neck gown appeared at the edge of the balcony overlooking the garden. She held up a violin and began playing the first few notes of a melody as Dolfi appeared at the side of the garden with his parents. Suddenly the sounds of a full orchestra filled the air, accompanying the violinist in Ennio Morricone’s love theme from Cinema Paradiso, as the three of them began a slow, regal march toward the assembled guests, the Contessa already tearing up as she walked alongside her son, who was dashingly outfitted in a bespoke tuxedo from Battistoni. They arrived at the lotus bloom in the middle of the spiral, where Auden Beebe, striking in a midnight-blue silk jacquard sherwani, was waiting to greet them.
There was a moment of silence as the Conte and Contessa took their seats, and then the first chords of a piano could be heard coming from the terrace just below where they were all seated. A few of the guests murmured in excitement, “That’s Lang Lang on the piano!” Next, a man dressed in a linen tunic shirt and matching trousers wandered out of the glade of high trees near the piano, barefoot and holding an accordion, and together he and Lang Lang launched into the most beautiful duet of Luis Bacalov’s theme from Il Postino. Half a dozen bridesmaids standing at the top of the steps began their procession as Isabel emerged through the majestic front door on the arm of her father, and together they descended the steps and glided gracefully down the spiral aisle.
“How ingenious, Dedes! She did this so that she would pass by every single guest, and everyone can admire her dress!” Paloma Ortiz whispered to her sister.
“But what is she wearing? It looks like a potato sack!” Mercedes grumbled.
From where she was sitting, Lucie could not have disagreed more. Isabel looked absolutely exquisite in a white duchesse satin strapless gown with delicate pleats just below the bodice, mirrored by pleats at the back that flared dramatically into a long, billowing train. She recognized it immediately from the black-and-white magazine photo Isabel had pinned to her dressing mirror back in her childhood days at the Park Avenue apartment—it was a picture of Audrey Hepburn in the exact same dress by Givenchy, taken in 1955. She wondered if the dress was vintage or who might have re-created the gown for Isabel.
Lucie felt that Isabel had made a brilliant choice by staying so simple—she wore her hair pulled up into a high chignon, minimal makeup that showed off her natural glow from a week in the sun, and not a drop of jewelry aside from the heirloom Asscher-cut emerald engagement ring that had been Dolfi’s grandmother’s, and she clutched a simple bouquet of white peonies. Amid the grandeur of the villa, the profusion of colorful flowers, and all the guests dressed in their fanciest outfits, the bride stood out in all her unencumbered elegance.
Isabel’s preference for simplicity was also reflected in the ceremony. After Auden delivered a brief homily about twin flames being the halves of one soul, he told a moving story of how he had witnessed the flame that was Dolfi and Isabel’s growing over the last few years, “not at glamorous red-carpet events or A-list parties, but in the quiet, everyday moments of partner yoga, juice fasts, and plant medicine circles.”
The couple then exchanged vows and rings, and a gospel choir emerged onto the steps of the villa and began to sing Peter Gabriel’s “In Your Eyes,” accompanied by a band of drummers. Isabel and Dolfi held hands and gazed into each other’s eyes throughout the entire song as tears streamed silently down their faces, which in turn made most of the crowd well up. Lucie thought it was the most romantic thing she had ever witnessed.
As the singing ended, the drummers continued to play, and Auden loudly proclaimed, “I now pronounce you man and wife!” Everyone cheered as the newlyweds proceeded to dance down the aisle to the beat of the drums, joined by the rest of the bridal party. The Sultanah of Penang jumped out of her seat and joined the impromptu conga line, along with members of Dolfi’s family. The bride and groom danced all the way to an antique horsedrawn carriage waiting at the foot of the steps. Before getting in, Dolfi turned around, grinned roguishly at the crowd, and said, “Okay, wedding’s over. Let’s paaaaaarty!”
*1 Actually, Alexis wears a white spangled cocktail dress in the famous “Blake chokes Alexis” season finale, not the gold ruffled gown worn by Rosemary. Both dresses are fabulous, but nowhere near as fabulous as the pink taffeta ball gown Alexis wears to her daughter Amanda’s wedding to the Prince of Moldavia, where (spoiler alert!) rebels storm into the cathedral in a coup attempt, spraying bullets from uzis that manage to kill everyone at the wedding except the cast of Dynasty.
*2 Unfortunately this potential side effect does not appear anywhere on the warning label for Viagra.
XIV
Villa Jovis
CAPRI, ITALY
“I must admit that I found it all quite moving, didn’t you?” Charlotte said to Lucie as they sat in the golf cart that was whizzing them up the mountain after the ceremony.
“It was too beautiful for words. The flowers, the music, the vows, everything!” Lucie said with a half sigh.
“Now, don’t go fantasizing that you
’ll have a wedding that’s anything like this—your mother would have a heart attack!”
“Don’t worry, this isn’t what I want at all. I’d much rather have a simple ceremony on the dock at Dorset,*1 maybe arriving by water on an old Chris-Craft driven by Freddie.”
“That sounds lovely. I’ve always thought that Dorset would be the perfect place for—Holy Mother of Joanna Gaines, what have we here?! ” Charlotte gasped.
Appearing before them was a towering arch of vines and flowers made entirely of Venetian blown glass framing the approach to Villa Jovis, the great palace that Caesar Augustus had built himself on one of the highest points of Capri.
“Just when I thought things couldn’t get any crazier. This arch must be at least twenty feet tall!” Charlotte whispered to Lucie in awe as they got out of the golf cart. Standing under the fantastical arch was the bridal party, and Charlotte marveled for the hundredth time how Isabel had planned every moment so brilliantly. The sun was just beginning to set over the island, bathing the ruins in a shimmering golden light, but the bridal party went one step further—everyone under the arch, especially the bride, was cast in an iridescent glow from the reflected crystalline colors of the Venetian glass. The cousins noticed immediately that Issie had added a striking blue Paraíba tourmaline-and-diamond necklace by Doris Hangartner to her wedding ensemble.
“Issie, you look so exquisite! And that was the most beautiful ceremony ever!” Lucie exclaimed as she gave both the bride and groom tight hugs.
“Wasn’t it? I can’t believe it’s really happened!” Isabel beamed with joy.
Charlotte leaned in to give Isabel a peck on the cheek. “Congratulations, both of you! Now, Isabel, you must tell me who designed your dress! Lucie swears it’s vintage Givenchy.”
“She’s partially right. The design is from his haute couture line in 1955, but I managed to lure Monsieur de Givenchy himself out of retirement just this once to re-create it for me.”
“Stop it!” The cousins squealed in unison.
“Yep, I had to go to Le Jonchet*2 for all the fittings.”
Lucie and Charlotte shook their heads in awe before moving down the receiving line to congratulate the newlyweds’ families. Entering the grounds of the villa afterward, they were handed delicate flutes of prosecco laced with elderflower syrup as they strolled around the palace ruins. Almost all the original decorations—including once magnificent frescos that must surely have outshone the best of Pompeii—had been lost to time and looters, but the structures still retained the impression of the majestic complex that had once stood here.
As they walked toward the cliff to look out at the view, they came upon Olivia and Rosemary staring intently into a monitor held up by one of the younger drone operators.
“What are you all staring at with such fascination?” Charlotte asked, ever the busybody, as she peered into the high-definition screen.
“Oh, this man is showing us a rather curious spot that he’s making the drone fly over,” Olivia said.
“We are standing right above Salto di Tiberio—Tiberius’s Leap. This is where the emperor would make all the subjects and servants that he didn’t like jump to their deaths,” the young man explained as he piloted his drone to fly sharply off the edge of the cliff toward the rocks hundreds of meters below.
“Well, that’s a view to die for!” Olivia quipped.
“There are a few servants of mine I wouldn’t mind doing that to,” Rosemary said.
Charlotte glared at her in horror.
“Hee hee hee—joking! I love all my servants.” Rosemary giggled. “Except maybe Princess. Princess has gotten rather lazy, which I guess goes along with her name.”
“Come, Lucie, we forgot to deliver our congratulations to the Count and Countess,” Charlotte said, pulling at Lucie’s arm.
As they pretended to walk in the direction of the receiving line, Charlotte fumed. “Ugh, that woman! I couldn’t take one more second of her. I know there are vast cultural differences between us, but I’m sorry, I find everything about her to be offensive. Her jokes, her snobbery, her inability to accessorize with any semblance of restraint.”
“I get it, Charlotte,” Lucie said quietly, feeling quite exasperated with Rosemary herself.
“With any luck, we’ll never have to cross paths with her again after this weekend,” Charlotte said as they passed the table where little cards embossed with each guest’s name had been carefully laid out in circles in preparation for the wedding banquet. “Ah, the seating chart! Let’s see where they’ve put me. If that woman is seated at my table, I will simply change the cards. Oh thank God, she’s nowhere near me.”
Scanning the cards, Lucie saw that she was assigned to table 3. Almost reflexively, she found herself searching for George’s card and saw that he was at table 8. Damn, was this going to be yet another night where they wouldn’t have the chance to talk at all? Did she dare to quickly swap cards when Charlotte wasn’t looking so that she would be at table 8 too?
Bending down to peer more closely at the cards, Charlotte said, “You know, I do love looking at seating charts. They’re always a fascinating indicator of who’s considered important at any event. See, you’re at table three, which is a prime spot as one of the tables orbiting the bridal couple. I’m at table nineteen, which is most certainly Siberia. Last night I was seated in between the second wife of the De Vecchis’ tax lawyer and Isabel’s dog psychic from Ojai.”
“I would have preferred them any day over Mordecai von Ephrussí,” Lucie replied, annoyed that Charlotte was so attentive to where she was sitting. How could she possibly change her table now? They wandered through the villa’s inner chambers for a while, and when Charlotte became engrossed in a discussion with Auden on the benefits of intermittent fasting, Lucie saw her chance to slip away. She rushed back to the seating chart table, thinking that the best thing to do was swap out George’s seat so that he would be at her table.
Arriving there, she discovered to her dismay other guests swarming around the table in search of their own seating cards. The cocktail hour was about to end, and guests were making their way toward the fleet of golf carts to head back down to Villa Lysis for the banquet. By the time the crowd had dispersed, Lucie saw that she was too late. George’s seating card was missing, so he must have already come by and taken it.
Returning to Villa Lysis, the wedding guests were greeted by a battalion of footmen holding lit torches, dressed in costumes straight out of nineteenth-century Sicily. Entering the villa, the guests gasped in delight to discover interiors that had been utterly transformed since the wedding ceremony an hour ago. “I was inspired by Visconti’s Il Gattopardo,” Isabel told everyone after she made her grand entrance, sweeping down the vine-entwined staircase in a Valentino couture ball gown that looked as if it was constructed entirely of silk rosettes and billowing white ruffles, reminiscent of the gown Claudia Cardinale wore in the legendary film.
It was the understatement of the year. Studio Peregalli, the famed Milanese design atelier, had been commissioned to re-create the set of the film inside the villa, and when the guests entered the banquet room, they were treated to a magnificent space draped from floor to ceiling in yellow moire silk, towering antique tulipieres bursting with apricot peonies, and tables set with heirloom china from the royal house of Bourbon-Two Sicilies. The entire space seemed to sparkle, lit only by thousands of tapered candles hung from the ceiling in crystal lanterns.
Lucie took her seat at table 3, feeling giddy as she admired the voluptuous surroundings and watched the waiters crisscrossing the room in nineteenth-century livery and powdered wigs. The decadence of it all was almost too much to bear, and she felt as if she had suddenly been transported into the pages of her favorite childhood fairy tale, “The Twelve Dancing Princesses.”
“Hey there,” said a voice to her right. Lucie turned and saw George taking t
he seat beside her.
She glanced at the place card in the silver holder, and sure enough, it read MR. GEORGE ZAO.
“Wait a minute! Did you change seats?” Lucie asked in surprise.
“Er…would you like me to?” George asked.
“No, no, I meant…I just thought someone else was sitting next to me.”
“Sorry to disappoint.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Lucie said, getting flustered.
“I know,” George said, suddenly flashing a disarming smile.
“Oh.” Lucie felt like a fool.
“How are you today?”
“I’m good,” Lucie replied automatically, before wondering what exactly he meant. Did the addition of the word “today” mean that he was checking if she was hungover? What exactly was he implying? Oh God, she was never, ever going to get drunk ever again. Fed up with the never-ending cycle of doubt she seemed to have trapped herself in, she decided it was time to rip off the bandage, hard. She took a deep breath and looked him in the eye. “Okay, I just have to ask…were you on the yacht last night?”
George grinned. “You don’t remember?”
“I do…kinda…Weren’t you wearing some strange furry costume?”
“Says the girl who was dressed like Madonna.”
“I know what I wore. I’m asking what you came as.”
“Myself.”
“Did anything, you know…happen?”
“What do you think…happened?” George asked, clearly amused by her apparent amnesia.
Lucie gave him an exasperated look, and he decided to put her out of her misery. “Lucie, nothing of significance happened that I can think of. I went home pretty early. You were dancing with the girls when I left.”
