Sex and Vanity(65)

“Oh, Cecil, should we move up the wedding? I can’t wait to have my quarter-Asian grandchildren who will never age!”

After all the guests had left, Lucie took the elevator up to the fifth-floor master suite, annoyed with herself that she was still fixating over her exchange with George in the pool room. Why had she offered to give him a tour? Why did she press him about the house? Why did she feel like she was being judged? Why the hell did she ask him about Viv? Would he think she was jealous or something? Ugh, why did she even care at all? She wondered if she was being overly sensitive to everything because she was simply fatigued. Social gatherings like this really took it out of her, in contrast to Cecil, who seemed to be energized by them. She entered the bedroom to find Cecil sprawled on the bed, eagerly scrolling through all the Instagram posts that his friends had made from the party.

“Whitney posted a pic of himself on the gondola. And I love this picture Rozi posted on the roof garden with the both of us next to the Richard Serra. Poor thing, she doesn’t have that many followers—she only got thirty-five hundred likes.”

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?”