their children will be like? I don’t know why your mother would ever feel threatened by these people.”
Carlton sighed. Deep down, he knew exactly why his mother was behaving the way she was. It really had nothing to do with Rachel and everything to do with his accident. She had never spoken to him about what he had done, but he knew that the stress of that tragedy had changed his mother irretrievably. She had always been short-tempered, but ever since London, she had become more irrational than he had ever known her to be. If he could just turn back the clock on that night. That fucking night that had ruined his life. He rolled over onto his side, facing away from Colette.
Colette could see that the black cloud had descended over Carlton again. It was happening so quickly these days. One minute they would be having the most brilliant time, and then suddenly he would just disappear into a pit of despair. Trying to snap him out of his funk, she unbuttoned the last few buttons of his shirt and began to trace circles around his navel. “I love it when you get all pouty and smoldering on me,” she whispered in his ear.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes you do.” Colette positioned her feet on both sides of Carlton’s torso and stood up over him. “Now, do you really think it’s true that President Obama was the last person to sleep in this bed?”
“This place is built like a fortress—all the presidents stay here,” Carlton said flatly.
“I bet Mr. Obama never had this view,” Colette said, sliding off her Kiki de Montparnasse panties in one slow, seductive motion.
Carlton stared up at her. “No, I don’t believe so.”
* * *
*1 Actually, everyone knows that Tommen Baratheon, age seven, is the youngest man to sit on the Iron Throne. (See George R. R. Martin’s A Storm of Swords.)
*2 Yellow on the outside, white on the inside.
7
NICK AND RACHEL
SHANGHAI, CHINA
Nick awoke to the vision of Rachel luxuriating in a patch of sunlight by the window, sipping her coffee. “What time is it?” he asked.
“It’s about a quarter to one.”
Nick bolted up reflexively as if an alarm bell had gone off. “Bloody hell! Why didn’t you wake me?”
“You were sleeping so sweetly, and we’re on vacation, remember?”
Nick stretched his arms and let out a groan. “Ugh. It doesn’t feel much like a vacation.”
“You just need some coffee.”
“And aspirin. Lots of it.”
Rachel laughed. Since their arrival last week, the two of them had been swept up in the tornado that was Carlton’s social life. Actually, it was more like Colette’s social life, since they had attended a mind-blowing number of fashion boutique parties, twelve-course banquets, art openings, restaurant soft openings, a recital at the French Consulate, VIP after-parties (followed by several VVIP after-after-parties), and something billed as a “site-specific transmedia performance piece”—all at Colette’s invitation. And this was before hitting the clubs every night till dawn.
“Who knew that Shanghai’s nightlife scene would put New York to shame? I’m ready for a quiet night in. Do you think your brother will be offended?” Nick asked.
“We’ll just tell Carlton we’re too old for his crowd,” Rachel said, blowing on her coffee.
“Says the girl who was hit on about a dozen times last night! I thought I was really going to have to bust out some of my ninja moves to get those French guys to leave you alone at M1NT.”*1
Rachel laughed. “You’re such a dork!”
“I’m the dork? I’m not the tech geek. Was it just me, or has every European fellow in Shanghai invented some app that’s going to revolutionize the world? And do they all need to have that much stubble? I can’t imagine what it would be like kissing them.”
“Actually, that would be kinda hot—watching you and that cute Polytechnique grad make out! What was his name? Loïc?” Rachel cracked.
“Thanks, but I’d prefer Claryssa or Chlamydia or whatever that friend of Colette’s name was.”
“Haha—Chlamydia is exactly what you’ll get if you kiss her! You’re talking about that girl with the fake eyelashes who asked you point-blank if you had an American passport?”
“Her eyelashes were fake?”
“Honey, everything on her was fake! Did you see how crushed she looked when Colette broke it to her that we were married? I don’t understand how all these people missed the wedding bands on our fingers.”
“You think a little piece of gold is going to stop them? Women here just don’t understand your social cues. You