bedroom pavilion, which had wraparound glass walls and a sunken circular lotus pond at one end of the room. The only other objects in the lusciously minimalist space were a cloud-like king-size bed in the middle of the room and beeswax pillar candles flanking one wall (“I like my bedroom to be very Zen. When I sleep, I detach from all my worldly possessions”). Adjoining the bedroom pavilion was a structure four times its size—Colette’s bathroom and closet.
Rachel stepped into the bathroom, which was a sprawling daylight-flooded space entirely clad in glacier-white Calacatta marble. Indentations were carved into the giant slab of unpolished marble to create organic-shaped sinks that looked like watering holes for chic hobbits, and beyond was a private circular courtyard with a dark blue malachite reflecting pool. Growing out of the center of the pool was a perfectly manicured willow tree, and nestled under it was an egg-shaped bathtub that appeared to have been sculpted from a single piece of white onyx. Round stepping stones led across the water to the tub.
“Oh my God, Colette—I’m just going to come right out and say it: I am insanely jealous! This bathroom is just beyond—it’s straight out of my dreams!” Rachel exclaimed.
“Thank you for appreciating my vision,” Colette said, her eyes getting a little moist.
Nick looked at Carlton. “Why are women so obsessed with their bathrooms? Rachel was obsessed with the bathroom in our hotel, the bathroom at the Annabel Lee Boutique, and now it looks like she’s found bathroom nirvana.”
Colette stared at Nick with contempt. “Rachel, this man doesn’t understand women AT ALL. You should get rid of him!”
“Trust me, I’m beginning to think about it,” Rachel said, sticking her tongue out at Nick.
“All right, all right—when we get back to New York I’ll call the contractor and you can retile the bathroom like you wanted.” Nick sighed.
“I don’t want it retiled, Nick, I want this!” Rachel declared, stretching her arms out and caressing the lip of the onyx tub as if it was a baby’s bottom.
Colette grinned. “Okay, we better skip the tour of my closets—I don’t actually want to be blamed for your breakup. Why don’t I show you the spa?” The party walked through a deep crimson passageway and were shown dimly lit treatment rooms decorated with Balinese furniture, and then they came to a stunning underground space with pillars like a Turkish seraglio surrounding a massive indoor saltwater pool that glowed an arresting shade of cerulean blue. “The entire floor of the pool is inlaid with turquoise,” Colette announced.
“You’ve got your own private spa right here!” Rachel said in disbelief.
“Rachel, we’re good friends now—I have a confession to make. I used to have a terrible addiction…I was addicted to spa resorts. Before I found myself, I used to spend the whole year aimlessly flying from resort to resort. But I was never satisfied, because something was never quite right everywhere I went. I would find a dirty mop left in the corner of the steam room at the Amanjena in Marrakech, or I would have to put up with some creepy potbellied guy staring at me sunbathing in the infinity pool at One and Only Reethi Rah. So I decided I could only be happy if I could create my personal spa resort right here.”
“Well, you’re very fortunate that you have the resources to make this happen,” Rachel said.
“Yes, but I’m also saving so much money by doing this! This whole development used to be farmland, and now that there are no more farms, I employ all the displaced locals to work on the estate, so it’s really been good for the economy. And think of all the carbon offset points I’m racking up by not having to fly all over the world every weekend trying out new spas,” Colette said earnestly.
Nick and Rachel nodded their heads diplomatically.
“I also hold many charitable events here. Next week, I’m planning a summer garden party with the actress Pan TingTing. It’s going to be an ultra-exclusive fashion show with the latest collections from Paris—Rachel, tell me you’ll come.”
“Of course I will,” Rachel politely replied, before wondering why she had agreed so quickly. The words “ultra-exclusive fashion show” filled her with dread, and she suddenly got flashbacks to Araminta’s privateisland bachelorette party.
Just then, a few thin barks could be heard coming down the stairs. “My babies are back!” Colette shrieked. The group turned to see Colette’s personal assistant, Roxanne, entering with two Italian greyhounds straining excitedly against their