July 25, 2013 |
Ever since Carlo of Monaco had jilted her at the altar, Vincenza had been seriously rethinking her plans to marry royalty. She had sent out word far and wide that she was searching for a new royal, but there was a dearth of unattached princes. “Maybe I should set my sights lower,” she thought. She remembered reading something about a count. Dracula, or something. Had a huge castle in some small Romanian town… Transylvania, was it? She’d always had a thing for Romanians. Anyway, he was apparently incredibly wealthy, slept all day, partied all night and had a fondness for capes and ladies in black. And he was young. “Dimitri,” Vincenza screamed at her rent boy/assistant, “will you wheel in that rail of Louis Vuitton pre-fall that came yesterday. I recall seeing something black and lacy. Also, I need a new passport whipped up. One that claims I was born in 1996 or thereabouts. I need to be younger. Luckily, my face and body are of an indeterminable age, but it never hurts to have the right paperwork and to dress in a youthful fashion.” She rifled through the rail, fingering the mink pocket on a sheer black lace minidress. “What do you think of this?” she asked Dimitri. “Does it say young to you? Naïve ingénue? Does the collar make me look about 16? And what about the black cape? Wouldn’t that be perfect for adding drama on the slopes? Apparently his castle is near some mountains.” Dimitri snorted with derision. “Well, I don’t know why I’m asking you,” she screamed, looking at him with disgust. “According to you, the height of chic is gold lamé and a coating of baby oil.” She was starting to think that decent help was even harder to come by than royalty these days. The only person you could count on was yourself. And Marc Jacobs. Who else could have come up with these divine top-heavy jackets in the printed lace that looked as though they belonged to some film noir heroine? Or the little short suits with stripy tights. Vincenza looked at herself in the mirror, admiring the way the white satin bow headpiece complete with veil accentuated the perfect contours of her head. She liked to highlight its ideal proportions with a pixie cut. “So many people have such ugly heads,” she thought to herself as she tried on the white mink coat with black velvet collar, “there must be some sort of surgery that could fix that.” Maybe she could start a charity that fixes people’s heads. Well, she would need a new cause if she was to become a countess. “Dimitri, do you think I can wear this black cape over the white fur as an after-dinner walk-through-the-woods ensemble?” she asked. “I read that the count only ever leaves his castle at night, dressed in a black cape, and there’s something to be said for couples dressing in matching outfits. It screams power. But my arms, they’ll freeze. They really should be covered in fur and I am such a fan of the monochrome look. I like to think that my arms will match the pallor of the count’s face. What do you think?”
by Natalie Dembinska
