Chef Boyd has assisted as best as he can, considering he can’t be with me. I’ve contracted several of his wait staff at the insistence of A.D., who doesn’t want me overwhelmed. I relented because I have a few tricks up my sleeve and don’t want him believing I need his assistance. I’m dressed in a Tom Ford ivory sheath, long sleeve dress that opens up in the back, fully exposing my skin, all the way down to the top of my bottom. The back is accentuated with a gold zipper that curves around my derriere and into a lip at the small of my back. It’s risqué at best and I fought my resistance when Azmir asked me to wear it tonight. I contemplated it for two days before relinquishing to his will—once again. I settled on him knowing his friends and the atmosphere he wants to create this evening. That won out against my own ignorance of not knowing how to present myself for a house party with Azmir and his friends whom I’ve never met. And in true A.D. fashion, he included a pair of gold Celine sandals.
