One

ILSA

My brother is way too obsessed with our grandma's sex life.

I think Czarina has taken a lover, Sam says, holding out his hand to me. Spatula. Stat. My job is to maximize the chef's surgical efficiency by passing him the gadgets he requests. I hand him the spatula. That's an egg-turner spatula. The spoon spatula, Ilsa, he says, like it's so obvious. Observe!

I look at his bowl, filled with cheese and spinach. Seems like any old spatula could work in that bowl, but if it were up to me, we'd order takeout from Zabar's and not bother with DIY cooking at all. Sam's an amazing cook. But all that work! No, thank you. He gets me for a half hour as sous-chef, and the rest of the meal is on him. My job is planning fabulousness, not catering it. I should have been the gay man, not my twin brother.

I hand Sam the spoon spatula. What makes you think Czarina has taken a lover?

She's gone to Paris three times in the last six weeks.

She's a fashion buyer. That's her job.

There's something different about these trips. I feel it. Did you notice how . . . nice she seems when she gets back? It's upsetting.

What are you really upset about? That she's been nice, or that she took Mom and Dad and not you to Paris with her for the weekend? I love when Czarina goes away and lets us use her apartment. Then I get to be the queen of her castle, and not have to share Sam with her.

That's the thing! She never takes Mom and Dad anywhere. Says they're bourgeois bores.

I love 'em, but they kind of are.

Don't be bitchy.

Don't ask me to be anything other than who I am.

Sam laughs, then raises an eyebrow at me. Aren't you just a little concerned? Czarina even said we didn't have to leave her bedroom door locked. Of all the dinner parties she's let us host in her apartment, her one and only strict rule has been-and here Sam mimics Czarina's gangster-worthy growl- 'no teenage miscreants shall miscreant in my bedroom.' 

Yeah, that's why she always shows up during dessert, despite saying she was taking a night out to go to the symphony, and even when she's locked away all the liquor. The control freak can't take our word for it that we won't let anyone in her bedroom or break into her booze. I reconsider what I just said, and then amend my statement. I mean, take my word for it. She knows Sam the Saint won't break her rules.

Not true. Remember the party when #Stantastic wanted to see Czarina's vintage Dior gowns?

You texted Czarina and got her permission to go into her closet. That's not rule breaking.

Stantastic had a beer!

I let out a sigh. Scandal.

What constitutes legit rule breaking? Perhaps that party two years ago when Parker and I jimmied our way into Czarina's brandy collection and then ended the party making out on her bed, with the bedroom door locked so no one else could get in. Best aperitif ever. Miscreants, and proud! Czarina was in Milan, so I knew for a fact she wouldn't be barging in. My parents say I'm too reckless, but even I know not to expose myself to Czarina's in-your-face wrath. I know exactly how that brutal wrath works, because it's the primary trait of hers I inherited. That, and we both look good wearing almost any shape of hat.

I aspire to be more like Czarina in ways other than being wrathful. I'd like to be a heartbreaker, rather than the one left heartbroken. The boss of any situation. Like Czarina, I want to travel the world and have wild affairs, but with the security of a grand Manhattan apartment as home base. (Insert the sounds of my parents' cynical laughter here.) Unlike Czarina, I don't aspire to wear bright-colored caftans and chunky jewelry as my signature look. Aside from dinner parties, I'll be content with the more humdrum look of skinny jeans and extremely cute tight shirts.

Sam counters my si