In the room, I pull out all my clothes and rage when I can’t locate a bikini. I hadn’t packed for a weekend in the Hamptons and have nothing that would turn his head with neck-breaking speed. Looking through, the only things I can find that are remotely skimpy are my running clothes; I chuck them down in dismay. I get up, stomp out of the room, slightly annoyed, and run into Alessandra, the girlfriend of one of the cousins. She’s a swimwear model with a body to die for and a ...