The idea struck my then-fiancé Marshall and I about ten months before our wedding: Why not keep the party going and invite our friends on the honeymoon? We texted people that we had a free place to stay for two weeks — a villa in Antibes, France, with three extra rooms — for anyone who could get there. One by one, the bedrooms filled: Peter and Emily were already going to be in France, Tamir and Racien could get there easily from Berlin, and Christian and Lauren needed a vacation anyway. For a series of perfect days, all eight of us would overlap. “Two hot new bombshells enter the villa!” my husband and I yelled in horrible accents upon each couple’s entry, because we’re diseased by reality television and because it was true.
