He wanted to return to the time when it was only his family’s wealth and social position … along with his lying, baby-killing, adulterous, soon-to-be ex-wife … who came between them. Ah, yes, the good ol’ days. Not. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. And that was true about so damned much. “That’s all right.” “Not really.” When they fell silent, he found that the sound of the party annoyed the crap out of him—especially as he thought about all that money that his father had “borrowed.” He had no idea exactly what the costs of the brunch were, but he could do the math. Six or seven hundred people, top-shelf liquor, even if they got it wholesale, food that was out of a Michelin three-star restaurant? With enough parkers and waiters to take care of the entire city of Charlemont? A quarter of a million, at least.
