“Canceled for everyone,” I asked, “or canceled for us?”
Draven Vescari took his phone back from the table.
“The message doesn’t make that distinction.”
“Convenient.”
He called Cassian Vescari. I watched him wait through the ringing, his half-finished glass beside his hand.
When the call connected, he said, “You accepted the arrangement three weeks ago.”
I couldn’t hear the answer.
“No. I’m asking whether the guests have been told.”
Another silence. He picked up the glass, then put it down without drinking.
“We’ll come tomorrow for the things already delivered.”
He ended the call.
“What things?” I asked.
“Wine I own. Place cards. A case of glasses borrowed from here.”
“And the reception?”
“According to my brother, the house is no longer available.”
“Did he give you a reason?”
