“Yes,” I said. “But I want somewhere to sit, and I refuse to smile through three speeches about how fortunate I am.”
Draven Vescari looked toward the box of place cards.
“There goes my speech.”
“You had one?”
“No.”
“Then we’ve saved time.”
He opened the function calendar again.
The small harbor lounge was free on the fourteenth. It had a bar, a narrow terrace, and considerably fewer seats than the ancestral dining room.
“How many?” I asked.
“Comfortably? Eighteen.”
“And uncomfortably?”
“I run a hotel. I prefer not to advertise that figure.”
We pulled chairs up to the desk.
The list grew shorter without becoming easier. Some people had already declined. Others had sent replies that carefully avoided addressing either of us. Draven crossed out the man who had met us at the house
