Chapter Eleven
It took Brea forever to get warm once she’d changed out of her sopping dress into a still-not-her but more comfortable sleeping gown. Her aunt told her she didn’t need to rejoin the festival after the fountain mishap because the night was winding down, and soon only those bent on debauchery would remain.
Debauchery. Brea grinned into the dark. That was her aunt’s fancy speak for the drunks. Though, most of the people at the festival had been pretty far into their cups already by the time she left.
As if she’d never seen drunk people before.
It would probably horrify her aunt to hear about her mom’s frequent nights out or the way her dad crushed entire cases of beer sitting in front of the TV for college football Saturdays.
No, she was no stranger to debauchery.
Rolling
