Roman braced himself as the gates to his father’s property opened. The sprawling mansion wasn’t the house he had grown up in. The monstrosity in front of him was a status symbol acquired at the insistence of his father’s latest wife.
He drove past the manicured gardens to park in front of the house and sighed as he got out of his car. It was his fault. He would have avoided this if he had come for breakfast instead of lunch.
He reached into the car and grabbed the box of imported cigars from the passenger seat. He never bought anything for his dad’s wife, though no one ever questioned him about it. Not that his opinions about his father’s wives had ever made a difference or counted for anything.
The house was quiet, as it usually was when Esther Ashfield wasn’t throwing one of her part
