Then the sound of silverware clinking, muffled conversations, rising panic.
“You need to fix this,” she whispered urgently. “The bill is over eighteen thousand dollars.”
I looked again at the photo of Alina sitting in white satin.
“No,” I replied. “I really don’t.”
Part 2
Marjorie lowered her voice, though I could still hear the chaos behind her: a waiter repeating the total, guests talking over one another, Nolan asking what was happening.
“Lena,” she said suddenly sweetly, “don’t be immature. This is humiliating.”
“That sounds unfortunate,” I answered.
“You know how this works. I charge family events to the card, and later you handle it.”
“No,” I corrected her. “I used to handle it later. That ended this morning.”
She exhaled sharply. “After everything we’ve done for you?”
