Rikka hung in the background as the ten chefs graced the long cherrywood table beneath a line of crystal chandeliers. The room itself had all the ostentation of Tara, the Gone with the Wind mansion—marble floors, white dining chairs, damask wallpaper, and gold-framed oil paintings of vistas of the estate grounds.
Any spouses who had tagged along had been relegated to Daddy James’ boathouse, an air-conditioned man cave that included pool and poker tables, a massive television tuned permanently to ESPN, and a full wet bar.
By the time the ever-so-polite passive-aggressive sniping kicked in—somewhere between sitting down and picking up their napkins—Kate decided she’d have been better off joining the men.
Afterward in the shared suite in the East Wing—everyone else except best friend Prisc
