manager after dinner. It will not.”
Vanessa’s expression changed for the first time. The smugness evaporated and something rawer appeared beneath it.
“You can’t do that,” she said.
“I can,” I replied. “And I have.”
Richard Caldwell stepped forward slowly. “Thomas, are you saying the vendors have not been paid?”
The deposits are paid,” I said. “By me. The final balances were to be paid tonight. Also by me.”
The venue manager, Elaine Porter, appeared near the tent entrance, pale and silent.
I turned toward her. “Mrs. Porter, I apologize for the disruption. You will receive full payment for services already rendered tonight. But no additional upgrades, no extended bar, no late-night catering, no extra vehicle service, and no honeymoon transfer will be covered by my family.”
Vanessa stared at me as though I had slapped her, which was a particular kind of irony that I suspect was not
