I heard the gravel before I heard the music falter, the sharp pop of tires on stone cutting through the soft hum of a string quartet and the murmur of guests finding their seats. By the time I saw Derek’s three-car caravan press against the locked black iron gate—coolers, children, overnight bags, and his grin already curdling—I knew exactly what he was here to take, and exactly what I was no longer willing to gi… Continues…
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