Velvet Room

The summer of 1925. The champagne is bootleg, the marble is white, and every smile hides a secret.At the Marivell Hotel — the brightest jewel on the coast — the rich come to confess their sins and call it conversation. They do it in a private salon paneled in oxblood velvet, and they do it in front of Iris Larkin, the house stenographer, because a lady with a notebook is a piece of furniture. She ...