Where is my beautiful rich boy friend?

Who is preppy and talks in that pseudo english accent
about hanging out with Giorgio down at the yacht club.
Wears A&F and knows he is the best.
By the money that lines his Italian leather wallet.

We would take weekend trips on his yacht
And in the dawning red mornings of fall,
He would embark on fox and hound hunting trips.

We would dawn the spring with garden parties
And croquet matches.
And in cool dewy evenings dress in silks and cashmeres
To attended the finest black tie balls.

We would spend long summer days
By the pool side at the country club.
And have Sunday brunches in their bay windowed dining hall.

We would spend Christmas
In the snowy alps of Sweden.
Skiing down the slopes until the horizon was littered
With glowing specks of Christmas lights.

Where is my beautiful rich boy friend?
Waiting to crack open his trust fund at 21.