To his left was Julian. He was leaning back in his chair, scrolling through his phone, his handsome profile carved in cold indifference.
It was as if he were waiting for a boring meeting to end, rather than having dinner with his new wife.
I changed out of my travel clothes and walked toward the table, heading for the empty seat next to Julian.
“Sit at the end,” Arthur commanded, his voice sharp enough to cut glass.
He pointed to the far edge of the long table, the seat reserved for distant guests or low-level business associates.
A seat so far from the others I would need to shout to be heard.
I paused for a fraction of a second, waiting for Julian to say something. To tell his father that I was his wife, that I belonged next to him.
Julian did not even look up. His long fingers flicked across his phone screen, his mind clearly occupied with more important matters than where I sat.
I walked to the end of the table and sat down. The leather chair was ice cold.
A maid silently placed a setting in front of me. I caught a glimpse of pity in her eyes, quickly hidden behind professional neutrality.
I gave her a tiny nod of acknowledgment.