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“Is the veal to your liking?” The cultured tone was polite and distant, something she had become used to in the three short months she had been married to him.

“Yes, thanks.” Her voice was equally polite as she cut into the meat. The formal dinner table could seat thirty people and he was seated at one end and she at the other. Chandeliers sparkled overhead and had been turned to low, casting shadows against the pale blue wallpapers. A maid had carried the courses in and out discreetly, doing her duties silently before retreating. Another one had come to remove the used dishes and was equally silent. Her husband, even now it was strange to her that she had married the dark-haired man with the slate gray eyes seated opposite her. He had proposed to her and she had accepted out of desperation. Her mother had told her that was far from being a good reason to marry someone. “Didn’t you learn from my disaster of a marriage?” Andrea had asked her impatiently. “Both my marriages failed because the foundations were not solid.”