One week later.
The air was thick with the mingling sounds of chatter and gay laughter, and the clinking of glasses controlled every breath. Elegantly and warmly dressed guests sat to dinner and topics of conversation were never in lack. Lord Michaelson and a couple other gentlemen raised their glasses in a raucous cheer. Lady Carlisle giggled to something Carlisle whispered.
It was well past 7 p.m., and though the wedding had ended hours ago, the wedding dinner was anywhere but. Alexander sat at the head of the table, sawing absentmindedly at the slab of meat on his plate. He picked the tiny piece and shoved it into his mouth, only to realize he had eaten a tomato. He did not care. His thoughts were elsewhere. And so were his eyes. They were fixed on Guinevere – his wife.
He was openly gawking and he gave no care.
