The family dinners at the home of Marcus’s parents were always a trial. The long, lacquered table was set with ostentatious luxury, crystal goblets filled with tart red wine, and the tense, polished smiles of people who had been accumulating resentments for years. Anna always felt like an outsider here, an exhibit in a museum to be observed and silently judged.
Tonight’s occasion was a birthday celebration for Marcus’s father, Arthur, a severe man with a commanding presence and an unyielding gaze. He was the very embodiment of power and conservative values. Marcus’s mother, Eleanor, seemed soft and yielding by contrast, but beneath that gentle facade was a will of steel and a masterful ability to manipulate everyone around her.
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