The next day at noon was the family luncheon.
The long dining table was covered with a precious velvet tablecloth, the silver cutlery polished to a shine.
But the atmosphere was painfully stiff.
His father, Latour, sat at the head of the table, with Ian in the seat of honor to his right.
His mother, Ainoya, sat beside Ian. Her eyes were still a little red, but she wore a smile and continuously served him food.
His older brother, Vincent, sat to Latour's left, his posture ramrod straight and his movements restrained.
Beside Vincent was his wife, a young woman with a gentle face, who kept her head down, not daring to look at Ian.
Across the table sat three children.
The oldest, a boy of about thirteen or fourteen with brown hair and blue eyes, was Andrei, Latour's son by a concubine.
Next to him were two girls. One was Lillian, Ian's eleven-year-old full sister, who had blonde hair and green eyes and snuck glances at Ian.
