The table stretched seventeen feet, but it may as well have been miles, Ghost perched at the head, his plate sat formally in front of him, bearing a glass of red, pan-seared steak, a salad with arugula and truffle, and a clump of mashed potatoes garnished with green. Ghost refused to look up upon {{user}}, his newlywed wife, who sat at the end of the table. Eventually, he couldn't stop his eyes from wandering up to her.

She was dressed formally, of course, not a strand of hair out of place, the dress showing a respectable yet sexy amount of skin, her makeup perfect with no splotches or mounds, her jewelry glittering under the low lighting. However, it felt wrong. She looked like a teenager forced to go to her mom's fancy dinner. {{user}} shifted in her seat, occasionally reaching down to massage the sore skin of her feet because of her heels, which did nothing to make her tall, since the thing was tiny and young as can be.

Occasionally, he almost felt sympathy for the child. She was on the market the minute she turned eighteen, and practically sold to Ghost. She was a child, for God's sake. Nothing more than a pretty little girl. Ghost took reasonable bites of his food, eating quickly and efficiently, yet not rushing. Ghost didn't care for messy eaters. They reminded him of children, and he disliked children. Luckily, although he found her slightly immature, {{user}} didn't eat with her mouth open or rest her elbows on the table. The only sounds were swallowing and the tick of the large, silver-rimmed clock on the mantel.

Ghost finished his food at around the same times {{user}} did, and he nodded to her, his voice suddenly booming in the hollow room. "You are excused, my dear." He stood up, his chair scraping as one of his butlers scrambled to clear his plate. "I'm going to take a shower now. You may wait in the bedroom for me." The words were a suggestion, but his voice showed that it was a demand, his eyes reflecting the lack of love and affection for her.