Chapter 120: We are a real couple .

I understand what Victoria means when she says sometimes, like now, she wants to spite my husband.

I understand it perfectly.

Because seconds after she walks away from our table, Lysander Sanchez appears out of nowhere and occupies her seat.

I nearly choke on my own saliva.

What the hell is he doing here?

His dark hair is disheveled, his shirt is rumpled, and there is something about his appearance that tells me his day has been considerably worse than mine.

He catches me staring and gives me an exaggeratedly wounded expression.

"I thought you’d be happy to see me."

I blink.

"Why would anyone be happy to see you?"

"My mother usually is."

"Only because she’s a sweet woman."

"And you’re not?"

"Congratulations. You can still recognize the obvious."

His mouth twitches, but the amusement doesn’t last long. His eyes drift toward the counter where Victoria disappeared, and his expression darkens.

"I see you’re on another date with Victoria."

I open my mouth to correct him, then pause as I glance at him again, ready to deliver a suitably insulting response, but something else catches my attention.

His shirt is slightly torn near the shoulder.

And is that blood?.

"Are you bleeding?"

He looks down at himself as if he has only just remembered he has a body.

"It’s just a graze."

I push my chair back and stand to get a better look at him.

"Then let me see."

He immediately shifts away from me.

"What are you, my mother now?"

I stare at him.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

"Oh, I heard you. I’m just trying to understand how someone can be shot at, show up looking like he crawled out of a battlefield, and still have enough energy to be an insufferable bastard."

"It’s a talent."

"It’s a disease."

Before I can come up with another insult, someone places a generously filled bowl of ice cream in front of me.

I look up.

A familiar face smiles down at me, and my irritation immediately eases.

Lawrence.

The slightly older man gives me an affectionate pat on the head, the sort of gesture that makes me feel like a child who has just done something worth being proud of.

"There you go, sweetheart."

"Thank you, Lawrence."

He smiles and walks away without another word.

I settle back into my chair, already reaching for my spoon.

Then I glance at Lysander.

Oh.

Oh, this is interesting.

The man is staring after Lawrence as though he has personally insulted every member of the Sanchez family. If looks could kill, Lawrence would be lying on the floor with a bullet through his skull.

I bite back a laugh and take a generous scoop of ice cream. The cold sweetness melts over my tongue, and I close my eyes, releasing a contented sigh.

"Who was that?"

I open one eye.

"Who was who?"

"The dude you just fucking smiled at. The one who touched your hair."

I swallow my ice cream.

"You mean patted my head, Lysander."

He exhales sharply through his nose, I sigh right back at him.

"His name is Lawrence."

"Who the hell is Lawrence?"

I stare at him, then at the entrance, then back at him.

"Why are you even here? Did you come all the way here just to ruin my fun? I thought you said work was busy. And you got freaking shot at, didn’t you? Shouldn’t you be at the hospital or something?"

His expression doesn’t change.

"Who. Is. Lawrence?"

I press my lips together.

"He serves ice cream here, Lysander."

"Who is he to you?"

I stare.

"What?"

"You heard me. Who is he to you? Why is he patting your head?"

A wicked idea takes shape in my mind.

I widen my eyes, put down my spoon, and lean forward as though I’m about to share a deeply personal secret.

I smile brightly.

"Oh, it’s nothing. I just used to be his personal porn star. You know, real filthy, deep throated stuff. Shared with all his friends too we used to run threesomes. That sort of thing."

Silence.

Beautiful, glorious silence.

Lysander’s jaw tightens so hard I briefly wonder if his teeth are in danger of cracking. His gaze shifts toward Lawrence, who is busy serving another customer, then returns to me.

There is murder in his eyes...Actual, murderous intent.

I almost feel sorry for Lawrence.

I grin at my husband.

"I’m joking," I add sweetly. "In case that wasn’t clear."

"Who. Is. He?"

I roll my eyes so hard I’m surprised they don’t get stuck.

"Oh my God, seriously? He’s just someone I met coming here. He’s way older than me and gives me the older brother vibe. Chill."

Lysander remains unimpressed.

I point my spoon at him.

"And what the fuck is your problem, anyway? I thought you called me a whore. Doesn’t that mean I can do anybody I like?"

The amusement disappears completely from his face.

He leans forward, resting his forearms on the table. Even with his injured shoulder, he manages to make the small space between us feel painfully narrow.

"I don’t care if I called you a whore, Nerissa."

My fingers tighten around the spoon as his eyes hold mine.

"You better be my whore alone."

His words are possessive, arrogant, and infuriatingly typical of a man who seems to believe he can claim whatever he wants simply because he wants it.

I shake my head.

"Jesus," I mutter. "Imagine if we were a real couple. I’d have to start warning any man who even glances at me to run for his life."

"We are a real couple."

I give him a flat look.

"We have a marriage certificate and a collection of problems. That doesn’t make us a real couple. Also so only you get to fuck or have another chick suck your dick. But I don’t have the privilege to fuck whoever I want? You’re such a big hypocrite."

His eyes narrow but he doesn’t say any other thing.

I scoop up another spoonful of ice cream, but the sweetness has somehow lost its appeal.

I pick up my napkin and dab my lips.

"You’ve ruined my appetite."

"That’s unfortunate."

"What’s unfortunate is that you think showing up uninvited and interrogating me about the people I know is normal behavior."

He opens his mouth, probably to argue, but I’ve had enough.

I push my chair back and stand.

"I need to use the restroom."

His eyes follow me immediately.

"Why?"

I stare at him.

"Because I’m a human being, Lysander. We occasionally need to use the bathroom."

His expression suggests he is considering whether to argue with that, too.

I shake my head and turn away before he can say anything else.

Honestly, I need a moment away from this man before I commit a felony.

I walk toward the restroom without looking back.

Behind me, I can practically feel Lysander watching every step I take.

Possessive, infuriating bastard.