Who's Crying Now, Ex-Husband?

Chapter 417 She barely listened to what he said-Mila just let his words wash over her, too indifferent to care.

Still, a question nagged at her. "If nothing happened, then why did he bother knockingout? Was it supposed to be a joke?" She honestly couldn't make sense of it.

Lysander's gaze dropped, his tone cool and detached. "With someone as unhinged as him, nothing would surprise me. Maybe he just wanted to scare you." She fell silent, thinking back to Cossio's bizarre antics in the old manor. He did seem to enjoy toying with people, his mind working in ways she'd never understand.

Nothing he did was ever surprising.

Even so, Mila couldn't shake a lingering unease. But before she could dwell on it, Lysander's wandering hand snapped her attention back. Her expression darkened instantly.

This bastard.

They were still in a hospital corridor, for crying out loud! What the hell is wrong with him? Irritated, she smacked his hand away, stomped hard on his foot, and strode toward the hospital exit. All she wanted was to get as far from him as possible.

He winced, but only chuckled. "Ouch. Brutal." Unbothered by the pain, Lysander shot a faintly amused look at the doctor standing nearby, then followed Mila out.

Outside the hospital, Mila made for the car, eager to get back to the ship. But Lysander caught her arm, and she whirled around, frowning at his infuriatingly pleasant smile. "What now?" "We're in a foreign country, darling. Letshow you around a bit." "Not interested." She repeated herself, voice colder. "I especially don't want to hang out with you. Can't we just ignore each other for the next two weeks and pretend the other doesn't exist?" The scenery might be nice, but the company ruined it. She couldn't even pretend to enjoy herself.

She just hated him.

For a moment, Lysander's smile faded, but his voice remained calm and warm. "No, I don't think so. Unless you'd prefer to go back to the ship and spend a lovely night withinstead? I'd like that even more." She clenched her fists, resisting the urge to smack him again.

Her temper had been on a hair-trigger lately. She drew a deep breath. "Don't you have anything better to do? What about-" she hesitated, "-Francis? Weren't you supposed to take care of something? Weren't you supposed to deal with Cossio?" Could he please just go handle his business and leave her alone? Lysander grinned. "Don't worry, darling. Everything's arranged. I have plenty of tto spend with you now. It's been ages since we traveled together-don't you want to enjoy it?" "No." Mila's face was blank. "Now can you go away?" He smiled at her stubbornness. "You wish." Ignoring her protests, Lysander took her hand and started strolling down the sun-drenched street, the car trailing behind at a distance.

Mila didn't bother to pull away.

She was tired.

And honestly, she didn't dare go back to the ship with him—not after his threats. She knew he'd be true to his word. If she went back to the ship, she might not make it out of bed for days... The bastard.

The more she thought about it, the angrier she got.

She tried to pry his hand off, nails digging into his palm until she felt the warmth of his skin, but he only held on tighter. Defeated, she let go.

What was the point of fighting with a lunatic? It would only make her angrier.

The afternoon sun was still golden and bright. Mila's white dress fluttered beneath the billowing black coat she wore, her hair streaming in the sea breeze. Ahead, Lysander walked with effortless confidence, his tailored charcoal shirt rolled up at the sleeves, exposing toned forearms. The open collar revealed the subtle lines of muscle beneath, the wind molding the fabric to his frame.

Their hands were entwined, wandering aimlessly along the golden, sunlit avenue.

The sidewalk was crowded with people. It had been ages since Mila had walked like this-leisurely, without a purpose-in a foreign land, warm sunlight spilling over her. For a fleeting moment, she felt almost dizzy, as if she could smell the sunlight itself.

She stopped, inhaling deeply.

No, it wasn't sunlight. It was a clean, citrusy perfume-fresh, but not quite orange. "What is it?" Lysander turned to look at her.

Distracted, Mila glanced around and answered without thinking, "It smells wonderful." "Does it?" Lysander sniffed the air, scanning the street until his eyes landed on something. Smiling, he tugged her in that direction.

"Darling, it's lemon blossoms."

Just ahead, nestled by the bay, was an open-air restaurant, shaded by a lush lemon tree covered in white mon flowers. The fragrance she'd noticed-bright and sunlit-wafted from there. A breeze swept past, carrying the scent through the whole garden.

The closer they got, the stronger the aroma became. As they reached the tree, a sudden gust sent a handful of blossoms swirling down around them. Lysander lifted his hand, catching one, and with a sudden, almost playful gesture, tucked the fragrant flower behind Mila's ear. He stepped back, eyes satisfied.

"Beautiful," he murmured.

The delicate white petals trembled in the wind, making Mila-already striking in her pale dress-seem g in her pale ethereal, the subtle citrus scent clinging to her and enchanting the senses. Waves crashed on the shore nearby.

For a moment, Mila was stunned. Then, embarrassed, she reached to brush the flower away, but Lysander's hand caught hers, holding it fast.

Just then, a strong gust swept through. The blossom behind her ear shivered, slipped free from her hair, and spun away toward the endless blue sea, its fragrance dissolving into the wind.

Instinctively, Lysander reached out to catch it, but the blossom danced from his grasp.

They both stood there, momentarily speechless.