Who's Crying Now, Ex-Husband? novel Chapter 388

Mila was so hungry her head was starting to spin.

Across from her, the man picked up his cane and, with the silver-engraved handle, tapped lightly on the pair of silk gloves resting on the table—the ones she’d just taken off and set down.

She sucked in a deep breath, exasperated.

Seriously?

What was with this obsessive compulsion? The urge to laugh bubbled up, but she fought it down and obediently slipped the gloves back on. Just as she finished, the plate of pastries was handed over again.

She took a bite. The dessert was so sweet it nearly brought her to tears.

Finally, something to eat.

At this point, anything tasted delicious to her. She did her best to eat with a semblance of grace, but she didn’t bother to slow down; soon, the pastries were gone.

A small cup of coffee appeared.

She drank it in one gulp, wincing at the bitterness.

Honestly, she was still hungry. The pastries had only been a few tiny pieces, nowhere near enough. But the man ignored her, sitting off to the side, eyes fixed on his book.

The garden was utterly silent.

With the veil draped over her head, Mila couldn’t see a thing—appreciating the garden was out of the question. Everything in her view was just a blur of color.

Still, she could make out one thing:

Black and crimson roses dominated the garden—the same variety as the one the man had placed in her palm earlier.

She didn’t get it.

He’d brought her here by force, hadn’t killed her, hadn’t made any demands, barely even said a word. He refused any attempt at communication. What was the point of all this?

Was she supposed to live or die? Couldn’t he at least let her know?

Just then, the man put down his book. Gloved in black leather, his hand hovered in the air, then slipped beneath the edge of her veil.

A butterfly perched delicately on his fingertips.

Mila blinked in surprise, unsure what he wanted. Was she supposed to take it? She hesitantly reached out, and the butterfly fluttered down to her finger, trembling for a moment before taking off again.

The man returned to his book.

So they sat there: one reading, the other simply enduring the silence. Time crawled toward noon. Mila was almost dozing off in the heat when, suddenly, a shadow fell over her, snapping her awake.

Outside the veil, several figures moved quietly past.

The manor’s servants—she could tell by their uniforms—set up a sunshade overhead and arranged a long table nearby, laying out platters of fragrant food.

Her stomach growled.

But she didn’t dare move.

With the veil hiding her face, she stole a glance at the man. He closed his book, handed it to a waiting servant, and took a seat at the table, composed and unhurried as he began his lunch.

No one paid her any mind.

So... was she supposed to eat or not?

...

She waited a while, but hunger eventually won out. Lifting the heavy folds of her gold gown, Mila shuffled over to the table and sat down, pulling out a chair herself.