Who's Crying Now, Ex-Husband? novel Chapter 411

Thinking about all this, Mila’s grip tightened around her phone.

Suddenly, a tailored suit jacket settled around her shoulders, cool and fragrant with sandalwood. The man—fresh from the shower, hair damp, skin still tinged with steam—drew her gently into his arms.

“It gets cold out here at sea at night,” he murmured.

…

Mila brushed his hand away.

She turned back toward the cabin and rummaged through the drawers. Apart from his clothes and the flimsy slip she was already wearing, there wasn’t a single thing of her own to be found.

Of course he’d done this on purpose.

She couldn’t even be bothered to argue.

In the end, she pulled a crisp white men’s shirt from the closet—a long, oversized cut that barely covered the tops of her thighs. She slipped into the bathroom to change, buttoned up the jacket, and was about to head out when the man—who’d been leaning against the doorframe, watching her intently—blocked her way.

“Going somewhere?”

“I’m hungry. I want to eat.”

After her time in the manor, where meals were unpredictable at best, she’d learned to take food seriously. If she was hungry, she ate—no hesitation.

He let out a low, amused laugh. “I’ll have them bring something up. And you—what are you planning to do, walking out there dressed like that?” Without waiting for her answer, he swept her up effortlessly and settled onto the sofa, holding her in his lap.

“Darling, are you trying to seduce me?”

Mila inhaled sharply, wishing she could knock some sense into this man with his infuriatingly dirty mind. Every time he spoke, she wanted to explode.

Barely restraining her temper, she managed, “Then find me something I can actually wear.”

“Something else?” Lysander’s grin was wolfish. “Are you sure about that, darling?”

Mila refused to answer.

She regretted her words the moment they left her mouth. Knowing him, there was no telling what he’d come up with; that would be worse than wearing his clothes.

“Still mad at me?”

When she turned her face away in silence, Lysander simply pulled her legs apart and settled her more firmly on his lap, pressing her close to his chest as he asked, “When does the boat reach shore?”

“That depends on my mood,” Lysander replied with a lazy smile. “Or maybe—if you make me happy, we could arrive sooner than you think.”

Bastard.

She was about to snap when her stomach growled loudly. Mila had no choice but to take a deep breath, reminding herself to focus on food—everything else could wait until after she’d eaten.

Right now, nothing scared her more than hunger.

Seeing her like this, Lysander finally relented. He held her quietly, not moving, simply sitting with her on the sofa.

It was a rare moment of peace.

Soon, dinner arrived. Mila’s entire attention shifted to the food in front of her; she barely noticed the man she loathed sitting across the room. She only looked up again when music began to play softly in the cabin.

…

Noticing her attention had returned, Lysander—having just set up the record—smiled and crossed the room. “So you finally remembered I exist, darling?”