Who's Crying Now, Ex-Husband? novel Chapter 418

“What on earth are you doing?!”

Seated at a patio table overlooking the ocean, Mila glared at Lysander, her voice sharp with indignation as she jabbed a finger at the delicate white lemon blossoms now tangled in her hair.

She had no idea what kind of nonsense had gotten into him this time.

After the sea breeze whisked the first blossom from her hair, he’d stood frozen for a moment. Then, like a man possessed, he’d marched over to the blossoming lemon tree nearby and practically stripped it bare, crowning her head with handfuls of flowers until she was absolutely covered. It was so absurd, she couldn’t even process it.

Honestly.

Who could follow the logic of a madman?

The real shame was the lemon tree itself—healthy and in full bloom, now missing half its flowers. There’d be hardly any fruit left at this rate.

He really was impossible.

Lysander, meanwhile, looked exceedingly pleased with himself.

In good spirits, he called over the restaurant owner and asked about the lemon tree. Upon learning it belonged to the owner, Lysander apologized sincerely, quickly estimating the price of the fruit and the value of the tree. Despite the owner’s protests, he insisted on paying six times the amount.

Left with no choice, the owner relented. “In that case, may I have your address? I’ll send some workers to dig up the tree and deliver it to you.”

Lysander shook his head.

“No, leave it here. Just take good care of it for me. As far as I’m concerned, it’s still your lemon tree.”

The owner fell silent.

Mila was even more speechless. Seriously—was he crazy?

In the end, unable to refuse the generous guest, the owner insisted on personally preparing an authentic Italian feast for them—on the house.

It was almost dinnertime anyway, so they accepted.

So, with her hair still crowned with lemon blossoms, Mila picked up her fork and knife and stabbed into the lobster pasta freshly set in front of her, her disgruntled expression melting away at the first bite.

It was delicious.

No wonder the owner had seemed so confident in his cooking.

She was just about to dig in for another mouthful when, to her dismay, Lysander whisked her plate away and replaced it with a plain salad. Ignoring her glare, he simply remarked, “You’re still recovering. Go easy on the seafood.” Then, right in front of her, he finished off the rest of the lobster.

She gripped her utensils tightly. Yes, she was still healing.

She let it slide.

Next came the crab. She managed a single bite before Lysander ate the rest, grinning at her all the while.

She endured it.

Being by the sea, the menu was mostly seafood. Course after course, Mila found herself limited to just a taste of each dish, Lysander polishing off the rest. When all was said and done, she’d eaten little more than a plateful of salad. She was beginning to feel downright depressed.

The owner returned with his homemade limoncello, pouring the golden liqueur into their glasses. The sunlight cast a warm glow through the liquid, making everything look even more beautiful.

It was then Mila learned the town was famous for its lemons—world-renowned, in fact.

Once the chatty owner was called away to another table, Mila lifted her glass, inhaled the sweet, intense aroma, and took a sip. It was a dessert wine, bright and refreshing.