Chapter 53: I wasn’t jealous

The slow, elegant song that had been playing in the background fades into something smoother, softer. Around us, couples begin moving toward the dance floor.

I barely notice until Lysander holds out his hand.

I stare at it then at him.

"Dance with me."

I glance toward Isabella. She is already looking between us with a knowing smile.

"I’ll be right back," I tell her.

She waves me off.

"Go. Have fun."

Fun.

Right.

I place my hand in Lysander’s.

His fingers close around mine, and he pulls me away from the bar.

"I see you didn’t like Eva."

I roll my eyes as we walk.

"I wasn’t jealous."

"I didn’t say you were."

"You were thinking it."

"I wasn’t."

When I look at him, he looks completely serious.

Annoying man.

"But you’re the one who said we had to do this thing and make it look real," I continue. "It’s going to look bad if my new husband is out sticking his dick in every pretty girl he sees."

"I completely agree."

I stop for half a second.

Wait. What?

I barely have time to process his answer before his hand settles against my waist.

His eyes meet mine. There is something different in them now, something far too amused.

"And that’s why," he says quietly, "I’ll only be sticking my dick in one pretty girl.....which is you."

I narrow my eyes.

"You wish."

His mouth curves.

"I don’t have to wish."

He draws me closer as the music carries us onto the dance floor.

"I know."

I scoff.

"Keep dreaming, asshole."

His hand presses a little more firmly against my waist, going over it and cupping my ass.

My eyes bulge and I try to move away discreetly so as not to drag attention but he uses his hands on my ass to hold me in place.

"You’re very hostile for someone who agreed to dance with me."

"You dragged me here."

"You still came."

"Because people are watching."

"Exactly."

I glance around.

He’s right, half the room seems to have noticed us.

Lysander moves effortlessly with the music, completely at ease while I’m trying not to step on my own damn dress.

"You’re enjoying this."

"Very much."

"I hate you."

"No, you don’t."

I glare at him.

"You’re incredibly confident."

"I’ve noticed something."

"What?"

"You haven’t tried to get away from me."

I open my mouth, close it then glare harder.

"I’m surrounded by people, I don’t want to cause a scene."

"Excuses."

"It’s called being practical."

His smile deepens.

"Of course."

I hate that expression. That smug, infuriating expression that says he knows exactly what he’s doing.

I place my hand firmly against his shoulder.

"Don’t get comfortable."

"Too late."

He turns us smoothly, bringing me back against him.

For one brief second, I forget what I was going to say.

His face is closer than it needs to be and his eyes drop briefly to my lips. Then return to mine.

My stomach does an annoying little flip.

I immediately blame the alcohol. Even though I haven’t had enough to blame anything on.

"You’re staring," I mutter.

"So are you."

"I was checking whether you had something on your face."

"And?"

"Unfortunately, no."

He laughs quietly.

The music continues around us, couples turning beneath the chandeliers while cameras occasionally flash from across the room.

Lysander’s expression shifts when he notices one.

His arm tightens around me.

"Smile."

I frown.

"Why?"

"Camera."

I immediately plaster a smile onto my face.

His mouth twitches.

"That’s a terrible expression ."

"Shut up."

"Try again."

I smile wider.

"There."

"Much better."

I lean closer and whisper through my smile.

"If you keep ordering me around, I’m going to step on your foot."

His smile doesn’t falter.

"Do it."

"You’re impossible."

"And you’re still dancing with me."

I glare at him.

He looks far too pleased with himself.

Then his gaze shifts over my shoulder, his expression changes slightly.

But I notice.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Lysander."

He looks back at me.

"Keep smiling."

I hate that answer.

But before I can demand another one, his hand tightens around mine and he spins me beneath his arm.

When I come back around, his face is closer again and this time, he’s no longer smiling.

Neither am I.

Because whatever he just saw across the room...Something tells me this dance is about to become a lot more interesting.

We barely make it through another turn before a woman’s voice cuts through the music.

"So finally, I’ve met your wife."

Lysander turns his head.

"Mother."

The woman standing behind him is elegant, with dark hair swept neatly away from her face and eyes that look far too sharp to miss anything.

Lysander stares at her.

"I didn’t know you were here."

"Oh, hush, boy."

She waves him off like he’s still twelve years old.

Then her eyes move to me.

"Why haven’t you brought your wife to me?"

Lysander exhales through his nose.

"Mother..."

"It has been two months, Lysander."

"I’ve been busy."

"Busy?"

She gives him an incredulous look.

"You’ve been married for two months and you’re telling me you’re too busy to introduce me to your wife?"

She studies me again, this time with considerably more interest.

"So you’re the bride."

"Mother."

Lysander’s jaw tightens.

"It’s complicated."

"Everything with you is complicated."

She steps closer to me.

"I see you’re as pretty as they say."

I smile politely.

"Thank you. You’re beautiful yourself."

"Oh, don’t flatter me."

She takes my hand between both of hers.

"But I like you already."

I can’t help smiling. She has the same warmth Isabella has, but there’s something different about her. There’s a sharpness beneath her.

Her gaze briefly drops to my wedding ring.

Then back to my face.

"So, Nerissa."

"Yes?"

"How are you finding the Sanchez family?"

I glance at Lysander. He is watching me carefully now.

I smile.

"They’re certainly memorable."

His mother laughs.

"That’s a diplomatic answer."

"I’m trying to be a good wife."

Lysander’s eyebrow rises.

I ignore him.

She looks at her son, then back at me.

"Well," she says, squeezing my hand. "I’m glad you’re here."

There is something almost sincere in her voice.

Then she turns to Lysander.

"And you."

He sighs.

"Yes, Mother?"

"You’re going to explain why you haven’t brought your wife to me."

His eyes narrow.

"Later."

"Now."

"Mother."

She smiles sweetly.

"Now."

I bite back a laugh.

Oh.

I think I’m going to like this woman.