My Vengeful Former Lover - Chapter 119

The next morning came. Deatrice had unknowingly watched his pants rustle against the wind. But the area where her eyes were fixated was quite sensitive. Lucius caught her stare and chuckled.

He glanced at his pants and spoke.

“Would it be better to say that it’s fine to look at my pants since it has already been removed before, or would it be better if I said I dream about waking next to your sleeping face every morning?”

Deatrice’s face crinkled, as if she’d eaten a rotten apple, “Seeing that you have the energy to say such crude words in the morning—neither.”

“I feel like I should choose the latter. Seems like you want it more.”

“Lucius.”

He immediately shut his mouth like an obedient puppy and gave her an entrancing smile.

It was her mistake for provoking him. Meanwhile, Deatrice got up from the bed, put on a robe, and tried to reach the servant bell behind him. However, no matter their tenuous relationship now, Lucius didn’t want to see anyone disrupting their time.

He grabbed her wrist as she passed by him.

“I’ll do it.”

The warmth of his hard hands felt through the embroidered silk fabric was strange.

Perplexed, Deatrice asked. “You’ll do what?”

“I will serve you.”

Deatrice looked down at him, flabbergasted.

As she slowly sat in her chair, his gaze followed her down until she was the one looking up at him. His expression was serious and didn’t look as obedient as he was a moment ago. Rather, it felt arrogant.

She wanted to refuse, but Lucius went in front of the mirror before any sound could leave her mouth. And, without even raising up his sleeves, he dipped the cotton cloth into the water.

But he didn’t even squeeze it properly before he placed the damp towel onto her face, the cuffs of his sleeves already wet.

Has he never been served?

He certainly wouldn’t borrow someone else’s hands on the battlefield, but before going to war, there should’ve at least been a servant boy to help him dress up. But rather than being annoyed, Deatrice felt it was funny being squished in the face by a dripping wet towel.

Lucius gently and slowly moved his hand, with the intention to wipe every single lash on her eyes, so he dumped the towel back into the basin and slowly put it back to her face.

His eyebrows furrowed in bewilderment, “It’s too small.”

“And you’re too slow.”

He ignored her reply and threw the wet cloth randomly behind him. Then he hovered his fingers over a variety of women’s accessories until he eventually picked a comb.

Lucius stood behind Deatrice’s chair and locked eyes with her when he looked in the mirror.

He clumsily brushed the strands of her hair and Deatrice soon got used to the occasional pricks of pain when the comb came near the tip.

Rather than it being erotic gestures, Deatrice thought, it was more like Lucius was an older brother she never had and was helping his sister dress up to send her out.

Except, his thoughts compared to hers were entirely different.

He was standing above her, so every time he combed her hair, she would tilt her head slightly and reveal the nape of her neck. The pearly complexion skin going down to the valley of her breasts until his eyes would reach the small slit at the hem of her nightgown.

Lucius unconsciously placed his hand behind her ear.

Wherever he placed his hand, his warmth seemed to seep into her skin. On a closer look, he could see the small traces of delicate veins branching out.

He heard Deatrice’s breath hitch.

“…what about perfume?” He asked calmly, making up an excuse as to why he touched her there. But they both knew it was a lie.

Deatrice got up from her seat and widened the distance. “I’ll do it myself.”

With a familiar gesture, Deatrice opened the bottle. She sprayed them on her two fingers, then drew a small cross behind both ears and between her clavicle bones. All of her gestures seemed to follow an old female custom, which even looked holy at first glance.

She meant to show it off. Therefore, by the end of it, she glanced up at him with an ‘I’m all done’ look.

But of course, the effect she desired wasn’t achieved.

Lucius wanted to kiss her even more. He even called Wilton to their mansion just so he could ‘legally’ share a room with her. However, he didn’t know how long this invisible barrier between them would go on.

Of course, the easiest way would be for him to first admit that it was his fault for wanting an annulment and finally letting things go, but he didn’t want to. Pride was one of his strong suits, but it was also his downfall.

But before he could right his wrongs, he still needed confirmation from her—confirmation that she still loved him and that there was no other.

This could also be called a different kind of pride. Almost being vain, even.

Amid his inner sadness, he pulled her up and kissed her on the forehead. “Do eat your breakfast. I’ll gather the knights to greet our guest.”

His sleeves were drenched, but he paid no heed to them as he ran his fingers through his hair. Moments later, Lucius left the room without even changing his clothes.

Deatrice watched him leave, sighed, and rang the bell. Judging her current appearance, it was evident that she had to reorganize herself from the beginning.

…starting with properly combing her tangled hair.

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