“I—”
“His hair. His clothes. His dojo.” Leonidas leaned forward, and Lexy instinctively leaned back. “What else do you remember, Lexina? How he looked at you? How he touched you?”
“That’s not—”
“Did you love him?”
“No!”
“But you remember his training outfit.”
“Because it was distinctive!”
“How long were you together?”
“I don’t—”
“Weeks? Months?”
“I can’t—”
“Did you sleep with him?”
“LEON.”
“It’s a simple question.”
“It’s an invasive question!”
“You brought up your relationship history.” His voice had dropped to something low and dangerous, and Lexy’s heart was pounding so hard she could hear it in her ears. “I am simply asking for details.”
“Well maybe—” She was on her feet before she knew it, her chair scraping back against the floor. “Maybe I don’t want to talk about this anymore!”
“Because you have something to hide?”
“Because you’re being impossible!”
“I’m being thorough.”
“You’re being jealous!”
The word escaped before she could catch it, and it hung in the air between them like something fragile and dangerous.
Leonidas’s expression went carefully blank. “I am not jealous.”
“Then why do you care so much about Guile’s dog tags?”
He didn’t have an answer for that.
Or rather, he did—but it wasn’t one he was willing to voice.
“You were eighteen when we married,” he said instead, his voice tight. “How much of a life could you have possibly—”
“Enough of one! Enough to know things! Enough to have done things! Enough to—”
She stopped.
Because she was about to cry, and she would not cry in front of him. Not about this. Not about the pathetic truth that she’d invented fake boyfriends because she had nothing real to tell him.
