chapter 120
Sebastian's POV:
Lucas set down the pastry boxes with deliberate care, then turned to face me with that insufferably composed expression I'd grown to despise over the years.
His next words caught me completely off guard.
"Actually, I've always admired Mr. Vane's decisiveness and courage," he said smoothly, his gaze sliding between Elena and me with calculated precision. "Especially your choice during the accident—willing to take a fatal blow for the one you love. Not everyone has that kind of bravery."
I felt Elena shift beside me, her confusion palpable as she glanced between us. She seemed puzzled by the sudden show of civility between two men who'd been at each other's throats moments ago, unable to grasp what game was being played.
Lucas continued, his voice carrying that particular brand of false sincerity that made my teeth ache. "Though the leg injury must be... challenging. The doctors aren't optimistic, I hear?"
The words hung in the air like a challenge. He was probing for weakness, testing to see if my injuries had diminished me in Elena's eyes.
My fingers tightened imperceptibly on the sheets .
Before I could respond, Elena's hand found mine, her touch gentle but grounding. "Thank you for your concern. Sebastian's recovery is going well," she said quietly, her thumb stroking across my knuckles in a soothing gesture.
A knock at the door interrupted the undercurrents of tension flowing between us. Marcus entered, followed by two staff members carrying covered trays.
"Lady Margaret sent lunch, sir," Marcus announced. "She insisted on the chef's special preparations for both you and Mrs. Vane."
The aroma of perfectly seasoned broth filled the room as they began setting up on the rolling table. Elena started to rise, presumably to help with the arrangements, but Lucas beat her to it.
"Please, allow me," he said, already moving to pull out her chair. "You shouldn't strain yourself in your condition."
The presumption of it—the casual way he inserted himself into our space, touching things meant for us—sent fresh rage coursing through my veins. But what truly set my teeth on edge was the way he said it, as if he had any right to concern himself with my wife's wellbeing.
"How thoughtful," I drawled, injecting just enough sarcasm to make my point without seeming petty. "Though I'm perfectly capable of taking care of my wife, Ashton. Even with a few scratches."
Lucas's smile never wavered as he continued setting out the dishes with practiced efficiency. "Of course. I'm simply... substituting while you recover. Temporary assistance, nothing more."
Substituting. The word echoed in my mind like a declaration of war.
My hands clenched beneath the blankets. Elena must have sensed my tension because she quickly returned to my bedside, her hand finding my arm.
"The doctor said you shouldn't sit up too much," she murmured, her fingers gentle against my bicep. "Let me help you."
I allowed her to adjust the pillows behind me, using the opportunity to pull her closer. "My legs might be injured," I said, loud enough for Lucas to hear, "but everything else works perfectly fine."
She blushed at the implication, which was exactly what I'd intended. Let Lucas see that she still responded to me, still cared for me despite my current state.
"Well then," I said pointedly, gesturing toward the lunch spread, "we should start eating before the food gets cold. I'm sure you have other commitments to attend to, Ashton."
The dismissal couldn't have been clearer, but Lucas merely smiled with that infuriating composure of his.
"Actually, I find myself quite hungry as well," he said smoothly, pulling out a chair at the small table. "Would it be terribly presumptuous if I joined you? The hospital cafeteria is rather... lacking, and there seems to be more than enough here."
The sheer audacity of it took my breath away.
Elena sensed the tension immediately, her lips parting to what I knew would be a polite refusal. But I caught her eye and gave an almost imperceptible shake of my head.
If he insisted on inserting himself where he wasn't wanted, then I had no qualms about making him witness exactly what he could never have. Let him choke on our intimacy.
"By all means," I said magnanimously, my smile sharp as a blade. "Stay and watch my wife take care of me. I'm sure it will be... educational."
Elena moved to the table, selecting the bowl of clear broth and returning to my bedside.
"I'll feed you," she said softly, settling on the edge of the bed with natural grace. "The doctor said you shouldn't strain your arms unnecessarily."
The doctor had said no such thing—my arms were perfectly functional. But I wasn't about to correct her, not when being fussed over by Elena felt like being wrapped in warmth itself.
Every gentle attention, every worried glance, fed something deep and hungry inside me that I hadn't even known was starving.
Elena's brow furrowed with concern as she carefully spooned up some broth, blowing on it gently before bringing it to my lips.
The tender domesticity of the moment was precisely calculated to exclude Lucas, to remind him that he was an outsider in our intimacy.
I accepted the spoonful, maintaining eye contact with her as I swallowed. "Perfect," I murmured. "No one takes care of me the way you do."
Behind her, I caught Lucas's jaw tightening almost imperceptibly. Good.
"Such devotion," he observed, his tone deceptively light as he reached for his glass. "Though I must say, if it were my wife, I'd never let her go hungry just to feed me. A man should ensure his woman eats first, don't you think?"
The familiar darkness unfurled in my chest, cold and lethal.
Elena's soft sigh cut through the mounting tension.
"Now, could we please get through one meal without you two turning it into a battleground? The food is getting cold."
Her fingers found mine under the table, a brief squeeze that felt like both comfort and restraint.
I watched Lucas's face carefully, noting how his eyes tracked that small gesture, how his jaw worked as he forced himself to smile.
"Of course," he said smoothly. "My apologies, Elena. I wouldn't want to ruin such a... memorable meal."
The regret hit me like a physical weight.
Why the hell had I agreed to let him stay? I should have had the security escort him out the moment he suggested joining us for lunch.