Page 27 of Broken Bonds

“What… what is it?” I ask fearfully, bracing myself for him to come out with a conspiracy or something like that.

Lionel takes a deep breath and points in front of us. “Do you see the bed right there?” he tells me; duh, I’m not blind, it would be impossible not to see it. “Well, it’s the only one in this house. We can definitely fix that tomorrow, but tonight it’s the only place available to sleep.”

The same ol’ tale that has been told a thousand times. I have to stop myself from rolling my eyes. Men are so predictable…

Lionel might be thinking that just because I’m here and he wants to, I’m going to sleep with him. But he’s very wrong. As handsome as he is, I’m stronger than the attraction that pulls me to him with such force—gravity and need.

As I said before, cordial coexistence doesn’t mean we are now friends with benefits.

Instead, we are spouses without benefits. He lost them when he told me so many lies, he still has a long way to go before he can redeem himself in my eyes.

“The couch in the other room seems pretty comfy,” I reply.

“Stella, don’t be silly, that thing has been with me since my college days,” he refutes. “It’s full of holes and bumps, you aren’t going to sleep well there. Believe me, I’ve tried it before.”

No, sirree.

“And then why haven’t you thrown it away?” I question. “Lionel, I know we are still married, but I’m not sleeping with you…”

He raises his hands, defending himself. Damn, why does he have to be so handsome?

Much has changed, yet so much remains the same. Lionel is a gorgeous man and knows how to use it to his advantage.

I have to be strong because our problems are only just beginning.

“Get your mind out of the gutter,” he tells me. “I’m not assuming anything. Look, the bed is wider than America. We can put some pillows in the middle and that’s it, each one sleeps on a different side of the Mississippi.”

As I said before, this man is an expert at getting his way… Especially with that innocent face.

“Look, you can sleep in Kentucky, and I’ll be here in California.”

“Oh no… the chicken,” I squeak, remembering I left it in the fryer. I need to be careful, or it will end up all dry and over cooked.

I run down the stairs like the whole house is on fire and the laughter I hear behind me doesn’t go unnoticed, accompanied by his words spoken in that hoarse voice, “Saved by the bell.”

Just my luck, the fried chicken is a long way from ready, so I take care of putting the pie in the oven, no, I’m not Wonder Woman. I didn’t make this one, this is one that Lionel’s housekeeper made.

“I’ll set the table,” he announces, walking into the kitchen. I’m not buying his I-am-a-good-boy act. This man is as dangerous as a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

“Do we have a table?” I question but he doesn’t reply, he just smiles as he searches for the silverware in the drawer.

Half an hour later, as the sun is going down, we are sitting outside on a wooden platform on the farthest side of the patio. We had to walk back and forth several times to bring our dinner here, but it was worth it.

“Look, it’s my very own authentic version of Kentucky Fried Chicken specially made for me.”

“Don’t be an ass,” I reply, although it makes me smile. A regular dinner, finally!

The atmosphere is romantic and seductive, we didn’t turn the lamps on, so our little corner is only lit by the rays of the sun setting on the horizon and a couple garden lights.

“This is perfect,” I say, contemplating the colors painted across the sky and melting into the sea. “Beautiful.”

“Beautiful, indeed,” he replies, but he isn’t looking west at the sunset. Lionel has his eyes fixed on me.

For a moment I don’t know what else to say, until I remember the place where we are eating.

“Did you send someone to buy the table?” Because earlier when I was out here, there was nothing.

He laughs, wiping his mouth on the napkin. “I’m not that impulsive, Stella,” he replies. “The table was there, in the pool cabana, I just asked for it to be brought here. I thought you would enjoy the view.”

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