"I don't like sand in my eyes."
Hearing his words, my hand moved before my brain could stop it.
The sound of the punch cracked through the bar like a gunshot.
I lowered my hand and didn't give Archie a single fuck.
"Archie," I said evenly, my voice low but sharp, "as long as I'm still her husband, you're just the shameless side piece. So tell me, what gives you the right to insult me?"
Right on cue, Margaux rushed over from the counter, probably having just picked up her order. She wrapped her arms protectively around him, her hands running over his face like she needed to check if I'd broken him.
Then she looked up at me, and her expression turned ice-cold.
"You hit him?" she asked, her voice tight.
"I did—"
A sharper, louder crack split the air of the hall.
Margaux's hand came down harder than his.
"That slap's a warning, Troy," she said, her tone steady, but every word sliced like a blade. "He's mine. Don't you dare touch him!"
She was trembling, but it wasn't fear that caused it. It was fury barely kept under control.
"Troy, seriously? You followed us here just to throw a tantrum like some jealous little boy?"