"Do you think it’s vulgar for my wife and I to leave love marks when we make love?" I ask coldly, turning to Iris.

Giselle pinches my leg discreetly under the table. I flinch, but force myself to play it cool. I lower my hand to intertwine my fingers with hers, then lift it to my lips and kiss it—if only to keep her from surprising me again.

"I don’t care to hear anything about your intimacy," Iris snaps, her face twisted in anger.

"You know what’s more vulgar?" I go on, ignoring her. ...