Lex had never understood why being angry with someone meant you had to stop treating them with basic courtesy.
Especially your wife.
The two of them fought like cats and dogs. They argued over everything from business decisions to the temperature of the manor, and neither had ever been particularly interested in surrendering the last word. Lex could be absolutely furious with her and still pull out her chair, open a door, or place his coat over her shoulders if she looked cold.
It wasn’t a performance. It was simply how he treated his wife.
Apparently, not everyone shared that philosophy.
The subject came up during a dinner gala they were both attending. A senator’s wife, halfway through a conversation about marriage, made a joking remark about how her husband stopped being a gentleman the moment they argued.
The table erupted in laughter.
Lex, seated beside his wife, merely raised an eyebrow.
His wife didn’t laugh. The comment had absolutely nothing to do with her, and she saw no reason to pretend otherwise.
But the senator’s wife noticed.
“Oh, come now, Mrs. Luthor. Surely you know what I mean. Men can be terribly difficult when they’re upset. Mine won’t even open a car door for me after we’ve had an argument.”
A few more chuckles followed.
Lex set down his glass.
“How unfortunate.”
The woman blinked. “Pardon?”
“I said how unfortunate. I wasn’t aware opening a door required a favorable emotional climate.”
His wife remained quiet beside him, while Lex continued cutting his dinner as though he hadn’t just insulted the woman’s entire marriage.
The senator’s wife laughed awkwardly. “Well, you know how men are.”
“No,” Lex replied. “I know how I am.”
That prompted a few curious glances.
One of the other guests leaned forward. “Surely you and Mrs. Luthor have disagreements.”
“Frequently.”
“And you still do all that?”
Lex looked genuinely puzzled by the question.
“Of course.”
“But even when you’re angry with her?”
He finally turned his attention toward the table.
“Being angry doesn’t make her any less my wife.”
The conversation quieted.
Lex took a sip of wine before adding, almost dismissively, “I’m perfectly capable of disagreeing with someone without behaving like a poorly raised buffoon.”
A few guests coughed into their napkins.
He then turned toward his wife, quietly moving her glass closer when he noticed it was nearly empty.
“Would you like another?”
It was such a small gesture, so entirely ordinary, that it almost seemed to make the point better than his explanation had.
And when the senator’s wife attempted to recover the conversation by asking whether Lex had always been so traditional, he gave her a thin smile.
“Only where my wife is concerned.”
He didn’t need the table to understand.
He wasn’t going to stop being considerate just because they had argued. He wasn’t going to withhold affection, courtesy, or basic respect as punishment.
He could be furious with his wife and still hold the door open for her.
Frankly, Lex thought the alternative was embarrassing.