Pale fingers wrapped tighter around the handle of the spoon at the small kiss, but despite her surprise she remained otherwise relaxed, no indication she planned to use the utensil as a weapon or the thought even crossing her mind. "Thank you," she responded to the insults not with sarcasm or hurt but a dismissive shrug of her shoulders. Lie or otherwise she didn't really care, not finding those important points to worry about. She went back to eating, as if nothing unusual had occurred at all, despite the burning on her cheek where his lips only briefly touched.
As confused as Mabelle was by Michel's stubborn contradictory treatment of her and his constant mixed messages, she really didn't know what the wrong and right idea was anymore, contemplating if he even knew or if she was just misinterpreting what she wanted to see all along and maybe it wasn't as complicated as she was making it out to be. There was no mistaking that he would be just as alone without her and she would without him, that in a way at least a small part of him had to like her being around if he was willing to tolerate her for so long when Michel was obviously not the most tolerant of people. There really was nothing else for him to get out of it, and he wasn't particularly generous either.
"Can't stop me," she decided cheerfully challengingly, because she hadn't even able to stop it herself after months of trying.