The Billionaire Ex-Wife's Return (Cynthia and Ethan) novel Chapter 63

Chapter 63

Cynthia’s POV

Nikolai’s car was exactly what I should have expected from Herman Cross’s son a sleek, midnight–black Bentley Continental The leather interior smelled new, expensive, the kind of luxury that came naturally to old money.

Any other time, I might have been impressed. Today, I barely noticed.

As we pulled away from Maison Cynclair, my mind was consumed with thoughts of Amber. Was he scared now? Was he in pain? Was he…

I forced the thought away. I couldn’t spiral. Not yet.

Instead, I focused on Nikolai. On the way his hands gripped the steering wheel a little too tightly. On the rigid set of his shoulders.

He’d come to the restaurant as he promised after he ensures his father is alright. I’d been so consumed with my own crisis that I hadn’t even asked about his.

“Nikolai,” I said softly, “how is your father? Did you get to see him?”

The question hung in the air between us.

Nikolai didn’t respond.

I looked at him more closely and felt my heart clench. His eyes were glistening. Wet. He was blinking rapidly, fighting something back.

“Hey…” My voice dropped to barely above a whisper. “What… what happened?”

“I came by the restaurant…” His voice was thick, strained. “To tell you that he… he died.”

Herman Cross was dead?

“Oh my God,” I breathed. “Nikolai, I’m so…”

“I had a day with him,” he continued, his eyes fixed on the road. “At least I was able to say goodbye. To hold his hand. To tell him I loved him.” He forced a smile – brittle, fragile, not reaching his eyes. “That’s more than some people get.”

He blinked, and I watched him physically push the tears back, swallowing his grief to focus on driving and on getting me to the airport, taking care of me when he should be the one being taken care of.

“I am…” My voice cracked. I tried to speak but the words wouldn’t come.

And then, inexplicably, I was crying.

Tears streamed down my face before I could stop them. Hot, silent tears that had nothing to do with logic and everything to do with the overwhelming weight of everything happening at once.

I didn’t know Herman Cross personally. I’d only seen him once, that night at Maison Cynclair when Nikolai had reserved the entire restaurant for his seventieth birthday. I remembered watching them from the kitchen doorway, the way Nikolai had looked at his father with such devotion, such tenderness. The way he’d helped the elderly man to his seat, cut his food for him when his hands trembled, laughed at his jokes even when they weren’t funny.

I’d thought then that Nikolai would make a wonderful husband someday. If he could treat his father with such love, such care, how much more would he cherish a wife? A family of his own?

And now Herman Cross was gone. And instead of mourning, instead of being surrounded by family and grief, Nikolai was here.

1/2

#03.

+25 Bonus

Driving me to the airport. Putting my crisis before his own

“I’m sorry,” I managed to choke out between sobs. “I’m so sorry, Nikolai.”

The car fell silent except for my sniffles and the hum of the engine.

When we arrived at Le Bourget, Nikolai finally spoke again.

“I was the one who lost my father,” he said, a ghost of dark humor in his voice, “and you’re the one crying”

“I’m sorry,” I said again, wiping at my face with the back of my hand. “I don’t know why I can’t stop…”

“Hey.” His voice softened. “It’s fine. You’ve been through so much these past few days. You’re exhausted, you’re scared for your son, and now this.” He shook his head slightly. “Anyone would break down.”

He turned to face me fully, and despite the grief shadowing his features, his gaze was steady and warm.

“I just want you to rest on the flight back to Missford,” he said. “This isn’t healthy–flying back and forth in less than forty- eight hours, no sleep, no food. Your body can only take so much.”

“I know but…”

“Amber will be fine,” he said firmly. “I don’t know what happened, but children are resilient. And you rushing to his side exhausted and broken won’t help him. He needs you strong.”

I wanted to argue. Wanted to insist that I couldn’t possibly rest while my son was in a hospital bed.

“I’ll be back in Missford after the funeral,” Nikolai continued. “A week, maybe two. We can… talk then.” His eyes were fixed on me, looking a bit lost but very resolved.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify