When Her Death Couldn't Break Him (Cecilia and Nathaniel) novel Chapter 2089

Cecilia moved closer, concern softening her eyes. “You're finally awake. How's your head?”

Nathaniel looked up at her. “Still alive, I suppose. But some genius covered my face with art, and soap won't budge it. Care to explain?”

Cecilia's ponytail swayed as she shook an emphatic no.

She forced a playful note into her voice. “You came home like that, remember? Probably strangers messing with you after you blacked out.”

Nathaniel's jaw tightened. “Come here.”

Heart thudding, Cecilia took a cautious step, then another. In a blink, Nathaniel's arm shot out. He yanked her forward and pressed her against the solid warmth of his chest.

“Ceci, I don't feel so good,” he mumbled, breath warm against her hair.

Cecilia patted his shoulder in small circles. “It's just a little face paint, that's all. Next time we'll skip the bar and avoid the drama.”

“So you'd rather I quit drinking?” His forehead brushed hers.

“One glass is fine,” she conceded. “Too much hurts your health. Promise you'll ease up.”

Nathaniel nodded, slow and deliberate. “Fine. I'll do whatever you say.”

His easy surrender pricked her with guilt. After all, she had drawn the garish masterpiece herself.

She opened her mouth, nerves fluttering.

Confession balanced on the tip of her tongue.

Nathaniel cupped her cheeks, thumbs stroking back and forth. “If you like my face that much, have at it, but never lie to me again.”

A sharp pang stuttered through her chest.

Her voice fell to a whisper. “You knew the whole time?”

He met her gaze. “What else could it be?”

“I'm sorry,” she blurted. “You were drunk, and I couldn't resist.”

“Next time, behave,” he murmured, indulgent and warm.

New Year's, then, was sacred. It was their single, non-negotiable chance to be a family again, and Denise would not surrender it for any wage.

Understanding finally dawned on the manager's face. The tension in his shoulders loosened, and he signed the leave form without another syllable.

“Go and celebrate properly,” he said, sliding the paper toward her.

“Thank you, Sir,” Denise said, gratitude shimmering at the corners of her tired eyes.

After she left, the manager released a long breath that seemed to deflate him. “Poor girl,” he whispered to the empty room.

Just then, the door opened again, and Magnus stepped inside, the fluorescent lights catching the stubborn resolve in his gaze.

“So, Magnus, are you here to request time off as well?” the manager asked, arching a brow.

He had heard the whispers that Magnus was drowning in debt, hustling to repay every cent.

Magnus shook his head. “No, Sir. I was hoping you could schedule me for extra shifts over the holiday. I need to earn a bit more.”