When Her Death Couldn't Break Him (Cecilia and Nathaniel) novel Chapter 2195

At Jonathan's words, a barely perceptible tremor crossed Nicholas's face, as fleeting as a ripple on still water.

Jonathan, ever observant, caught that tremor and filed it away like evidence in a private case.

Nicholas set his cup down with care. "Jon, who told you I'm Dahlia's father?"

Jonathan tilted his chin, grin sharpening. "No one had to tell me," he answered, words quick and sharp.

Across the table, Elliot sensed tension rippling beneath their calm voices, the way a silent current swirls under placid water.

He lowered his head and chased scrambled eggs around his plate, unwilling to meet any eyes. Why is Jonathan poking the bear?

Nicholas opened his mouth—to defend, perhaps to confess—but footsteps cut him off. Cecilia entered with Nathaniel close behind, shepherding two smaller children. The dining chairs scraped softly as they sat.

For a heartbeat, Nicholas watched the tidy picture of family opposite him.

His gaze lingered, unreadable, then slid away. The rest of breakfast unfolded beneath a blanket of delicate silence, broken only by clinking cutlery and the occasional rustle of napkins.

When the meal ended, Cecilia shepherded Jonathan and Elliot toward the car to go to school.

Felix, backpack slung over one shoulder, stepped out just then. Miranda walked beside him, hand on the boy's shoulder. The two groups converged at the foyer.

"Ceci, what a coincidence," Miranda said, surprise flickering before her practiced smile settled into place.

Cecilia returned the expression, polite and measured. "Yes—quite the coincidence."

Elliot and Jonathan greeted in unison, "Morning, Miranda!"

Felix—hands shoved into the pockets of a jacket two sizes too cool for a grade-schooler—swaggered up beside Cecilia and offered the briefest of nods. "Morning, Aunt Cecilia."

To the casual passer-by, it could have been a postcard of domestic bliss: polite nephews, attentive aunt, well-scrubbed uniforms, and not one shadow of rivalry in sight.

Miranda stepped to Cecilia's shoulder, heels clicking a crisp rhythm on the flagstones as they all waited for the family driver to appear.

Besides, if a little money can spare me endless cupcake fund-raisers and policy meetings, why on earth wouldn't I spend it?

Pity that Miranda hadn't caught up. She still believed a committee badge could bruise Cecilia's composure.

At last, a sleek black sedan rolled beneath the portico, engine purring like a well-fed cat.

Miranda's eyes lit. She clasped Felix's hand and hurried toward the rear door, the boy almost jogging to match her pace.

The driver stepped out, cap in hand. "Terribly sorry, ma'am—this car is for Jon and Elliot."

Miranda froze mid-stride. The heel she'd lifted in confident anticipation settled back to stone, and a blush of embarrassment spread beneath her foundation.

"Did they change drivers overnight?" she muttered, confusion eclipsing her smile.

The man standing before her was the same chauffeur who usually ferried her and Felix to school.

"Mr. Marco has the day off," the driver explained. "Mdm. Elena asked me to deliver Jon and Elliot first. Once they're dropped, I'll circle back for you and Mr. Felix."