When Her Death Couldn't Break Him (Cecilia and Nathaniel) novel Chapter 2048

"Keep it," Nicholas repeated, steel edging his tone—no room for refusal.

Yet Jocelyn remained motionless, stubborn as stone, her hands folded in her lap.

Nicholas exhaled in quiet frustration. "Can't you listen to me, just this once?"

Eyes lowered, she said, "I haven't done anything for you. When I resigned, you already paid me extra. I can't take more."

The words settled between them, a silence that stretched and deepened until even the clock dared not tick.

Nicholas lifted his cup again, then, almost against his will, asked, "And if something happened to me?"

"Huh?" Jocelyn's head snapped up. "Nicholas, what are you talking about?"

"Don't panic," he said, choosing each word carefully. "I mean hypothetically. If I'm gone, I'll have no real friends—only you. Can't I leave a portion of my money to you?"

Fear pricked the edges of her composure. "Don't say that, Mr. Nicholas. Nothing will happen to you. You've got family, and you'll have plenty of friends in time."

He shook his head faintly. "No... People think I'm easygoing, but I know most of them don't care for me at all," he confessed, disappointment clouding his voice.

Seeing him like that only deepened her worry; a quiet, protective ache filled her chest.

Jocelyn's courage faltered the moment their gazes collided. Her fingers knotted together beneath the edge of the linen tablecloth, and when she finally spoke, her voice was scarcely louder than the rustle of candle flame. "Mr. Nicholas..."

Nicholas caught the tremor in her tone and—aware the air between them had grown too solemn—offered an easy laugh that never quite reached his eyes. "All right, that was just me joking. Let's call it this, then: I'll leave the money in your care. You hold on to it for me, will you?"

The request was wrapped in gentleness, yet the weight of his trust left Jocelyn no room to refuse, and she felt her last line of retreat quietly collapse.

"Okay," she murmured, lifting her chin in a tiny, resolute nod—trying, and half-failing, to mask the riot of emotion behind her calm reply.

One by one, the dishes began to arrive—porcelain lids lifting to release curls of fragrant steam that drifted upward like slow choreography, filling the private room with the low hum of simmering broth.

Nicholas guided a morsel of sautéed sea bass onto her plate, speaking with a gentleness so casual it almost felt practiced. "Come on, eat while it's hot. I have no idea what you like, so we ordered a bit of everything."

It was the first time anyone had served her with such deliberate care. Startled and shy, Jocelyn's cheeks warmed. "I'm fine with anything," she confessed, the words tripping over a small, disbelieving smile.

Halfway through passing her another chopstick-full, Nicholas changed the subject, his tone casual but probing. "Has Yannick been taking you out much these days?"

Yes, it does.

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