Chapter 57: The Kiss
Nicholas carried her down the hallway in silence, his arms firm around her as if she weighed nothing at all, though she knew the emotional weight of everything tonight could have broken bones. Each step he took was careful, deliberate—like he was afraid if he moved too quickly, she’d fall apart again.
Ella rested quietly against him, listening to the steady beat of his heart beneath his tailored shirt. It was the only thing grounding her after the storm. The scent of him—clean, sharp, masculine—wrapped around her, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she could finally breathe.
When they reached the guest bedroom, Nicholas paused at the threshold. The room was softly lit, a warm glow spilling from a nearby lamp. The bed had already been prepared, the sheets turned down with a precision that didn’t match the chaos still echoing in her chest.
He lowered her gently onto the mattress like she was something precious. His fingers lingered as he brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, the gesture so tender it stole the breath from her lungs.
"Goodnight, Ella," he said, his voice low and husky with something he didn’t name.
She didn’t reply. Couldn’t. Her lips parted, but the words wouldn’t come. All she could do was stare at him, her gaze locking with his. Neither of them moved. The air between them shifted, thick with something unspoken.
Then Nicholas straightened, his hands reluctantly slipping from her as he took a step back.
"I should go," he murmured.
Ella felt something twist deep in her chest. The ache came back—sharp, familiar. That hollow, aching space where he used to live.
And suddenly, she knew she couldn’t let him walk away. Not again. Not when the very act of being near him had pulled her back together like he’d been stitched into her bones.
Her hand shot out before she could stop herself. She grabbed his arm, fingers closing tightly around his forearm. He paused, startled, and turned toward her, confusion flashing in his eyes.