Chapter 49
Grace's POV
After dinner, I insisted on helping clear the dishes, hoping the activity would distract me from the knot of anxiety in my chest. But my mind kept wandering to Alex—was he safe? Was he getting any sleep?
The crash of breaking china snapped me back to reality.
I stared down at the shattered bone china plate, its delicate floral pattern now scattered across the kitchen floor.
"Oh God, I'm so sorry—"
Eleanor was beside me in an instant, her hands gently examining mine for cuts. "Sweetheart, are you hurt? That's all that matters."
"But the plate—"
"It's just a plate," she said firmly, guiding me away from the broken pieces. "You're what's important here."
She led me to the living room sofa, her maternal instincts in full force. "This is your home, Grace. You don't need to do anything except rest."
The genuine warmth in her voice made my eyes well up. I found myself leaning into her embrace, like a child seeking comfort.
"There, there," Eleanor murmured, stroking my hair. "I can see how much you care about him."
"You've been distracted ever since we mentioned Alex," Eleanor said perceptively, settling beside me on the plush sofa.
I felt heat rise to my cheeks. Was I that transparent?
"You're his fiancée," she continued with a knowing smile. "Of course you're concerned about him. It's only natural."
Before I could respond, she was already reaching for her phone. "Let's call him. I'm sure he'd want to hear from you."
"Eleanor, I don't want to bother him if he's dealing with an emergency—"
But she was already dialing. My heart started racing as I unconsciously smoothed my hair and straightened my dress, as if Alex could see me through the phone.
This is ridiculous, I told myself. It's just a video call.
But my pulse quickened anyway.
---
When Alex's face appeared on the screen, I held my breath.
He looked terrible. His usually impeccable appearance now showed signs of dishevelment—hair somewhat messy, shirt wrinkled, and his complexion wasn't good. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and his voice was rough and congested when he spoke.
"Grandmother," he said, attempting a smile that didn't reach his tired eyes.
Then he saw me, and something shifted in his expression—surprise, then a warmth that made my chest tight.
"Grace." He straightened slightly, trying to compose himself, but a violent coughing fit immediately betrayed his condition.
"Alex, are you alright?" The words tumbled out before I could stop them.
Eleanor leaned into the frame. "Look at you! You're clearly unwell. Grace is your fiancée—don't make her worry like this."
Alex's gaze fixed on me through the screen, and I could see him struggling between his usual stoic facade and obvious exhaustion. His cheeks were flushed with what looked like fever.
"You're sick, aren't you?" I said, leaning closer to the phone.
"It's just a cold," he said dismissively, but his voice was hoarse. "Nothing serious."
Eleanor quietly handed me the phone and gestured for Ethan to follow her out of the room, leaving Alex and me alone.
---
Without his grandparents as buffers, Alex seemed to deflate slightly, the weight of exhaustion more visible.
"Grace," he said softly, "I really am fine."
He's not fine. I could see it in every line of his face, hear it in the rasp of his voice.
"I don't want to see you hurting yourself for anything," I found myself saying. "Because... it hurts me too."
The words hung between us, more honest than I'd intended. Alex went very still, staring at me through the screen.
"Do you know what it does to a sick man when you say things like that?" he asked quietly, his voice dropping to a whisper.
My heart hammered against my ribs.
After a long pause, he said, "Grace, I want to see you."
The simple statement sent electricity through me. This feeling of missing someone so intensely—it's completely new.
"Where are you?" I asked immediately.
"Oakmont." He winced slightly as he spoke, his throat clearly bothering him. "I'm trying to get everything sorted here as quickly as possible... Wait for me to come back."
Those last four words were spoken so gently, so tenderly, that my knees felt weak.
---
After we hung up, I sat staring at the blank phone screen for several minutes.
I couldn't get the image of his pale, exhausted face out of my mind. The way he'd tried so hard to appear strong, even while clearly running on fumes.
He's pushing himself too hard.
I couldn't shake the worry that had settled deep in my chest.
---
Alex's POV
The moment the video call ended, I doubled over with another coughing fit, this one more violent than before.
Lucas appeared in the doorway of my hotel suite, carrying a steaming mug. "Sir, you really should see a doctor."
I waved him off, still catching my breath. "Just leave the medicine and go. I need to finish reviewing these reports."
The offshore drilling project involved nearly ten billion dollars in investments. I'd been awake for three straight days, and my fever had been climbing steadily. But Grace's concern had done something unexpected—instead of feeling irritated by Lucas's hovering, I found myself almost... grateful.
I downed the medicine in one gulp, thinking of the worry in Grace's eyes.
Maybe I should take better care of myself.
---
I woke to the sensation of someone gently shaking my shoulder.
The last thing I remembered was collapsing onto the hotel bed after reviewing the final reports, still wearing yesterday's wrinkled shirt.
"Alex." The voice was soft, familiar, and completely unexpected.
I forced my eyes open, squinting against the sunlight streaming through the curtains. Grace sat beside me on the edge of the bed, holding a bowl of steaming oatmeal, her expression a mixture of concern and gentle reproach.
Am I dreaming?
"It's real. You need to eat something," she said with a smile, setting the bowl on the nightstand.
I felt a cooling patch on my forehead, and clean pajamas had replaced my wrinkled work clothes. "Grace, how did you—how are you—"
"Lucas called me." Her hand pressed against my forehead, checking for fever. "He said you'd been running a temperature for three days and still insisted on handling everything yourself."
The memory came flooding back—Lucas hovering with medicine, my impatient waves, the endless stream of reports and phone calls. I'd been so focused on containing the crisis that I'd ignored my body's protests.
"I caught the earliest flight," Grace continued, her voice carrying a note of exasperation. "Do you have any idea how worried I was?"
Before I could respond, she was pulling me closer, and I found myself drawn into her embrace. My weakened state made resistance impossible—not that I wanted to resist. Her arms wrapped around me, and for the first time in days, the constant tension in my shoulders began to ease.
Our faces were inches apart, and I could see the genuine concern in her eyes, the way her breath caught slightly as she studied my face.