The Ex (The Boss 4)

I hugged him tightly, one arm around his waist, one across his shoulder blades. I hadn’t known Rose well, but I grieved for her, because Neil loved her. And because she was the woman who birthed and nurtured and raised Neil, shaping who he was today. I owed her my entire heart.

He raised his head and stepped back, sniffing through his tears. It somewhat ruined the look of composure he tried to affect. He reached into his coat for a handkerchief and held the square of red fabric bunched in his hands. “You know…” he began, his speech thick with tears, “I’d really rather go back to being numb.”

Since there was nothing I could fix, I put my arm through his and led him from the chapel.

CHAPTER THREE

Rose Elwood’s funeral was dignified and respectful, which made sense because she’d planned the whole thing. After the private family viewing, Rose had been cremated, and her remains sealed in a tasteful bronze jar. A high mass at St. Paul’s Knightsbridge, packed to the brim with mourners, was followed by a dignified reception at Fiona’s townhouse in Kensington. Rose had spent her last days there, being cared for by her daughter.

The house was beautiful, and perhaps a little bigger than our townhouse. The doorways were topped by classical friezes of slender maidens in togas, the floors carpeted in area rugs that probably cost more than a mid-sized sedan. I looked into the parlor, where Fiona sat on a mauve satin chair, accepting the condolences of guests.

There was an unfairness to the situation that nagged at me. Fiona had cared for her mother in the years after her stroke, while her brothers had been off having their own lives. I knew Fiona had been married and divorced before I’d ever met Neil, and that she’d had some financial troubles following the dissolution of her marriage. Neil had purchased this house for her, but that didn’t really make up for the fact that he and his brothers hadn’t pulled their weight in caring for their mother. The year he’d spent battling leukemia I forgave, obviously. But what about his brothers, Runólf and Geir? They hadn’t even visited their brother when he’d been sick, and I knew they hadn’t been regularly seeing their mother.

It seemed extremely unfair to Fiona. She’d put her life aside, and why? Because she was the only girl?

To her credit, she was holding up well, despite how difficult it must have been to care for her mother for this whole time.

Everyone was holding up surprisingly well, though. I chalked it up to the fact that Neil and his siblings didn’t have time to emotionally break down; every moment was packed with family friends and distant relations. I stood beside him, calm and supportive, and shook hands when introduced to people. It was a bit draining, and I worried for Neil, since he was under about ten times more emotional stress than I was.

After a while, I could tell he needed a break. “Let’s go out for a smoke,” I said, nudging him.

“We don’t—” Then, he smiled gratefully. “All right.”

We stepped out the back doors and onto the terraced patio. The shrubs in the garden and large swaths of flowerbeds were covered with black plastic to weather the winter. The cold air hit us like knives, and our breath showed on the air.

“Still better than being inside, at least for the moment,” he said, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“The funeral was really nice, Neil. The flowers were lovely.” I had to compliment the flowers. He’d picked them out himself, which I thought was incredibly sweet. There had been plenty of roses, of course, but also gorgeous irises that complemented them. They were his mother’s favorite flower, he’d told me, and said that she lamented the fact she hadn’t been given that name, instead.

He nodded. “I think Mum would have been pleased with the way it turned out. And that’s all that really matters, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” My mind veered off down a painful path. I remembered when Neil had told his funeral plans to Emma and me. I didn’t want to think of that any more now than I did then.

“What do you think happens when you die?” He scuffed the heel of his shoe across some ice on the pavement.

I shrugged. “Nothing, I guess.”

“I think that’s what I believe.” He looked up at the sky, his hands in his trouser pockets. “I wish I could imagine a time when I could see her again. But it seems unlikely.”

“That’s what I hate the most. Not that I’ll cease to exist, but that my loved ones will.” I shuddered at the thought of Neil someday dying. Unless I got horribly sick or suffered an accident, he wasn’t going to outlive me. Our twenty-four year age gap would probably leave me widowed in my fifties. Rose had warned me about that, about the loneliness she’d felt when Neil’s father had died young. A world without Neil, for me, wouldn’t be much of a world at all.

He cleared his throat, but no amount of coughing would erase the thick emotion from his voice. “People say ‘they’ll live on in your memory,’ but it isn’t the same. I don’t want my mother in my memory; I want her here, with me. And I wasted so much time.”

“Then, you just have to be thankful for the time you didn’t waste.” I wished I could siphon the hurt from him and take it for a few hours. Just to give him a break.

A click of heels on pavement alerted us to the presence of someone else. I turned to see Valerie approaching.

“Neil, I have to go, but I need to speak with you and Sophie before you return to New York. At your earliest convenience.”

“Oh?” His eyebrows shot up. “Valerie, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but my mother has just died.”

“Believe me, if it could wait, it would.” Valerie looked to me, imploring.

Neil frowned. “Is this business related or—”

“Come by the house tonight,” I interrupted. Whatever it was she wanted to tell us, I owed it to Valerie to listen. She’d listened to me.

“Thank, you Sophie. I will. I’ll call first.”