Chapter 225

[ 1,191 words ]

Julian’s POV

Grandma had not said a word. She was watching me with the expression she wore when she had decided to let something play out and was paying very close attention to how it went. Aiden had looked up from his notepad when I came in and had not looked back down since. He was watching me with the clear, direct attention he gave everything that mattered to him.

I held his gaze for a moment.

He gave me a small nod.

I looked back at the room.

“I understand the dinner was arranged,” I said. “I understand that Christopher was sourced and seated and the evening was constructed to produce a particular result.” I paused. “It did not produce that result. I would suggest not arranging a second one p>

Martha opened her mouth.

“I am not finished,” I said.

She closed it.

“Delia lives in this house under an arrangement that has suited everyone involved. That arrangement is under review.” I did not look at Delia when I said it. I did not need to. “When there is something to communicate about the Windsor family’s situation, it will be communicated directly. Not through my grandmother. Not through a family meeting that I was not invited to arrange.” I stood. “Not through a dinner with a man whose annual salary does not cover the quarterly maintenance on this house p>

The sitting room was completely silent.

I buttoned my jacket.

“If there is a concern about the Windsor family,” I said, looking at Martha directly, “you speak to me. Directly. At a time of my choosing.” I picked up my cup. “That is all p>

I walked out.

The corridor was quiet. The house was doing its morning thing around me — the distant sounds of the kitchen staff, the particular light that came through the east windows at this hour, the stillness of a large space that had absorbed many significant conversations over many years and would absorb this one too without difficulty.

I went upstairs.

Behind me I heard nothing for a moment. Then the low sound of Martha saying something to David. Then silence again.

I changed my clothes.

When I came back downstairs twenty minutes later Aiden was in the hallway with his notepad.

He looked up at me.

“Was that a negotiation?” he said.

“Something like that,” I said.

He considered this. “You won,” he said.

“I know,” I said.

He went back to his notepad.

I went to my study and closed the door and sat at my desk and thought about a woman in a Brooklyn penthouse who was probably awake by now, making her own coffee, reading her own files, and carrying her own weight the way she always carried it.

Soon.

I had said it to myself enough times.

Today it was going to mean something.

She was eating when I came back downstairs.

Sitting at the kitchen table with a plate in front of her, having the composure of someone who had decided that eating was the correct response to having just sat through that sitting room. The Kensingtons had gone. Grandma and Gail had taken Aiden somewhere in the house. It was just Delia and the plate and the kitchen and me.

I pulled out the chair across from her and sat down.

She looked up and I looked at her.

“Before we started this arrangement,” I said, “do you remember what I told you p>

She said nothing.

“I told you I was already married,” I said. “I told you I could never touch you. I told you that you could sleep with whoever you wanted because I was not going to be that person for you.” I held her gaze. “Do you remember that conversation p>

She looked at her plate.

“Did I lie to you?” I said. “Did I promise you something I might have forgotten about? Did I say something that led you to believe this was going to become something different p>

Delia shook her head. Slowly. The movement of someone who was answering honestly despite themselves.

“I just want us to be normal,” she said. Her voice was quiet.

I looked at her.

“Normal,” I said.

“Yes,” she said. “Just normal. Like a real p>

“Delia.” I kept my voice even. “I was not lying when I told you I would never touch you. I was also not lying when I told you that you were not my type.” I paused. “Do you think Julian Windsor is going to sleep with a woman who has been sleeping with Victor Hale? Do you understand what I am telling you when I say you are not my type?” I looked at her directly. “Looking at you does not make my dick peck. I told you that from the beginning. I told you I was married and I could only have one wife, and that wife was not going to be you p>

Delia’s jaw tightened.

“Then give me a chance,” she said. “Julian. Give us a chance. I can p>

“Delia p>

“I can be what you need, I can p>

“Delia p>

She stopped.

I let the silence sit for a moment.

“You have been in my house,” I said. “For a year and some months you have been going through my study. My laptop. My files. You have been looking for the name of my wife since the day you moved in.” I tilted my head slightly. “Have I ever gone through your room? Have I ever looked through your things p>

She looked at the table.

“Have I?” I said.

She shook her head.

“You wanted to be Mrs. Windsor so badly,” I said, “that you decided I was joking when I told you the truth. That I was performing some kind of distance that you could eventually break through if you stayed long enough and tried hard enough.” I leaned forward slightly. “I was not joking. I have never joked with you about this. Not once p>

She was not looking at me.

“Let me say it again,” I said. “Clearly. So that the next time you arrange a family meeting in my grandmother’s house, you will remember that I said this.” I looked at her steadily. “You are not my type. I am married. I can be with whoever I choose to be with as long as it is not you. Your job in this house is simple — act appropriately, manage your own affairs, and stay out of mine. If I hear about another family meeting—” I paused. “You are out. Do you understand me p>

She did not answer immediately.

“Do you understand?” I said again.

“Yes,” she said. Quietly.

I stood.

I walked out of the kitchen.

I was in the corridor when she called after me.

“You don’t come home.” Her voice was louder than it needed to be. The voice of someone who had decided they had nothing left to lose in the next ten seconds. “Are you always with her? Your wife p>

I stopped.

I had not planned to answer.

I turned.

“Yes,” I said. “I sleep where she sleeps. Every day p>

I turned back and kept walking.

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