Chapter 38
[ 945 words ]
Delia’s POV
The Windsor main house was an architectural marvel of limestone and history, a sprawling estate that whispered of old money and generations of power. To me, it always felt like a museum where I wasn’t allowed to touch the exhibits. Every vase looked like it belonged in a gallery, and every rug felt too expensive to step on. I walked into the kitchen, the heels of my designer boots clicking sharply against the white marble, a sound that felt intrusive in the quiet, purposeful hum of the room.
Julian’s grandmother, Celesta, and his sister, Gail, were already there. To my surprise, they weren’t just supervising the staff; they were actually cooking. The kitchen, which was large enough to serve a hotel, smelled of rosemary, garlic, and expensive wine. I didn’t offer to help. I didn’t know the first thing about cooking, and I certainly didn’t want to ruin my fresh manicure, the one I’d spent an hour getting done to match that damn photo on Julian’s Instagram.
I stood there for a moment, feeling like a visitor in my own husband’s family home. They glanced at each other, an awkward, silent communication passing between them that made me feel like an outsider looking through a frosted window. Without a word, I simply pulled out a high-backed stool and sat down at the island. I pulled out my phone, sliding into the familiar comfort of scrolling through my feed, consciously ignoring the heavy, domestic silence that followed.
“How is life as a new bride, Delia?” Grandma Celesta finally asked. She was whisking a sauce with a regal sort of grace. “I saw my grandson posting your hands in France. That boy hardly ever posts people. In fact, I don’t think I’ve seen him share a personal moment. It seems he’s finally warming up to you p>
“Yes,” I said, not looking up from my screen. I kept my answers short. The lie about being in France was already exhausting, and I didn’t want to trip over any details I hadn’t rehearsed.
Celesta didn’t push, but I could feel the weight of her disappointment. The silence returned, thicker than before. I could feel their eyes on me, judging the way I sat, the way I tapped my screen, and the way I made no move to join the family activity. I felt the need to shift the focus, to be the one asking the questions instead of the one being scrutinized.
“Gail,” I said, finally looking at Julian’s sister. “You’re my sister’s friend. How long have you even known Katia? I was surprised to hear you two were so close p>
Gail smiled, a genuine warmth flooding her expression, a warmth she never seemed to show me. “For at least four years now. I met her in our second year of university, and since then, we’ve been inseparable. She’s the smartest person I know and one of the most resilient p>
I matched her smile, though mine felt brittle and thin. Finally, I was getting some real information about the mysterious life Katia had been living. For years, she had been a ghost in our house, a name we weren’t allowed to mention. Now, I was realizing she had built a whole world without us, and she had done it with the Windsors, maybe, just maybe.
“You two don’t seem very close for sisters,” Gail commented, her eyes narrowing slightly as she chopped vegetables with the precision of a surgeon. “In all the years I’ve known her, she rarely spoke of the family back home p>
“Yes, well, that’s because Katia was thrown out of the house when she got pregnant,” I said. The words slipped out before I could filter them, fueled by a strange mix of resentment and the desire to sound like I knew more than Gail did. “Since then, we never saw her. We only saw her about three months ago when I went to a restaurant. We didn’t even know she had kept the baby. We all assumed she had… handled it p>
The sound of the whisking stopped abruptly. I looked up and found both Celesta and Gail staring at me, their expressions frozen in a mixture of shock and something that looked like horror. I realized instantly that I had shared far too much, but the momentum of the gossip was like a train I couldn’t stop.
“I didn’t take your parents to be the type to give up on their children over a mistake,” Celesta said, her voice dropping an octave into a tone of chilling judgment. “The Kensingtons always seemed so…traditional p>
“Aiden is my godson,” Gail interrupted, her voice defensive and sharp. “He’s a wonderful child. He’s very sensitive, yes, and perhaps a bit cold for a small boy, but he’s brilliant. He has Katia’s mind p>
“True, right?” I said, waving a hand dismissively, trying to play it off as casual conversation. “My parents didn’t like him, though. When they finally met him, they thought he was way too cold for a five-year-old. My father said he didn’t have the Kensington spark p>
“You should bring him to the house,” Grandma Celesta said, her gaze intensifying, her eyes locking onto mine with a predatory focus. “A five-year-old boy should be around family. If he is a part of this family now, he should be here p>
“Well, I actually asked Katia not to attend my wedding,” I admitted, and again, I felt that sharp prick of regret as the words left my mouth. Why couldn’t I stop talking? “I wanted the day to be about Julian and me, without the… baggage. If she agrees to let him come, I’ll bring him over eventually p>
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