Delia’s POV
The sunlight that spilled across the silk sheets of the East Wing guest suite was too bright, too cold, and entirely too quiet.
I blinked my eyes open, the heavy silence of the Windsor estate pressing against my eardrums like a physical weight. My hand reached for the other side of the king-sized bed, searching for the warmth of a body, the presence of a husband, or even just the messy reality of a shared night.
It was cold. The Egyptian cotton was perfectly smooth, undisturbed by anyone but myself.
Of course it was. I hadn’t spent the night in the master suite; I hadn’t even been invited past the double oak doors of Julian’s private quarters. Julian had been brutal in his honesty before the ceremony. He had sat me down and told me where I stand, his flinty blue eyes devoid
