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 di
