My bedroom 22

 

I’m already married 

Delia’s POV 

I knew something was wrong the moment Katia walked out of that restaurant and didn’t look back. 

She didn’t slam a door. She didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t threaten me or humiliate me the way I half- expected her to. She just stood up, said her piece with frightening calm, and left me sitting there with my insecurities laid bare on a polished tablecloth. 

I went home unsettled. 

My mother was in the sitting room when I arrived, seated stiffly on the cream sofa, her tablet resting unused on her lap. She looked up the moment I stepped inside, eyes sharp, already searching my face for answers. 

“Well?” she asked. 

I dropped my bag and paced once, twice, before answering. “I met Katia.” 

Her brows lifted. “And?” 

“And it didn’t go the way I expected,” I said, pressing my lips together. “She wasn’t defensive. Or apologetic. She didn’t even deny anything because there was nothing to deny.” 

My mother frowned. “What does that mean?” 

“It means,” I said slowly, “that whatever is happening between her and the Windsors… it’s not something 

she orchestrated.” 

That much, at least, I was forced to admit. 

My phone buzzed in my hand before my mother could respond. I glanced down at the screen, and my breath caught. It was a text message from Julian Windsor. 

My heart stuttered, then sped up. 

Julian: We need to talk. Can you meet me tonight? 

I stared at the message as if it might vanish if I blinked too hard. He was reaching out to me finally. 

I typed back almost immediately, fingers trembling despite myself. 

Delia: Of course. I’d love to. 

The reply came less than a minute later. 

Julian: I’ll send a car to pick you up. 

I sucked in a breath and looked up at my mother, unable to hide the smile spreading across my face. 

“He texted me,” I said. “Julian. He wants to meet.” 

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Her eyes sharpened with interest. “That’s good,” she said quickly. “Very good. Maybe he’s finally warming up to you.” 

That was exactly what I wanted to believe. 

I went upstairs and took my time getting ready, choosing a dress that walked the fine line between elegant and alluring. Nothing too desperate. Nothing too severe. I curled my hair carefully, applied makeup with practiced precision, and studied my reflection until I looked like the kind of woman a Windsor would want on his arm. 

An hour later, the low purr of an engine announced the car’s arrival. He sent a Rolls–Royce. My pulse leapt. 

I stepped outside, heart racing, and slid into the backseat, smoothing my dress as the door closed. The interior smelled faintly of leather and something expensive I couldn’t name. 

As the car pulled away, I watched the streets of Brooklyn pass by and then continue passing by. 

We didn’t stop. 

We didn’t turn back. 

We kept going. 

My excitement dimmed just a fraction when I realized we weren’t leaving the borough. Which meant Julian was not in Manhattan; he was here. That should have reassured me, but instead it made my nerves coil tighter. 

The car finally slowed and stopped in front of The Velvet Ember. I frowned. Of all places. 

This was where Katia had been when I first saw her again after six years. Where I’d realized–too late- that my sister had not only survived without us but thrived. 

The valet opened my door. I stepped out, forcing my shoulders back, reminding myself that this meeting was about me. About my future. 

Inside, I was led past the main dining area to a secluded booth draped in soft shadows and amber light. 

Julian was already there. 

He sat perfectly still, one arm resting against the leather seat, a glass in his hand. He looked up when I approached, his gaze assessing me the way a man would assess a woman. 

I smiled and slid into the seat across from him. 

“Hi,” I said softly, but he didn’t return the greeting. He just watched me. His stare was uncomfortable and heavy until my smile began to falter. 

Finally, he spoke. “Order something to eat.” 

The words weren’t rude, but they weren’t warm either. They sounded like an instruction. 

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“Oh–okay,” I said, picking up the menu. “Aren’t you ordering?” 

“I’m just drinking.” 

I nodded, trying not to read too much into it. 

When the food arrived, I barely had time to taste the first bite before he set his glass down and spoke 

again. 

“I need to be clear with you,” he said. “I’m already married.” 

The world tilted, and I froze with a fork halfway to my mouth. 

“I–what?” I whispered. 

“I don’t like repeating myself,” he said calmly. “What you heard the first time is exactly what I said.” 

My hands began to shake. I set the fork down slowly, afraid I’d drop it. 

“Married?” I echoed. “Then why–why are you engaged to me?” 

“You won’t be Mrs. Windsor,” he said flatly. “Not legally.” 

My chest tightened. “Then what am I?” 

“A solution.” 

The word cut deeper than I expected. 

“You’re telling me,” I said, voice rising despite my effort to control it, “that I’m supposed to marry a man who already has a wife?” 

“I told you,” he said, unbothered, “I don’t plan on divorcing my wife for you.” 

“Then why me?” I demanded. “Why not just–end this?” 

“Because this has nothing to do with you,” he said. “And everything to do with your sister.” 

I went still. “My sister?” I repeated. “What does Katia have to do with this?” 

“She’s a big part of my family’s history,” he said. “If it weren’t for her, you wouldn’t be sitting here with 

me.” 

A bitter laugh escaped me. “So this is some kind of humiliation? Did she ask for you to humiliate me?” 

Julian actually chuckled. 

“Katia doesn’t know anything,” he said. “She doesn’t even know we owe her a debt.” 

Debt? 

The word echoed in my head. 

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“If you marry me,” he continued, “it will be for the sake of the Windsor name. There will be no intimacy. No shared bed. And no one–absolutely no one–must know what I’ve told you today.” 

I stared at him, heart pounding, humiliation burning through me. 

“And if I say no?” I asked quietly. 

He stood. 

“I expect an answer by tomorrow,” he said, already reaching for his coat. “If you share this conversation with anyone, I’ll make your life very difficult.” 

He placed money on the table, more than enough to cover the meal. 

Then he left. 

Just like that. 

I sat there long after he was gone, the noise of the restaurant fading into a dull hum as the truth settled 

1. in. 

I wasn’t being chosen. I was being used. 

And for the first time, I realized that whatever power the Windsor name carried… it came at a cost I 

wasn’t sure I was willing to pay. 

P 

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