My bedroom 18

 

The Engagement 

KATIA’S POV 

The text came in just after dawn, the screen lighting up softly against the darkness of my bedroom. I blinked at the glow, stretched a little, and reached over to check it. It was a message from Delia. 

“Hey sis, don’t forget my engagement is today. The Windsors will send a car to pick us up. Please be there for me. Love you.” 

I stared at the message for a long while. 

The Windsors. 

Even now the name left a bitter tang in my mouth. A family so powerful my parents had practically salivated at the idea of marrying into them. That’s all I’d been back then, a deal. A promise. A pawn. And now my sister Delia was the one they were marrying off, not me. I was never told why the arrangement shifted, but I assumed it had something to do with my scandalous pregnancy and sudden disappearance six years ago. 

I sighed and typed back: 

“I have work today. Send me the location when you get there, I’ll come late.” 

I tossed the phone aside, dragging myself out of bed and into the soft light filtering through the curtains. In truth, I didn’t want to go. I didn’t want to smile through fake congratulations or dodge probing questions about why I “changed my mind” about marrying Julian Windsor. I didn’t change my mind; my life simply changed without asking me. 

A drunken night in Vegas had given me Aiden, and the man who shared that night had disappeared with the sunrise. All I had now was a name on a marriage certificate and a ring worth more than the mansion I grew up in. No face. No memory. Just that hollow feeling every time I wondered if my son would ever 

know his father. 

I spent the rest of the morning distracted. I had meetings stacked back–to–back, team check–ins, and emails pouring in from our European office. Delia sent the location around 10 a.m. I immersed myself in it all, like always, pretending the weight in my chest didn’t grow heavier with every passing hour. 

At 3PM, I was done with work. I shut my laptop with a soft sigh and went to change. 

No need to draw attention. I picked a simple black dress. Clean lines. Modest. Timeless. Something that said “I’m here,” but didn’t scream for anyone to notice. I twisted my hair into a soft bun, added a pair of pearl earrings, and touched up my lipstick. When I was done, I looked at myself in the mirror and felt the old ghosts creeping in. 

The girl they kicked out in a robe. The girl who rose from nothing. And now I’m supposed to be there for them and smile like our family is the best. 

I got into my Aston Martin DBX and drove silently to Manhattan, the city blurring past like a faded memory. When I arrived, I handed off the keys to the valet and stepped inside the Windsor estate. 

1/4 

the togogement 

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It was beautiful, elegant, and cold, like wealth carved into marble. The air smelled like jasmine and something older, something richer. I stepped inside slowly, scanning the room, noting the small group. It was private. Intimate. Just family. Good for me. 

“Kat!” The voice hit me unexpectedly, and I turned and saw her, Abigail. 

“Gail,” I breathed. 

She was standing near the grand staircase with Julian and Delia, and an elderly woman I immediately assumed was the legendary Celesta Windsor, the matriarch. 

Gail rushed toward me before I could take another step, wrapping me in a fierce hug. “Oh my God, Katia. It’s you. I thought the name was familiar, but…” 

We both cried, just a little. She pulled back and cupped my face like we were still in our Harvard dorm room, sharing dreams and late–night ramen. 

“Gail, what are you doing here?” I asked, smiling through tears. 

“This is my home,” she laughed. “What are you doing at my brother’s engagement party?” 

“My sister’s engagement party,” I corrected. 

Her eyes widened in shock, darting from me to Delia, who now stood awkwardly beside Julian. 

“Wait,” Abigail said slowly. “You’re the Katia? The one my brother was supposed to marry?” 

I rolled my eyes, already tired of this. “Apparently.” 

Delia blinked. “You guys know each other?” 

“We went to Harvard together,” Gail said proudly. 

“Katia went to Harvard?” Delia asked, genuinely confused. 

The room fell into a quiet tension. Julian’s eyes were on me now, intense and searching. 

It’s kind of surprising that my family wouldn’t know that I went to Harvard, so yeah, they didn’t know anything about me. They just knew I came back after 6 years. 

“So she’s…” Gail started, connecting dots that didn’t need to be connected aloud. 

I nodded. 

“Where’s my godson?” she asked, grabbing my hand and gently leading me farther into the estate. 

“He’s at home. He didn’t want to come.” 

“Fair,” Gail whispered, then winked. “He always did hate stiff events.” 

Julian was still watching me. I could feel it. Every nerve in my body felt like it was under surveillance. 

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The Engagement 

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Delia was now caught between explaining why she knew so little about her sister and attempting to act the part of a loving bride–to–be. Celesta Windsor, the legend herself, stood observing it all with a knowing gaze, sipping her tea like this was a drama she’d been watching unfold for years. 

“Do you like the dress?” Delia asked me quietly as we sat on a white velvet settee, our heels barely grazing the marble beneath. 

“It’s nice,” I said, giving her a small nod. 

She smiled shyly. “Julian picked it.” 

I raised a brow. “Interesting.” 

Delia tilted her head. “What does that mean?” 

“Nothing,” I replied, smiling gently. “Just… interesting. He didn’t know you but still made the effort. That’s something, sis. You’ve got a good husband there.” 

Her eyes brightened, and she reached for my hand. “I’m glad you came.” 

“I said I would.” 

She squeezed my fingers, and for a moment, I saw the little girl I used to walk to school with. The one who used to wear my shoes because hers were too tight. We’ve come far even if the road between us cracked. 

Later, needing a breath of air, I found myself on the terrace. The city lay before me, lit in golds and blues. The wind brushed against my arms like an old memory. 

Gail joined me, holding two glasses of wine. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah,” I said. “You?” 

She exhaled. “Just escaping the small talk.” 

We clinked glasses in quiet solidarity. 

Then I looked at her sideways. “Why didn’t you tell me you were a Windsor?” 

She smirked. “Why didn’t you tell me you were a Kensington?” 

“Touché.” 

Gail leaned her elbows on the railing beside me. “You’ve changed.” 

“I had to.” 

“You used to be fire.” 

“I still am. Just better contained.” 

She glanced back toward the room. “It was good seeing you with Delia. She looked happy.” 

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“I’m happy for her,” I said truthfully. 

“You always were the steady one,” Gail said. “Even when everything burned.” 

I didn’t answer that. Just let the wind respond for me. A few minutes passed. Then footsteps clicked 

behind us. It was Julian. 

He approached with the ease of a man used to owning rooms. Polished, quiet confidence. Up close, he looked exactly like his reputation: elegant and dangerous. 

He paused beside us, gaze steady on mine. 

“We meet again, Katia Kensington.” 

I turned toward him, unfazed. “Julian Windsor.” 

I extended my hand. We shook firmly and respectfully. A moment. No spark. No weight. Just strangers acknowledging one another. 

“It’s a beautiful evening,” I said. 

“It is,” he replied. “Delia looks lovely.” 

“She does.” 

There was a quiet understanding between us, one of boundaries and professionalism. He gave a small nod and turned to rejoin his guests. 

Delia had been watching from a distance. She didn’t say anything. But her smile faltered just a little. 

I walked back inside with Gail beside me. 

“I’m glad you came,” she whispered. 

“I am too,” I replied. “Even if I don’t belong here.” 

“You do. You always did.” 

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