My Accidental Billionaire Husband

”Delia,” she said. ”Are you certain Julian will come to a Kensington family dinner?”

”I will make sure of it,” I said.

Mama picked up her reading glasses. She put them back on. She looked at the correspondence on her desk for a moment.

”I will send the invitation,” she said.

I stood up.

”Thank you,” I said.

”Delia.” Her voice stopped me at the door.

I turned.

”If this dinner goes the way the last one did,” she said, looking at me over her glasses, ”I will hold you personally responsible.”

”It will not,” I said.

I walked out.

I sat in the car outside the Kensington house and looked at my phone.

Katia would come because the invitation would be framed around Jude and no Kensington woman could resist the optics of introducing her husband to the family. She would come because it gave her a stage, and Katia never turned down a stage.

And I would bring Julian.

I did not know exactly how I was going to bring Julian to a Kensington family dinner. But I was going to figure that out. Because I needed them in the same room. I needed to watch Julian and Katia’s husband in the same space and see what happened. I needed to see the dynamics with my own eyes rather than through the fog of speculation and absence and two meal trays going upstairs three times a day.

I needed to know what I was actually dealing with.

I started the engine.

And I will bring Julian.

I did not know who was up there. That was the truth I had been sitting with since I walked out of Katia’s board meeting and stood in the corridor with my hand on the door handle.

But I knew one thing.

Whatever was happening in that east wing — whoever Julian had been eating with and sleeping beside for three days — I was not going to find out by standing in corridors and counting cutlery. I needed a controlled environment. A table. Both of them in the same room where I could watch and see and finally understand what I was actually dealing with.