"My great-granddaughter…" Philip whispered, voice thick with emotion. His eyes glistened as he gently rocked her. Christina reached over and patted his leg, her own eyes glassy.
Holding the tiny life that represented a new generation, Philip Winchester—the man who had built empires, won wars of legacy, and stood tall in storms—suddenly looked humbled.
Like a man who had finally received everything he ever wanted.
Not just that day—all her life—Elizabeth MaryAnn Winchester adored being with her great-grandfather, Philip Winchester.
She wasn't like the other Winchester children who ran wild through the farmland, rolled down the meadows, and came home with grass-stained knees. Lizzy preferred the house, the stillness, the quiet… the control. Jeffrey wouldn't say this to her face—but honestly? She'd been snobbish from the moment she could blink.
A very cute kind of snobbish, granted. The sort that made you laugh and call her Posh Lizzy, which he did—often.
