He looked like he wanted to say more, but just nodded instead, his eyes following me as I practically bolted out of the café, exhaling in relief the second I hit the street.
The relief didn’t last.
The moment I stepped into my room at home, I was brutally yanked by the arm by a small but ridiculously strong hand.
“What the hell did you do last night?!” Annabelle’s voice was sharp, urgent.
I tore free from her grip and shrugged, tossing my bag onto the bed.
My sister and I had always been tight-partners in crime growing up, keepers of each other’s secrets, accomplices in every harebrained scheme. She was just a year younger than me, which meant we’d gone through pretty much every stage of life together-from getting in trouble for stealing candy out of the pantry to sharing our first sketchy drinks as teenagers. If there was one person in the world who knew every detail about me, it was Annabelle.
She crossed her arms, one eyebrow arching,
“You said you’d hire a gigolo to take you to Alex’s wedding.”
“Yes!” I threw up my hands, like that was the most natural thing in the world. “And let me tell you, Annie… he was hot.”
“Zoey.”
“Hot! Like offensively hot! So perfect that-“
“Zoey!”
I stopped when she gave me a look that was equal parts panic and disbelief.
“If he was a gigolo… then why is there a video of you and Christian Kensington on every social network saying you’re his fiancée?!”
“Exactly, Christian Kensington, he…” I frowned, the name tugging at some vague recognition. “Wait… how do you know that’s the name he picked off that heir list you gave me?”
My sister stared at me like I’d just said the sun revolves around the Earth.
“A name he picked?” Annabelle repeated, incredulous. “Zoey, Kensington isn’t some name he ‘chose.’ It’s his name!”
Without another word, she grabbed her phone and shoved it in my face.
The sound of my own laughter filled the room, followed by video footage of me and Christian at the wedding party, looking dangerously intimate. His arm around my waist. His hand on me. His gaze fixed on me like I was the only woman in the room.
And then, the caption plastered across the post, [Christian Kensington, billionaire heir of the Kensington Wineries, appears with his mysterious fiancée! Who is the woman who conquered the country’s most desirable CEO?]
The world stopped.
My brows knit together as my brain scrambled to piece it all together like a puzzle where all the pieces were identical and nothing made sense.
Christian Kensington. CEO. Winery. Billionaire.
The words floated through my head, but my brain flat-out refused to process them together in the same sentence.
Maybe it was the hangover from sin. Or maybe I’d just fried every neuron I had trying to make sense of how, in less than twenty-four hours, I’d gone from “I need a date for my ex’s wedding” to “mysterious fiancée of the country’s most desirable CEO.”
“What?”
“He’s Christian Kensington, Zoey. The freaking CEO of Kensington Wineries!”
My heart skipped a beat.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No way!”
“Yes way!”
“But… but…” I shook my head, completely dazed. “If he’s a billionaire… why was he pretending to be a gigolo?!”
Annabelle let out an exasperated noise and smacked me on the forehead.
“Because he wasn’t pretending to be a gigolo, you idiot! You’re the one who thought he was!”
I blinked a few times, my brain still buffering. And then the panic hit-hard. My phone.
I lunged for my bag, yanked out the charger, and plugged it in. The screen lit up with dozens of flashing notifications. And that’s when my stomach dropped straight to the floor. Messages started pouring in, one after the other, all from the number of the actual gigolo I’d hired:
[Hey, I’m here. I’m in the lobby.]
[They won’t let me up without an invitation. Can you come get me?]
[Zoey? You there?]
[I’ve been waiting a while, is everything okay?]
[If you don’t come soon, I’m leaving.]
[Just so you know, the payment is non-refundable.]
I blinked. My brain melted. And then, a curse slipped out.
“Holy shit…” My breath hitched. “I hired a gigolo and ended up with a billionaire!”
I looked at the messages, then at the video of me and Christian, then back at the messages again. Reality slammed into me like a speeding train.
“And I…” I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper. “I told him I’d pay him well for his services.”
Annabelle burst out laughing-until she caught sight of my face. The genuine horror written all over me must have been too clear to ignore.
“Zoey, breathe. It’s not the end of the world.”
“Not the end of the world?!” I repeated, my voice shooting up several octaves. “I told a billionaire he was too hot to be smart! I told him to pretend to be rich! I promised to pay him for his services!”
“Zoey…”
“I’m going to be a national joke when Elise and Alex find out the truth!”
And just when I thought it couldn’t get worse, my phone buzzed with a new notification. A message from an unknown number.
I opened it without thinking, and my heart stopped.
[Our conversation isn’t over yet, sweetheart.]
Oh, shit. Christian had found my number.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.