“He used to take me there when I was a boy. To teach me about the vineyards.”
“He mentioned that.”
Silence again. There were so many things left unsaid between us, so many questions, so many tangled emotions.
“I’m going to sleep,” I finally announced. “Tomorrow will be a long day.”
Christian nodded, standing.
“I’ll…” He glanced at the sofa, then at me, as if he wanted to say something more. But he only sighed. “Good night, Zoey.”
“Good night.”
I slipped under the covers, pulling them up to my chin, listening to the soft sounds of Christian settling onto the sofa. The luxury surrounding me-the silk sheets, the high ceiling, the breathtaking view through the window- now felt like a cruel mockery of my state of mind.
How had everything turned into such a tragedy so quickly? Just a few days ago, I was only a dress seller trying to help my family. Now I was entangled in lies, pretending to be the fiancée of a man who clearly still loved his ex, having intimate conversations with an old man who placed hopes in me I could never fulfill.
Tomorrow we would leave. Back to our separate lives. Christian with his wine empire and his treacherous ex- girlfriend, me with my bills to pay and dresses to sell. That was better. That had always been the plan.
So why did the thought of never seeing him again hurt worse than any betrayal?
Christian’s Porsche rolled to a smooth stop in front of my house. The engine shut off, leaving behind only the silence between us so heavy it felt like a third presence in the car. Through the window, I saw my home exactly as I had left it days ago-modest, familiar, a world completely apart from the vineyards and mansions we had left behind.
The drive back had been almost entirely silent. A few attempts at conversation died quickly, as if we both knew that any word might shatter the fragile truce we had established. Christian had been polite, asking if I was comfortable, if I needed to stop anywhere. I had been equally polite, answering in monosyllables. We pretended nothing had happened. That we hadn’t slept in the same room, shared personal stories, danced together, and kissed.
We pretended there would be no longing.
“This is it,” Christian finally said, his hands still on the wheel even though the car was parked. “Thank you for everything, Zoey Bennett.”
The formality in the way he said my full name hurt more than it should have.
“Thank you,” I replied, my voice coming out strangely steady. “For clearing my father’s debt. For keeping your end of the bargain.”
Christian nodded, staring ahead, avoiding my eyes.
“As promised, it’s all resolved. Your father will receive the documents tomorrow.”
I moved to open the door, but something stopped me. An invisible weight, a hesitation I couldn’t explain. My hand hovered in the air, unable to finish the motion.
“Will you be alright?” I asked, the words slipping out before I could stop them.
He looked at me, surprised by the question.
“I always am,” he said with the kind of confidence that seemed so natural to him. “I’ll find a way.”
“And your grandfather? He won’t…”
“I’ll make something up. A fight. An irreconcilable disagreement.” He shrugged, though the tension in his jaw betrayed him. “Don’t worry about me.”
“Hard not to, when you look so much like a stray dog left out in the rain right now.”
A small smile tugged at his lips.
“Was that almost a compliment?”
“Almost.”
The silence returned, but it wasn’t as tense. Something had shifted-just a small crack in the wall we had built between us during the trip.
“How are you going to find another girl to pretend to be your fiancée?” I asked, trying to sound light. “Planning to crash more weddings in the hopes of being mistaken for a gigolo?”
Christian let out a short laugh-the first genuine sound since we’d left the vineyard.
“I think you’re one of a kind in that regard.” He looked at me, his eyes softening. “I doubt there’s another woman in the world who’d mistake Christian Kensington for a male escort.”
My heart sped up at the way he said one of a kind. Ridiculous, I know. I was searching for meaning where none existed.
“Well, you have to admit the situation was unusual. An abandoned bride, my ex-best friend’s wedding, a mysterious stranger who looks like a model…” I shrugged. “Anyone would’ve come to the same conclusion.”
“Anyone?” He raised an eyebrow. “Or just someone with an imagination as vivid as yours?”
“I’m starting to think you enjoyed the confusion.”
“Maybe I did.” His voice dropped an octave. “It gave my overly planned life a touch of… unexpected.”
That silence returned again. The kind filled with unsaid things, with possibilities we’d never explore. I glanced at my house, noting it was completely dark. It was Sunday-my parents had probably gone to the street market, Matthew was at soccer, and Annie was likely just waking up at a friend’s place after a night out. The house would be empty.
“Thanks for bringing me back.” I tried to smile, but my lip trembled slightly. “Back to the real world.”
Christian kept looking at me, those eyes I had learned to read over the past few days. There was something there I couldn’t quite identify.
“It was brief,” he finally said. “But I got used to having you around, Zoey.”
That simple and direct confession caught me off guard.
“Even with my panic attacks and dramatic exits?” I tried to joke, though my voice came out softer than I intended.
“Especially with them.” His smile returned, but with a shadow of sadness. “You brought… authenticity.”
The word made me think of what Joseph had said at the overlook. Authenticity. The irony stung, considering our entire relationship was a fabrication.
“I’ll miss you too,” I admitted, staring at my hands. “Who else is going to buy me an entire wardrobe like they’re buying coffee?”
“And who’s going to tell me when I’m being arrogant?”
“Literally anyone honest enough.”
Christian laughed, and I did too, and for a moment it was as if we were back at the vineyard, sharing a private joke while the world spun around us.
“I won’t forget this week,” he said softly. “I won’t forget you.”
Our eyes met, and something shifted in the air between us. An electric charge, a tension that had nothing to do with discomfort.
“I should go inside,” I said, though I made no move to leave the car.
“Of course.”
But neither of us moved. It was as if we were trapped in a bubble of time, the last moment of a story ending abruptly.
“Have a good life, Christian Kensington.” I tried to smile, aiming for a clean, definitive goodbye,
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.