I hadn’t known there was an engraving. I had never noticed the delicate “C&Z” etched on the inner band of the ring.
So, it stayed. A physical reminder of something that had never been real, but had somehow left a mark on my life.
I picked up the box and opened it. The diamond sparkled under the soft glow of the lamp. My finger traced lightly over the cold surface of the stone.
Did Christian ever think of me? Or had he already moved on, maybe with Francesca, maybe with some Valentian heiress worthy of being introduced to his grandfather?
The worst part was that, on small occasions-when I read news about the Kensingtons or when I passed by a store selling their wines-I felt a pang that went beyond nostalgia. Something dangerously close to longing.
Annabelle said I should call him. My mother, now proud of my new career, still sighed whenever his name was mentioned. Even my father, who had been shocked when Christian sought him out personally to explain our ” breakup,” occasionally asked if I’d heard from “that young man.”
I snapped the box shut with a decisive click. Tomorrow, I would potentially see Christian for the first time in three months. I needed to be ready. Professional. Unshakable.
I couldn’t let it show that, sometimes, I still woke up in the middle of the night thinking about that goodbye kiss. Or that, in moments of weakness, I imagined what would have happened if he had accepted my invitation that morning.
I grabbed my phone and opened my email, reviewing the event details one more time. The guest list flashed on the screen. And there it was: Christian Kensington – CEO, Kensington Wineries.
Tomorrow. After three months, we would finally meet again.
And I would be ready.
“Confirm with the Cabernet promoters that they’re supposed to be at station three, not two,” I instructed Lisa, while adjusting the small Sunvale pin on my navy blazer.
The event hall was flawless. The soft lighting created a sophisticated atmosphere, highlighting the wine displays and the infographics about the winery’s production process. The first guests would be arriving in ten minutes, and my team moved with coordinated efficiency, making the final adjustments.
“Zoey, Edward wants to see you in the lobby,” one of the assistants said as he passed by.
I found my boss near the main entrance, nervously adjusting his tie. Edward Mendez was a man in his early forties, with an energy that made it hard for anyone around him to stand still.
“Ah, Zoey!” His face lit up when he saw me. “Everything’s perfect. You’ve exceeded my expectations once again.”
“Thank you. The team worked hard.”
“The team followed your instructions.” He smiled, but there was something calculating in his eyes that I’d begun to notice more and more over the past few weeks. “Listen, I need you to pay special attention to the Association’s representatives. The president, Robert Sanders, is crucial for our expansion plans.”
“I’ve already assigned Lisa to accompany him throughout the event.”
“Excellent.” He checked his watch. “And what about the Kensingtons?”
That uncomfortable feeling returned. No matter how much I tried to ignore it, Edward’s insistence on the Kensingtons always left me uneasy.
“Christian Kensington himself confirmed,” Edward said, watching me closely as if studying my reaction. “Along with his export director.”
I kept my expression neutral, though my heart sped up. In just a few hours, I’d be face to face with Christian. After three months. Ninety-two days, to be exact. Not that I’d been counting.
“I’ll assign someone appropriate to receive them.”
“Actually…” Edward placed a hand on my shoulder. “I thought you could do it yourself. Considering your… previous relationship with him.”
The way Edward always mentioned my past with Christian grated on me. Ever since the interview, when he’d remarked that “personal connections can open professional doors, I’d been trying to prove my worth as more than just “Kensington’s fiancée.”
“Of course. No problem.”.
Edward gave my shoulder a light squeeze before moving off to greet the first guests as they arrived.
During the first hour of the event, I managed to keep my mind occupied with a thousand operational details. Lisa needed guidance with a difficult sommelier. One of the interactive displays malfunctioned. An influential critic arrived early and demanded immediate attention.
It was while I was explaining the oak notes in our Special Reserve to that critic that I felt it. That unmistakable sensation of being watched. Of being watched by him.
I turned slowly, and there was Christian Kensington, standing near the entrance. Impeccable in a charcoal suit that looked like it had been sewn directly onto his body. His hair perfectly styled, his stubble at that precise balance between careless and refined. Beside him, an older man carried a folder and appeared to be taking notes on a tablet.
Our eyes met across the room. Three months of distance, memories, and regrets condensed into a single moment.
For an instant, the world around us disappeared. There was no event, no Sunvale or Kensington, no deals or misunderstandings. Just us.
Then he gave a slight nod, a barely perceptible gesture of recognition. And I, automatically, returned it.
“Zoey?” The critic’s voice pulled me back to reality. “You were saying about the aging process?”
“Yes, sorry. As I was explaining, our wines go through a maturation process that…”
I finished my explanation, but my focus was split. Part of me carried on the professional conversation, while another part discreetly tracked Christian as he moved through the hall, stopping to taste wines, chatting with other guests.
Every few minutes, his eyes found mine across the room, as if he was just as aware of my presence as I was of his. It was a silent game, a careful dance of glances and measured distance.
“Impressive how you can keep your composure,” Lisa murmured, appearing at my side with a checklist. “If my billionaire ex-fiancé showed up like that, I’d probably drop a tray of glasses on his head.”
I shot my assistant a warning look.
“Professionalism, Lisa. And not everything you read online is true.”
She rolled her eyes, amused.
“Sure, boss. But he’s heading this way, so… good luck holding onto that professionalism.”
My entire body tensed. Christian had finished his circuit of the hall and was now walking with purpose straight toward me. Each step closed the physical distance that had stretched between us for three months, while my heartbeat grew faster and faster.
The last time we had been this close, his lips were on mine, his hands on my waist, inside that Porsche parked in front of my house. Before he said no. Before he left.
I took a deep breath, lifting my chin slightly. I wasn’t that desperate Zoey anymore, begging him to come inside. I was a competent professional, running an important event, building a new career.
“Miss Bennett,” Christian said at last, stopping in front of me-so close I could catch the faint scent of his cologne, the same one he wore that night by the pool.
“Mr. Kensington,” I replied, proud that my voice came out steady, even while every inch of me seemed to recognize his nearness.
For a moment, we just stood there, measuring each other, taking in the subtle changes three months had brought. He looked thinner, with faint shadows under his eyes. Had he not been sleeping well? Did he think of me in the same dark hours of the night when I thought of him?
“Can we talk?” he asked, his voice lower, almost intimate.
A simple question, but weighted with so much meaning. With so many possibilities. I thought about saying no- about not reopening old wounds, about keeping the safe distance those three months had built. But maybe Christian wasn’t thinking about any of that. Maybe this was just professional, about wines or the event.
“Of course,” I answered, my heart pounding against my ribs. “Follow me.”
I led Christian to a more private spot near the windows overlooking the hotel garden. It was a corner designed for discreet talks between buyers and representatives, but right now, it served as our temporary refuge from the buzz of the event.
“An impressive event,” he said, glancing around. “But I’m not surprised, considering who organized it.”
“Thank you.” I offered a small professional smile, holding my posture steady despite the storm inside me.” Would you like to see our new lines?”
“Actually, I wanted to know how you’re doing.”
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.