Marcus nodded, then turned to Annabelle with a smile that could only be described as predatory.
You must be the bride’s sister.” He took her hand and kissed it with theatrical flourish. “Marcus Kensington. The pleasure is all mine.”
To my surprise, Annabelle blushed slightly.
“The pleasure is mutual,” she replied, her voice taking on a tone I rarely heard-almost shy.
After Marcus walked away, promising to show everyone “the best view of the estate” after lunch, I practically grabbed Annabelle’s arm and pulled her into a corner.
“Absolutely not,” I hissed urgently.
“What?” She feigned innocence.
“Marcus. Don’t even think about it.”
“Why not?” She crossed her arms, a mischievous smile forming. “You get to have a Kensington of your own, and I can’t?”
“Kensington men mean nothing but trouble,” I insisted.
Annabelle rolled her eyes dramatically.
“Relax, sis. The only trouble Marcus will cause is in my bed.” And with that, she walked off laughing.
Lunch was served on the terrace, overlooking the vineyards and distant mountains. The food was magnificent, of course, and the conversation flowed surprisingly well. Christian was attentive, smiling at me from time to time.
After dessert, while Annabelle dragged Matthew and my mother to see the rose garden, my father suggested a walk. Christian understood immediately and discreetly excused himself, leaving me alone with him.
We walked in silence for a few minutes until we reached a small lookout that offered a breathtaking view of the vineyards.
“So,” my father began, leaning on the stone railing, “do you love him?”
The question, so direct, caught me off guard. I opened my mouth, closed it again, and realized I didn’t know how to answer.
“I’m marrying him,” I repeated, as if that explained everything.
“That doesn’t answer my question, daughter. I’m not a fool, you know. A billionaire doesn’t show up at my house one day and the next, my debt mysteriously disappears by coincidence.” His eyes were kind but steady. “You don’t need to sacrifice yourself for us, daughter. For anyone.”
I felt tears forming and blinked rapidly to push them back.
“It’s not like that, Dad.”
Without the right words, I simply leaned over and kissed his cheek, letting one tear escape. He hugged me tightly, that embrace that had always meant safety since I was little.
“I just want you to be happy, princess,” he murmured against my hair.
“I know, Dad.”
When we pulled apart, he looked past my shoulder, to where Christian stood watching from a distance, respectfully keeping away.
“At least I know that on his side, the love is real,” my father said, startling me. “You can see it in his eyes when he looks at you.”
I turned to glance at Christian, who quickly looked away, pretending to be interested in the scenery. Could it be true? Or was my father only seeing what he wanted to see?
The mansion felt different that night. Soft lights created a warm atmosphere in the main dining hall, a room rarely used for such intimate gatherings. The long, dark wooden table was set with the family’s finest porcelain, crystal glasses sparkled beneath the chandelier, and discreet arrangements of fresh flowers completed the scene.
My family looked almost comical in their awe. Matthew discreetly snapped photos on his phone while my mother ran her fingers over the silver cutlery as if afraid she might break it. Annabelle, on the other hand, had adapted to the luxurious environment with surprising ease-especially after discovering she would be seated next to Marcus during dinner.
“Will your grandfather be joining us?” I asked Christian, who was double-checking the final details with the butler.
“The doctor cleared him for dinner.” He checked his watch. “He should be here any moment.”
As if summoned by our words, the dining room doors opened and Joseph entered, leaning on a cane. Even so, he looked far better than the last time I’d seen him in the hospital-the color had returned to his face, and his eyes gleamed with excitement.
“What a beautiful family!” he exclaimed, spreading his arms.
Christian immediately moved to assist him, guiding him toward the head of the table. Joseph, however, insisted on greeting each guest first, lingering especially with my parents.
“Mr. and Mrs. Bennett, it is an honor to welcome you to our home,” he said, clasping my mother’s hands warmly. “Zoey is a precious jewel. We are all delighted to welcome her into the Kensington family.”
My mother looked on the verge of melting from emotion. My father, ever more reserved, nodded with a genuine smile.
“The pleasure is ours, Mr. Kensington. And please, call me Robert.”
“Only if you call me Joseph.” The Valentian’s smile was contagious. “In Valentia, the parents of the bride and groom aren’t just guests-they become one family.”
Once everyone was seated-with Joseph at one end of the table and my father at the other, a placement I realized was deliberate-the servers brought out the first course.
“Porcini mushroom risotto,” Joseph explained. “My late wife Sophie’s recipe.”
Dinner unfolded in a surprisingly relaxed atmosphere. Joseph was a natural host, guiding the conversation with charming stories about Valentia, the vineyard’s history, and occasionally, embarrassing anecdotes from Christian’s childhood-ones that made my future husband roll his eyes with a resigned smile.
“He was only seven years old,” Joseph narrated dramatically, “when he decided he wanted to make his own wine. He picked the ripest grapes from the vineyard, crushed them in a bucket, and hid the mixture under his bed to ‘ ferment’!”
Laughter echoed around the table. Even Christian, who had clearly heard the story many times, smiled faintly at the corner of his mouth.
“The smell was discovered only three days later,” Joseph went on. “The housekeeper thought a dead animal was under the bed!”
“In my defense,” Christian cut in, raising his glass of wine, “my methods have improved considerably since then.”
Joseph winked at me.
“And now he produces some of the best wines in the world.”
I watched the obvious affection between grandfather and grandson, and felt a pang in my chest. The love between them was genuine, undeniable. How could I not be moved by it?
My mother smiled at the exchange, her expression softened by the warmth of the evening.
“It’s wonderful to see a family with such strong traditions,” she said, glancing fondly at my father. “Robert and I always tried to build that with our children too.”
“And you succeeded,” Joseph replied kindly. “Zoey is an extraordinary young woman. You must be very proud.”
My father nodded, raising his glass in a silent toast.
Marcus, who had remained surprisingly discreet until then, seized the opportunity to change the subject.
“Speaking of family, have you two decided on the honeymoon yet?”
We exchanged a quick glance-it was a detail we hadn’t even discussed.
“We’re still considering some options,” Christian replied diplomatically.
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.