I could hear Christian talking to the saleswoman, his voice low and melodic in fluent Valentian.
When I finally emerged, dressed again in my regular and a smile that stole my breath.
waiting with an elegant shopping bag in hand
“A late wedding gift,” he said, handing me the bag. “Or early, depending on how you look at it.”
“Thank you, but you didn’t have to…”
“It’s the least I could do after leaving you alone with my mother.” His voice dropped an octave. “Besides, I admit I have a personal interest in seeing you wear this again.”
Heat flooded my cheeks. But I wasn’t the old Zoey anymore, easily flustered. I was Zoey Kensington now-even if only temporarily-and two could play this game.
“Maybe in Montelira,” I replied, my voice surprisingly steady. “If you deserve it.”
The spark in his eyes told me everything I needed to know. Our honeymoon was only just beginning.
The Valentian sunset painted the sky in shades of orange and rose as our car wound its way up a cypress-lined road. After twelve hours on a plane with my in-laws and an exhausting day in Virelia, my body begged for rest, but my eyes refused to close for even a second-not with so much beauty around me.
“We’re almost there,” Christian said, pointing toward the bend ahead.
When the car finally rounded the last curve, my breath caught. Rising before us, bathed in the golden glow of the setting sun, stood a Castorian villa that looked like it belonged in a film. Built from honey-colored stone, with tall windows framed by green shutters, the house stretched majestically atop the hill. Perfect rows of vines spilled down the adjacent valley, forming a hypnotic pattern of green and earth.
“Kensington Villa,” Christian announced, pride threading his voice in a way I rarely heard when he spoke of the mansion in Verdania.
“It’s…” I searched for words, but none seemed worthy. “Magnificent.”
When the car stopped at the grand entrance, I was immediately wrapped in the scents of Castoria-rosemary, thyme, sun-warmed earth, and something indefinable that could only be described as Valentia.
A middle-aged man with sun-bronzed skin and a warm smile greeted us at the entrance, speaking Valentian in a lively rhythm I couldn’t follow. Christian responded easily, slipping into the language with a fluidity that made him seem instantly more relaxed, more at home.
“Anthony is the caretaker of the estate,” he explained to me. “He says he prepared the villa especially for our arrival and hopes we have a wonderful stay.”
Anthony bowed slightly to me, his “Benvenuta, Mrs. Kensington” needing no translation.
Mrs. Kensington. It still felt strange, but here, somehow, it seemed less like a farce and more like a possibility- a glimpse into an alternate world where our marriage wasn’t just a contract with an expiration date.
The inside of the villa was even more breathtaking than its facade. Terracotta floors gleamed underfoot, high ceilings revealed exposed wooden beams, and stone walls were adorned with ancient tapestries and works of art that looked far too valuable to be hanging casually in a countryside home.
“This estate has been in the family since before they moved to Verdania,” Christian said as he guided me down an arched corridor. “My great-great-grandfather bought it at the end of the nineteenth century, when no one believed these lands could produce quality grapes.”
“He proved them wrong, I imagine?” I asked, running my fingers across an old dark-wood table.
“Spectacularly wrong.” Christian smiled, and his expression here was lighter, freer, as if some of the weight he always carried had lifted. “The wines from this region became some of the most prestigious in Valentia.”
Anthony led us up a stone staircase to the upper floor, where enormous windows framed breathtaking views of the Castorian hills. He opened a heavy wooden door, revealing a bedroom that stole my breath all over again.
The master suite was vast, decorated in shades of blue and gold reminiscent of the Castorian sky. An antique canopy bed dominated the center, its linen curtains swaying softly in the breeze that drifted through the open windows. The view was otherworldly-rolling vineyards, dotted with olive groves and cypress trees, stretching all the way to the horizon where the sun had almost disappeared.
“This was my grandparents’ room,” Christian said, watching as I took in every detail. “They spent every summer here. It’s where they first met, actually.”
“It’s beautiful,” I murmured, moving closer to one of the windows. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a place this perfect.”
When Anthony left, Christian stepped closer, joining me by the window.
“The estate stretches across nearly the entire valley you can see from here,” he explained. “The vineyards to the right are the oldest, planted by my great-grandfather. The ones to the left are more recent-an experiment with Franconian varieties.”
“And beyond those hills?” I asked, pointing toward the distant horizon.
“Other estates, other wineries. The region is famous for its wines.” He shrugged casually. “Some families have been here as long as the Kensingtons. The Montgomerys, for example, have a property on the other side of the valley.”
I noticed the faintest tightening of his shoulders at the mention of that name, but before I could dwell on it, a soft knock at the door interrupted.
An elderly woman with gray hair pulled back in a simple bun entered, carrying fresh towels. Her face lit up at the sight of Christian, and she immediately set the towels aside to embrace him, speaking in Valentian with obvious affection.
“Lucy, this is Zoey, my wife,” Christian introduced in Valentian, then added for me, “Lucy practically raised me during the summers I spent here.”
The woman turned to me with a warm smile, taking my hands in hers. She spoke in Valentian too quickly for me to follow, but her tone was unmistakably kind and welcoming.
“She says she’s delighted to finally meet the woman who captured my heart,” Christian translated, a small smile tugging at his lips. “And that she’s very happy I’ve finally brought someone special to this house.”
My face heated, but Lucy didn’t seem to notice my discomfort. She went on speaking animatedly, gesturing toward the room and then at me.
“She wants to know if you’d like a hot bath after the long trip,” Christian explained. “Apparently, she’s already prepared the tub with special salts and oils.”
“That would be wonderful,” I replied with a sincere smile. “Grazie, Lucy.”
My limited Valentian made her beam even brighter, and she answered with what sounded like enthusiastic approval before taking her leave.
“She likes you,” Christian remarked once we were alone again. “Lucy is very protective of me. She never approved of Francesca, even when we were kids.”
“A woman of good taste, then,” I blurted before I could stop myself.
To my surprise, Christian laughed-a genuine sound I so rarely heard from him.
“Definitely.” He stepped closer, stopping just a breath away. “Lucy prepared a light dinner for us. We can eat out on the terrace, if you’d like. July nights here are… magical.”
There was something in the way he said magical that made my heart skip.
“I’d love that,” I said. “After the bath.”
Christian nodded, heading for the door.
“I’ll check if Anthony has already brought up our bags.”
The bath Lucy had drawn was, as promised, divine. The antique claw-foot tub was deep enough for me to sink completely into the perfumed water. Lavender salts and local olive oils softened my skin as the weariness of travel melted away.
I slipped into one of the light dresses I had bought in Virelia-a simple white summer piece that felt just right for a Castorian evening. When I finally emerged from the bathroom, Christian had returned and was standing on the suite’s private balcony, gazing out over the moonlit valley.
He turned at the sound of my steps, and something in his expression made me freeze. For a fleeting, unsettling moment, I saw something dangerously close to real desire in his eyes.
“You look beautiful,” he said simply.
“I thought it suited Castoria,” I replied, trying to keep my tone light.
“It suits it perfectly.” He extended his hand, an invitation. “Shall we? Lucy’s prepared a dinner that I promise will be unforgettable.”
I took his hand, and as he led me down the stairs to the main terrace where a table was set beneath the stars, I realized we were stepping into dangerous territory.
Because here, in this fairytale setting, it was far too easy to forget our marriage had an expiration date. Far too easy to imagine we were truly a couple in love on their honeymoon.
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.