Something flickered across Christian’s face-understanding, maybe? Or something deeper?
“You didn’t lose everything, Zoey,” he said, his voice steady. “You gained the chance to find someone who truly values you.”
I looked at him-really looked at him. In the soft glow of the garden lights, Christian seemed different-less the calculating CEO, more the man who held my hand during the storm.
And then it hit me: he had skillfully avoided my original question.
“You didn’t answer about Francesca,” I pointed out. “Do you still have feelings for her?”
Something shifted in his eyes, a shadow passing over his face. He opened his mouth to reply, but before he could speak, we were interrupted.
“Mr. Kensington?” One of the event staff appeared at the balcony entrance. “It’s time for your speech. Your grandfather is asking for you.”
Christian frowned, clearly frustrated by the interruption, but nodded.
“Tell him I’ll be there in a minute.”
When we were alone again, he turned back to me.
“We’ll talk about this later,” he promised, offering me his arm. “Shall we?”
The rest of the night blurred into a parade of faces, shallow conversations, and clinking wine glasses. Christian gave an impressive speech about tradition, innovation, and the future of the vineyard. Joseph watched with obvious pride, occasionally sending me approving looks. I caught sight of Francesca and Elise talking in a corner, their heads tilted close together like conspirators, and a shiver of unease ran through me.
The next day slipped by almost without me noticing. Christian was busy with a small investor event at the main vineyard complex-meetings, presentations, business lunches. I stayed at the mansion, wandering the gardens with Carmen as my guide, listening to stories about Christian as a child, about the family’s history. It was strange how, little by little, I was stepping into this world, absorbing fragments of his life.
But at no point did we end up alone long enough to resume our interrupted conversation. Christian seemed deliberately busy, and I couldn’t tell if it was because of the events-or because he was avoiding my questions.
That evening, Carmen informed me there would be a more intimate dinner at the mansion-just family, a few close friends, and some important business partners. She helped me choose a dress, an emerald-green gown that fit perfectly before flowing into a soft skirt down to my ankles.
“You look like a true Kensington,” she said as she pinned my hair into an elegant bun, leaving a few loose strands to frame my face.
The word caught me off guard. A Kensington. As if I really were becoming part of this family, this legacy. As if all of this wasn’t an elaborate lie waiting to collapse.
“Christian had to go down earlier,” Carmen explained as she put on the finishing touches. “His grandfather wanted to discuss something before the guests arrived. He said you should come down when you’re ready.”
When I finally left the bedroom, the mansion was quiet except for the faint murmur of voices drifting up from downstairs. I descended the grand staircase slowly, my fingers brushing the polished wooden banister, feeling like an imposter in some period drama.
In the entrance hall, I paused, trying to catch where the voices were coming from. That’s when I realized I wasn’t alone.
“Zoey.”
The familiar voice made my heart jolt. Alex was standing near the entrance to the dining room, a glass of whiskey in his hand, immaculate in his dark suit. His gaze swept over my body from head to toe, lingering longer than it should have.
“You look… different,” he said, taking a few steps closer. “I almost didn’t recognize you.”
“People change,” I replied curtly, trying to move past him.
Alex subtly blocked my way, that smile I knew far too well curving on his lips.
“You know, when I saw you at my wedding with Christian Kensington, I couldn’t believe it.” He stepped closer. ” But looking at you now…”
“Now what?”
He took a slow sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving mine.
“Now I understand why he’s interested.” His voice dropped an octave, slipping into that tone he always used when he wanted something.
The double meaning was too obvious to ignore. A mixture of anger and something I refused to name surged inside me. This was the man I had loved for years, the man I had cried over night after night. And now he was here, looking at me as if I were a meal he had left unfinished but suddenly found appetizing again.
Alex took another step forward, close enough for me to catch his familiar cologne.
“That dress…” His gaze slid down my body in a way that made me want to cover myself, even as I stood frozen. “It reminds me of that night-our anniversary. You wore something similar.”
I swallowed hard, the memory flashing back. The way he had slowly peeled my clothes away, piece by piece, between kisses and whispered promises.
“I always liked how silk slid off your skin,” he went on, his voice now a deliberately seductive whisper. “The sound it makes when it falls to the floor.” His eyes locked onto mine, filled with a mix of desire and challenge.” Sometimes I still dream about it… about seeing you in something like this dress, then tearing it off slowly, finding out if your body still reacts the same way when I touch you.”
Alex’s words lingered in the air between us, heavy with insinuation. My body reacted in a contradictory way-a shiver at the treacherous memory of sensations my heart hadn’t completely forgotten.
Before I could form a response, a cold, controlled voice cut through the moment.
“Am I interrupting something?”
Christian stood at the base of the staircase, staring at us with an expression I had never seen before. His eyes- usually warm when they met mine-were hard as stone. His jaw was tight, his posture rigid.
Alex smiled, stepping back but showing not the slightest trace of embarrassment.
“Just reminiscing with your fiancée,” he said with studied casualness. “Zoey and I have… a lot of history.”
Christian crossed the distance between us with measured steps, placing himself at my side. His arm slid around my waist possessively, his fingers pressing lightly against the thin fabric of my dress.
“History. Exactly that,” Christian replied, his tone glacial. “Something that belongs in the past.’
He shot me a quick but intense glance before fixing his eyes back on Alex.
“The guests are gathering in the dining room. I suggest you join them, Mr. Pereira.”
The use of his last name was a subtle reminder that Alex wasn’t part of the inner circle. Alex seemed to notice, his smile faltering for just a second before recovering.
“Of course.” He lifted his glass in a silent toast. “See you inside.”
As he walked away, Christian didn’t relax. His fingers remained firmly at my waist, as if afraid I might run after Alex the moment he let go.
“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice still tense.
“Yes, I…”
“Come on.” He cut me off, guiding me toward the dining room. “We shouldn’t keep the guests waiting.”
Dinner was an elegant torture. Seated between Christian and Marcus, I could feel the icy distance radiating from Christian beside me. He spoke animatedly with everyone else at the table-his grandfather, the investors, even Elise, who looked particularly pleased with herself that night. But with me, he exchanged only what was necessary -brief, polite words, nothing more.
Across the table, Alex didn’t bother to disguise his glances. Whenever no one was looking, he watched me over the rim of his wineglass, his gaze occasionally drifting down to my neckline-or curling into a smile that carried far too many intimate memories.
Francesca was there too, seated as far from Joseph as possible. His expression visibly hardened every time she spoke, a clear sign he hadn’t forgotten or forgiven her betrayal of the Kensingtons. Still, she carried herself with calculated elegance, occasionally glancing in our direction, watching the dynamics with clinical interest.
“So, Zoey,” Joseph broke my silent observation. “Christian tells me you have an eye for detail. What do you think of our art collection?”
It was the perfect cue for a safe topic of conversation, one that allowed me to breathe for a few minutes, away from the suffocating tension between Christian and me.
During dessert, I suddenly felt something brush against my leg under the table. A foot sliding slowly up my calf. I nearly choked on my lemon sorbet, my eyes instantly searching for the culprit. Alex smiled from his seat, a smile that made it painfully clear this was no accident.
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.