“His parents were constantly traveling. Business. Always business. He spent summers here with me, and the rest of the year in expensive boarding schools.” He sighed. “I imagine a child learns to protect himself when he’s often left behind.”
The image of a young Christian, alone in a dormitory while other children went home for the holidays, made my chest ache.
“Once, when he was seven,” Joseph continued, “it was my birthday. His parents promised they would come. Christian spent the whole week making me a gift-an elaborate drawing of the vineyard and all of us.” His voice grew hoarse, not only from fatigue. “He waited on the porch all afternoon. They never came. Didn’t even call.”
Tears welled up in my eyes.
“What did he do?”
“Nothing. He didn’t cry, didn’t complain. He just… put the drawing away and locked himself in his room. The next day, he acted as if nothing had happened.” Joseph’s gaze fixed on me with piercing intensity. “That’s when I realized he was learning to hide what he felt. To seem strong when inside he was breaking apart.”
I thought of the Christian I knew-confident, composed, always keeping the world and his own emotions at arm’s length. How many layers of protection had he built over the years? How many people had looked past the façade?
“Why are you telling me this?” I asked softly.
“Because you need to understand that when Christian keeps people at a distance, it’s not out of coldness or calculation.” He paused, his eyes never leaving mine. “It’s out of fear.”
“Fear?”
“Of opening up and being abandoned again. He learned very young that loving someone is risking being hurt. And Francesca only confirmed that lesson.”
I bit my lip, recalling the story Christian had told me. Francesca had betrayed him, used him to steal secrets from the vineyard. Another person he had loved who proved his fear justified.
“And then you appeared.” Joseph’s smile returned, brighter this time. “A young woman who seems to see beyond the walls he built.”
“I’m not…” I began, but the words died in my throat. What was I not? Special? Important to Christian? Or simply not who Joseph believed me to be?
“Of course you are.” He clasped my hand again. “We can all see how he changes when you’re around. How he lowers his guard.”
A tear slipped free, trailing down my cheek. Joseph noticed, his eyes softening even more.
“You love him, don’t you?”
The question caught me completely off guard. Did I love Christian? The arrogant man who had hired me for a business arrangement? The vulnerable man who cared deeply for his grandfather and the future of hundreds of families? The complex man, full of contradictions, whom I had only just begun to glimpse beneath the masks?
Before I could form an answer, the door opened. Christian returned, looking drained after his talk with the doctor. His eyes went straight to mine, noticing the shimmer of tears.
“Are you alright?” he asked, stepping toward me quickly.
Joseph answered for me, a sly smile tugging at his pale lips.
“Yes, yes. We were just talking about the wedding date.”
Christian froze, panic flashing across his face. I saw the conflict in his eyes the need for honesty warring with the desire to protect his grandfather.
“Actually, Grandpa…” he began, his tone full of confession.
I acted on impulse, without thinking of the consequences.
“Next weekend,” I interrupted, my voice steady despite the tremor in my chest. “That should be enough time. I already have a dress.”
The car glided silently along the winding road toward the mansion. Through the window, I watched the vineyards bathed in silver moonlight, somber and almost melancholic. The driver kept his eyes fixed on the road, discreetly ignoring the palpable tension between us in the back seat.
Christian sat with his head leaned back, eyes closed, though he wasn’t asleep. Physical and emotional exhaustion was etched into every line of his face. When he finally broke the silence, his voice was hoarse, low:
“You didn’t have to do that.”
I kept my gaze on the passing landscape, as if the dark outlines of the vines could offer some kind of comfort.
“I didn’t do it for you,” I replied, bitterness bleeding into my words. “I did it for your grandfather.”
“Even so,” he insisted, and out of the corner of my eye I saw he’d opened his eyes to look at me. “Thank you.”
I could feel his gaze on me, but I refused to meet it. I was afraid that if I did, he’d see too much-the hurt from the cruel words I’d overheard that morning, the confusion over my own feelings, the war between anger and compassion swelling inside me.
“I’ve grown too attached to Joseph,” I admitted at last. “Whatever I can do to spare him pain, I’ll do.”
A brief silence. Then:
“Even if it means marrying me?”
The question lingered between us, heavy with meanings neither of us was ready to face. Finally, I turned to look at him.
“Yes,” I said firmly. “But I want a clear contract. Six months, not a single day more. Long enough for you to officially take over the vineyard and for Joseph to recover from the surgery. After that, I leave, and I don’t ever want to see you again.”
Something flickered across Christian’s face-surprise, maybe hurt?-quickly hidden behind the controlled expression he wore so well.
“There’s something different about you,” he said, studying my profile as I turned back to the window. “I know we’ve said things to each other, but… this anger… where did it come from?”
Heat climbed up my neck, anger flaring again like embers stoked by the wind.
“Maybe because I found out I’m not ‘the type of woman for someone in your position.”” The words came out sharp, precise. “That I’m just a ‘temporary arrangement.””
Recognition flashed across his face instantly. He closed his eyes briefly, as if taking a physical blow.
“You overheard my conversation with Marcus,” he said-it wasn’t a question.
“Every word,” I confirmed, the knot in my throat making it hard to breathe. “It was very enlightening.”
Christian straightened in his seat, turning fully toward me.
“Zoey, what you heard… I only said that because-“
“Because it’s true,” I cut him off, my voice stronger than I felt. “I know that. I’ve always known that.” I forced a smile that felt more like a grimace. “After all, it was just an arrangement from the start, wasn’t it? You never saw me as anything more than convenient,”
I turned my face back toward the window, blinking hard as tears threatened to fall.
“You know, it’s funny how life repeats itself. First Alex, now you. Looks like Elise was right. I’ll never be enough. Never the right kind of woman for anyone.” My voice cracked at the end, betraying the pain I tried so hard to hide.
Christian leaned toward me, genuine anguish written across his face.
“Zoey, it’s not like that. You don’t understand that-“
“No.” I cut him off, lifting my hand between us like a physical barrier. “I don’t want to hear your excuses.”
Something in his eyes dimmed then. The frustration, the urgency to explain-everything faded, replaced by a kind of resignation that felt strangely final.
“I understand,” he said simply.
The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating. Through the divider glass, I saw the driver adjust the rearview mirror, glancing at us briefly before returning his focus to the road.
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.