“I suggest Castoria,” Joseph interjected. “The family home in Montelira is empty this time of year.”
Annabelle sighed dreamily.
“A honeymoon in Valentia! I always knew my sister would have good taste in husbands.”
“Or luck,” Matthew added with a teasing smile-the first comment he’d made in a while. “A lot of
Christian lifted his glass in an improvised toast.
“To luck, then. For bringing me Zoey.”
luck.”
Everyone raised their glasses, and I felt a warmth spread through my chest that had nothing to do with the wine. The way Christian looked at me in that moment-with a mix of tenderness and something deeper-made my heart skip a beat.
‘It’s just an act,’ I reminded myself. All part of our theater.
Dinner went on, but I noticed Joseph occasionally placing his hand on his chest, a subtle gesture he tried to conceal. Christian noticed too, casting worried glances at his grandfather.
When dessert was served-an elaborate fruit tart with homemade vanilla ice cream-Joseph looked tired, though he tried to keep up his usual cheer.
“I think it’s time for me to retire,” he announced at last. “The doctors advised me not to overdo it.”
Christian immediately rose to help him, but Joseph waved him off.
“Stay, my boy. The party is just beginning.” He smiled at me. “Besides, you two have plenty to plan for Sunday.”
As Joseph left, supported by one of the staff, the mood remained light. My father now began sharing stories from my childhood, much to.my embarrassment and Christian’s amusement.
“She decided, at five years old, that she wanted to be a lion tamer,” my father recounted. “Spent weeks training with our poor house cat.”
“Dad!” I protested, though I couldn’t help laughing at the memory.
That was when the dining room doors opened again, and two strangers entered. An elegant couple, both well- dressed and carrying an unmistakable air of aristocracy. The man had the same piercing blue eyes as Christian.
Christian froze at the sight of them, his expression instantly shifting to something I couldn’t decipher-surprise, tension, perhaps even a trace of hurt.
“Mother? Father?” His voice came out almost as a whisper.
The woman stepped forward with a calculated smile, one far too perfect to be genuine.
“Christian, darling.” She approached, kissing the air near her son’s cheeks. “You didn’t really think we’d miss something this important, did you?”
Breakfast at the Kensington mansion had an almost unreal air to it. The elegant morning dining room, with its wide windows allowing the sunlight to flood in, looked like something out of a design magazine. I tried to keep my composure as I watched Christian’s mother, Isabelle Kensington, cut a slice of bread as if she were performing delicate surgery.
She hadn’t stopped talking since she’d come down for breakfast, her Valentian accent subtly emphasized whenever it suited her-especially when she spoke about the “importance of family traditions.” Every word was carefully chosen, every gesture perfectly calculated. Unlike Joseph, whose nobility came from natural authenticity, Isabelle exuded a forced aristocracy, as if she constantly needed to remind everyone of her position.
“It’s a shame we only arrived yesterday,” she remarked, looking straight at me. “We’ve had so little time to get to know our son’s fiancée.”
“We’ll have plenty of time to get to know each other after the wedding,” I replied with a polite smile, feeling Christian’s eyes watching us closely.
“Of course, of course.” Isabelle waved her hand gracefully. “Although I am still surprised by the haste. When Christian called us about the ceremony, we could hardly believe it.”
“Mother,” Christian cut in, his tone slightly strained, “we’ve already discussed this.”
Christian’s father, Lawrence, simply observed the scene with studied disinterest, hidden behind a tablet where he scrolled through financial news. He had spoken little since their arrival, but whenever his gaze flicked toward me, it carried the same cool evaluation I saw in his wife’s eyes.
“You know what would be wonderful?” Isabelle suddenly said, brightening with what I already suspected was a premeditated idea. “A spa day for the ladies! The mansion has a beautiful space downstairs. We could spend the morning there… just us women.”
Regina, my mother-who seemed utterly fascinated by Isabelle-immediately accepted the invitation. Annabelle, sitting beside me, nudged me lightly under the table-a warning I didn’t need to interpret.
“Of course,” I managed to say, already feeling the trap closing around me.
An hour later, we were in the mansion’s spa facilities a place of pure luxury with a heated pool, sauna, and several treatment rooms. Isabelle had arranged massages for everyone, and now we were lounging in silk robes embroidered with the Kensington monogram, reclining on chairs around the pool.
“It’s impressive how much Christian has changed since he met you, Zoey,” Isabelle commented, feigning casualness as she stirred her tea. “Before, he was so… focused on the vineyard.”
“He’s still focused,” I replied. “He’s passionate about the work he does.”
“Yes, but now there are other… distractions.” She smiled, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “When he was with Francesca, they shared the same circle, the same interests. It was so convenient.”
My mother seemed to notice the growing tension, throwing me a worried glance.
“Zoey has always been passionate about wine,” she interjected, trying to help. “Since she was a little girl.”
It was such an obvious lie that I almost choked on my tea. Isabelle smiled condescendingly.
“Really? How fascinating.” Her tone suggested the exact opposite. “And where did you study oenology, dear?”
“I didn’t study it formally,” I admitted, keeping my head high. “My degree is in Public Relations.”
“Ah, of course.” Isabelle nodded, as if confirming a suspicion. “Christian mentioned that you worked… as a sales clerk, didn’t you?”
Annabelle, who had remained surprisingly quiet until then, smiled dangerously.
“And she was amazing at it. The best eye for fashion I’ve ever seen.” She stood up, stretching dramatically. “Mom, come with me to see that wine fountain I spotted in the other room? It looks gorgeous.
My mother, catching the signal, got up too.
“Of course! Isabelle, you don’t mind?”
“Not at all,” she replied with a plastic smile. “Zoey and I will be just fine, won’t we, dear?”
The night was surprisingly warm for the Highridge Valley at that time of year. The starry sky stretched like a blanket of light over the property, and the full moon shimmered on the surface of the infinity pool set on one of the mansion’s far terraces-a spot Christian had shown me earlier, assuring me it was rarely used by the family.
“Is this thing heated?” Annabelle asked, cautiously dipping her hand in the water.
“Thirty-two degrees, to be exact,” I replied, slipping off my shoes. “Perks of being a billionaire.”
Annabelle was already tugging off her light dress, revealing the bikini she’d apparently been wearing under her clothes all day, as if she had planned this moment.
“So, is this a bachelorette party?” She raised the bottle of champagne she had “borrowed” from the wine cellar, her mischievous smile glowing under the moonlight. “Kind of lame, don’t you think? No strippers, no embarrassing games…’
“Perfect for me,” I said, stepping into the water still wearing the loose T-shirt and shorts I’d put on after dinner. The heat of the pool against my skin was instantly relaxing.
Annabelle followed me in, champagne bottle still in hand. She had somehow found two glasses in the mansion and was now filling them with surprising skill, even while half-submerged.
“To my sister,” she toasted, pushing a glass toward me. “Who tomorrow will marry an absurdly rich, absurdly handsome, and absurdly complicated man.”
I couldn’t help but laugh, clinking my glass lightly against hers.
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.