The reception was held in the mansion’s grand hall, transformed into a paradise of lights and flowers. Joseph was the first to greet us, his eyes shining with genuine joy.
“My dear, what a stunning dress!” he exclaimed, clasping my hands warmly. “A true homage to Kensington history.”
“Thank you, Joseph.” I smiled, touched by his approval. “It was a last-minute decision.”
“The best things in life usually are,” he replied with a playful wink.
Soon, photographers and influencers surrounded us, all captivated by the unconventional gown.
“Did you customize it yourself?” one fashion influencer asked, snapping pictures from every angle.
“Yes, with my sister’s help.”
“Genius!”
As camera flashes went off around us, Christian leaned in, whispering against my ear:
“You just turned our wedding into a PR campaign. Maybe we should hire you officially for Kensington’s communications department.”
I couldn’t help but laugh, holding onto his arm as more guests came forward to congratulate us.
Across the hall, I caught sight of Elise in a corner, her face a mask of poorly disguised irritation. Alex stood beside her, his eyes fixed on me with an expression that wavered between confusion and something that looked unsettlingly like regret. For a brief moment, our gazes locked-and I realized, with surprise, that I felt nothing. No hurt, no anger, no longing. Just emptiness. Indifference, as if I were looking at a stranger.
The night blurred into champagne, music, and endless well-wishes. Christian stayed close to me the entire time, his hand brushing mine now and then, his eyes finding mine in the crowd as though we were sharing a secret no one else could possibly understand.
When the celebration began to wind down, Joseph called for everyone’s attention, lifting his glass for a final toast.
“To the bride and groom!” he declared, his voice strong despite his frailty. “And to the gift I have the honor of giving them.”
With a gesture, he handed Christian an envelope. Christian opened it, his eyes widening slightly.
“I hope our new Kensington’s passport is up to date,” Joseph went on, grinning broadly. “Because tomorrow, you’ll be leaving for Montelira. The family estate is ready to welcome you for a proper Valentian honeymoon!”
Christian turned to me, a silent question in his eyes. I smiled in return, raising my own glass.
“To Valentia,” I toasted, deciding that-at least for tonight-I would follow Annabelle’s advice.
I would live as if it were real. As if this marriage weren’t just a contract. As if the man beside me, now officially my husband, might one day feel for me what I, against all my own warnings, was already beginning to feel for him.
The wedding celebration stretched on until nightfall, when the last champagne flutes were emptied and guests finally began saying their goodbyes. My feet ached in the heels I had worn for hours, and my cheeks hurt from smiling for endless photographs.
“I think we survived,” Christian remarked as we climbed the mansion’s grand staircase.
“Hard to believe,” I replied, adjusting one of the rose petals threatening to come loose from my gown. I should have changed into another dress for the reception. But the customized gown had been such a success that Vivian insisted I keep it on until the very end.
The adrenaline of the day was wearing off, leaving behind a bone-deep exhaustion that spread through my muscles.
When we reached the hallway leading to the bedrooms, I stopped automatically. A new reality loomed before me: we were officially husband and wife. Where was I supposed to go now? Back to the guest room where my things were, or…
“I thought we could celebrate with a special bottle,” Christian suggested, breaking into my muddled thoughts. Unless you’re too tired?”
His tone was casual, but I caught something subtle in his eyes-an uncertainty I’d never seen in him before.
‘Actually, I’ll take that special bottle,” I said, trying to keep my voice light despite the thundering of my heart.
Christian smiled that rare, genuine smile he never showed in public-and led the way to the master suite. I hesitated for a second before following. It was the same suite we had stayed in during my first visit to the mansion, but now everything felt different. More permanent. More real.
When I stepped inside, I noticed someone-Vivian, or perhaps one of the maids-had scattered rose petals across the massive bed. The romantic gesture, clearly staged for a real honeymoon, made me flush instantly.
“Don’t mind that,” Christian said, catching my embarrassment. “Vivian tends to be… traditional.”
He moved to a small built-in bar and pulled out a dusty bottle.
“A special reserve, one of the vineyard’s best vintages,” he explained, studying the label with reverence. Grandfather keeps certain bottles from special years for important occasions.”
“Isn’t that too valuable to open now?” I asked, genuinely curious.
Christian shrugged, surprisingly relaxed.
“If not on our wedding night, then when?”
Our wedding. Two simple words that carried so much weight. I watched as he opened the bottle with the practiced precision of someone born doing it, the soft pop of the cork echoing in the quiet room.
“Tous,” he said, handing me a glass.
“To us,” I echoed, clinking mine against his, our eyes locking over the rim.
The wine was extraordinary, deep and complex in a way I had never tasted before. Or maybe it was just the night itself, everything conspiring to heighten the experience.
“This is… incredible,” I managed after the first sip.
Christian smiled, his eyes never leaving mine.
“First time I’ve ever seen you speechless, Zoey Bennett. Or should I say, Zoey Kensington?”
A shiver ran down my spine at the sound of my new surname. Strange how two words could change everything.
“I think I’ll need some time to get used to that,” I admitted. “A Kensington. All because I mistook you for a gigolo.
Christian laughed, low and genuine.
“Best misunderstanding of my life,” he said, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “Imagine if you’d approached someone else at that party. We probably wouldn’t be here right now.”
I couldn’t help laughing too, remembering that chaotic night that, by some twist of fate, had brought us here.
“Who would’ve thought mistaking a billionaire for a male escort would land me in a centuries-old vineyard?” I shook my head, still finding the whole thing surreal.
“Fate has a peculiar sense of humor,” he replied, his tone light, though something in his eyes seemed more serious. Almost vulnerable.
We sat there, drinking in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, until I felt one of the straps of my gown slip loose. I tried reaching for it behind my back, but it was impossible without help.
“I need help with this dress,” I murmured, cheeks heating. “Too many buttons and ties I can’t reach.”
Christian set his glass down carefully.
“May I?”
I nodded, turning my back to him. I felt his fingers working at the laces, each touch sending small sparks of electricity across my skin. The silence between us now seemed heavy with something I couldn’t define.
“When I saw you walking toward me today,” he said quietly, his voice close to my ear as he undid the ties, “I almost forgot our marriage was… an arrangement.”
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.