He smiled, taking my hand.
“You’ll love it. And don’t worry-our jet is extremely comfortable.”
“Our jet?” I repeated, raising a brow. “Of course, because everyone has a private jet, right?
“Technically, it belongs to the company,” he corrected, with that half-smile that inexplicably stole my breath.” But yes, we’ll take it to Valentia. Part of Joseph’s gift.”
We arrived at the same executive airport where we had boarded for Highridge Valley weeks earlier. This time, though, a considerably larger jet waited for us on the runway.
My eyes swept over the impressive aircraft, trying not to show how dazzled I really was. Inside, however, I was practically bouncing with excitement. Me, Zoey Bennett-now Kensington-about to cross the ocean in a private jet.
As we climbed the steps and entered, I stopped short so abruptly that Christian almost bumped into me. Isabelle and Lawrence Kensington were already comfortably seated in the leather chairs, champagne glasses in hand.
“Ah, there you are!” Isabelle exclaimed, with that smile that never reached her eyes. “We hope you don’t mind the company. We decided to take the opportunity for a lift to Virelia.”
Beside me,
Christian stiffened visibly.
“It was a last-minute decision, darling,” Isabelle explained with a dismissive wave of her hand. “We have some business in Valentia, and your father thought it practical.”
Practical. Of course. Ruining our honeymoon was just a convenient bonus.
“What… a lovely surprise,” I managed, my smile just as fake as hers.
After we settled in-as far away from Christian’s parents as possible-I leaned toward him and whispered:
“For the first time, I’m really glad you’re heir to a winery.” My tone was light, but my eyes betrayed my irritation. “I plan to make very good use of the next twelve hours drinking for free, just to survive your mother.”
To my surprise, Christian let out a genuine laugh.
“Zoey Kensington,” he said softly, his eyes locking on mine, “you are truly the most improbable-and incredible -person I’ve ever met.”
And for some reason, that sincere compliment made the next twelve hours trapped on a jet with Isabelle feel almost bearable.
Almost.
+2
The Kensington private jet landed smoothly at Virelia’s international airport. Through the window, I watched the Valentian morning sun cast a golden glow over the city I had only ever seen in fashion magazines. A shiver of excitement ran down my spine, despite the exhaustion of twelve hours in the air-during which Isabelle Kensington had taken every opportunity to share her detailed opinions on how a proper Kensington wife should behave.
“Weren’t we supposed to go straight to Montelira?” I whispered to Christian as we collected our luggage.
“Change of plans,” he replied with a resigned sigh. “Mother insisted on a strategic stop in the fashion capital.” Isabelle approached, still impossibly elegant after the transatlantic flight, not a single hair out of place. “Darlings, I’ve already made reservations at the Rosemont Hotel. The most exclusive in Virelia.” Her gaze landed directly on me. “No one visits Valentia without passing through Virelia. Especially someone who needs… to refine her wardrobe.”
I bit my lip to stop a sharp reply. Christian noticed my tension and gave my hand a brief squeeze.
“Rosemont?” he remarked, glancing at me with a small smile. “Interesting coincidence.”
A wave of nostalgia hit me unexpectedly. It felt like years had passed since that night I’d approached a stranger at Alex and Elise’s wedding, mistaking him for an escort.
The Rosemonte Hotel was, as expected, the very definition of opulence. Marble floors, glittering chandeliers, impeccably dressed staff-everything designed to make ordinary people feel inadequate. And from the look on Isabelle’s face as she watched me take it all in, that was precisely her intention.
“I have lunch reservations at Secret Garden in one hour,” she announced, consulting her diamond-studded watch. “Plenty of time to freshen up.”
Our suite was bigger than my entire apartment. The panoramic view of the city stole my breath, and the bed looked large enough to fit an entire family.
“Sorry about this,” Christian said once we were alone. “Mother has a talent for complicating things.”
“I’m starting to think it’s deliberate,” I replied, collapsing onto the luxurious bed. “She seems determined to make me feel like a fish out of water.”
“You’re handling her better than anyone I’ve ever seen,” he admitted, sitting beside me. “Including myself.”
After the most intimidating lunch of my life-where I had to decipher not only a menu in Valentian but also which of the five forks to use with each dish-Isabelle unveiled her plans for the afternoon.
“The Aureum District. We mustn’t miss it.”
What followed was three exhausting hours wandering through exclusive boutiques where the salespeople seemed to evaluate your worth the moment you stepped through the door. Isabelle shopped relentlessly while making pointed remarks about how I needed to “develop a style worthy of a Kensington.”
When Lawrence received a call and announced that he and Christian had to meet an important supplier, I thought my day couldn’t possibly get worse.
“We’ll be back in two hours, at most,” Christian promised, looking genuinely regretful to leave me with his mother.
“Don’t worry, dear,” Isabelle said sweetly. “I’ll take good care of your wife.”
Five minutes after they left, Isabelle “remembered” an urgent engagement and abandoned me on Aurum Street, surrounded by luxury boutiques I wouldn’t have dared to enter alone.
Relief and panic warred inside me. Free of Isabelle, but stranded in the heart of international fashion, armed with nothing more than “grazie” and “pizza” in Valentian.
That was when I spotted a small boutique with windows displaying the most exquisite lingerie. Annabelle’s words about taking advantage of Valentia to refresh my intimate wardrobe echoed in my mind. Why not? It was my honeymoon, after all.
The shop was intimate and elegant, with soft music and discreet lighting. A smiling saleswoman approached, unleashing a melodic stream of Valentian I didn’t understand a single word of.
“Uh, hi… I… wanted to see… lingerie?” I tried, gesturing awkwardly to my body.
The woman frowned, confused.
“Intimo? Sensuale?” I tried again, with my best soap-opera Valentian accent.
Her face lit up with understanding, and she began showing me options, holding pieces against my body and chattering nonstop. I managed, through gestures, to indicate what I liked lace, dark colors, delicate details.
When I finally chose a few pieces, she led me to a luxurious fitting room. The first set-a black lace ensemble with red accents-was simply perfect, but it needed adjustments. I stepped out, trying to explain with gestures that I needed a different size.
“Il… più… piccolo?” I attempted, pressing my fingers together to signal “smaller.”
“You look absolutely stunning in that.”
I spun at the sound of the familiar voice, nearly losing my balance. Christian stood at the entrance of the boutique, his eyes raking over me with an intensity that made me blush from head to toe.
“Christian!” I exclaimed, crossing my arms over the lingerie-clad version of myself. “What are you doing here?”
“The meeting ended early,” he replied, walking toward me slowly. “I went back to the hotel, didn’t find you, figured my mother would abandon you at the first chance. I was passing by when I recognized your silhouette through the window.” His gaze swept over me once more. “I must say, it was a very lucky coincidence.”
The saleswoman glanced between us with a knowing smile, saying something in Valentian. Christian answered smoothly, never taking his eyes off me.
“What did you tell her?” I asked, mortified.
“That my wife has excellent taste.” His smile turned almost predatory. “And that we’ll take this set- and any others you want.”
I hurried back into the fitting room, my heart pounding.
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.