Hired a Gigolo Got a Billionaire (Zoey and Christian) novel Chapter 102

Chapter 102

The routine settled in faster than I expected. Mornings always started the same way-me waking before the alarm, rushing to the bathroom to fight off that stubborn wave of nausea that refused to leave, splashing cold water on my face, and brushing my teeth with a little too much determination, trying to erase any trace of it.

Then came the job hunt -résumés sent, polite interviews ending with tight smiles and the usual empty promise of “we’ll be in touch.” And on the nights Christian was in Solara for business meetings-which, thankfully, had become more frequent lately-there was a fleeting sense of normalcy. A purpose. Something that almost felt like a real marriage.

“It’s getting late.” Christian stretched his arms above his head, his shoulders cracking after hours bent over the papers scattered across the dining table. “I think we’re done for tonight.”

I nodded, collecting the empty coffee cups. Christian had been sleeping at my apartment whenever he had work in Solara―an unspoken evolution of our arrangement that neither of us questioned. He’d just show up with a small suitcase, work until midnight, and then slide into bed beside me as if he’d been doing it forever.

“What time’s your flight tomorrow?” I asked, keeping my tone casual as I carried the dishes to the kitchen.

“Nine-thirty.” He rubbed his eyes, exhaustion softening the sharp lines of his face. “Marcus needs me for the video call with Gwen before noon.”

That familiar ache bloomed in my chest-the quiet disappointment that always came the night before he left. One night. It was always just one night. Sometimes two, if we were lucky. Never enough.

Christian appeared behind me, his arms slipping around my waist as I rinsed the cups.

“What are you thinking about?” he murmured into my hair, his body warm and solid against my

“Nothing important,” I lied, leaning into him. “Just tired.”

His fingers traced slow, lazy circles over my hips, a touch that had become second nature. back.

“You’ve been tired a lot lately.” There was concern in his voice. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

“I’m fine.” I turned in his arms, choosing to silence him with a kiss instead of admitting I still wasn’t completely back to normal.

He kissed me back without hesitation, but when we pulled apart, that shadow of worry was still in his eyes.

“Maybe you should rest more. You’ve been pushing yourself too hard with all those interviews.”

“It’s just the pace of the city.” I forced a reassuring smile.

He nodded, though I could tell he wasn’t entirely convinced. Luckily, Christian had learned not to press when I closed a subject. It was one of the many things we’d discovered about each other in recent weeks-boundaries, quirks, nighttime habits. The kind of intimacy that only comes from sharing space.

Later, in bed, as his fingers absentmindedly brushed through my hair, he broke the easy silence between us.

“You know, you don’t have to stress so much about those interviews,” he said, his tone deliberately casual. “It’s not like you need the money.”

I turned to face him, instantly alert.

“What exactly are you suggesting?”

He shrugged, eyes avoiding mine.

“Just that you already have enough on your plate. The stress from all these interviews isn’t helping you recover

and-”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence, Christian Kensington.” I sat up, pulling the sheet with me. “We agreed I’d keep my own life. My independence. That includes my career.”

“Technically, you’re my wife.” He tried, unsuccessfully, to hide the small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “It would be perfectly normal for me to-”

“For you to what? Support me?” I crossed my arms. “That was never part of our deal. And it’s not about to start just because you sleep here a few nights a month.”

Christian propped himself up on his elbows, his face suddenly more serious.

“Is it really so terrible that I worry about you? That I want to make things easier?”

Something in his expression-honest, unguarded-softened the edge of my anger.

“It’s not terrible. It’s just… confusing.” I sighed, letting my arms fall to my sides. “Our arrangement has rules, Christian. Boundaries. And when we start blurring those lines-”

“Two weeks,” he repeated with a sigh, kissing my palm. “Feels like forever.”

“Who would’ve thought,” I teased, smiling. “The great CEO missing his fake wife.”

But instead of laughing, Christian looked at me with a heat that stole the air from my lungs.

“There’s very little that feels fake between us anymore, don’t you think?”

The question hung between us, thick with meaning. Before I could find an answer, he pulled me into a kiss that made words irrelevant. Clothes trailed down the hallway, and the night dissolved into skin against skin, into whispers that neither of us dared turn into promises.

The next morning, I woke with my stomach churning again. I bolted for the bathroom, hoping Christian wouldn’t notice. When I finally emerged-pale, shaky, and pretending to be fine—he was standing in the bedroom doorway, already dressed for his flight, concern etched all over his face.

“Still not feeling well?” he asked, brow furrowed.

“Must’ve eaten something bad,” I said with a shrug, trying to sound casual.

Christian watched me for a long moment, his worry clear.

“Maybe you should see another doctor. This ‘virus’ has been hanging around too long.”

“It’s nothing,” I said, forcing a small smile despite the nausea still twisting in my stomach. “It’ll pass.”

His phone rang, cutting through the moment.

“I have to go.” He pressed a quick kiss to my forehead, still looking reluctant to leave. “Promise me you’ll take care of yourself.”

“I promise.”

When the door closed behind him, I sat on the edge of the bed, exhausted. The morning sickness was getting worse, not better. I’d tried to brush it off-to blame stress, diet, anything that didn’t require me to face another possibility.

But sooner or later, I was going to have to see a doctor again. And find out what was really happening to me.