Hired a Gigolo Got a Billionaire (Zoey and Christian) novel Chapter 20

Chapter 20

Elise closed the distance with that perfectly calculated walk of hers, each step a reminder of how effortlessly she belonged in settings like this. She wore an off-white ensemble that probably cost more than three months of my salary, her hair flawless, her makeup so perfect it could’ve been airbrushed.

And then, because the universe apparently wanted to make my night even harder, Alex appeared right behind her.

My hand found Christian’s instinctively, gripping tight. He glanced at me, his expression shifting instantly as he understood the situation.

“Christian Kensington,” Elise greeted smoothly, her professional smile failing to mask the calculating gleam in her eyes. “What a surprise seeing you here. It’s wonderful to have Kensington Wineries as our client.”

“Miss Banks,” Christian replied, his politeness edged with frost. “Marcus handles that side of the business.”

Her gaze slid toward me, something sparking in her eyes. Not hostility exactly-something closer to curiosity… tinged with envy.

“Zoey,” she said, her tone dipped in faux warmth. “Always a pleasure to see you.”

Before I could answer, Alex stepped up beside her. His smile faltered just slightly the moment his eyes landed on

“Zoey.”

“Alex.” My voice was flat, clipped.

A silence hung, sharp and uncomfortable, until Christian squeezed my hand-steady, grounding.

“If you’ll excuse us, we have guests to greet,” he said, his tone smooth but absolute. “I’m sure we’ll see you later.”

“Of course,” Elise replied, her professional mask intact, though I caught the subtle stiffness in her posture. “We’ll be circulating to ensure everything runs as planned.”

Christian gave a curt nod, then guided me away, his hand at the small of my back as we headed toward the entrance.

“You alright?” he asked under his breath once we were out of earshot.

“I will be,” I said, forcing a deep breath.

“Don’t let them get to you.”

Inside the venue, I was instantly swallowed by understated luxury. The main hall gleamed with elegant floral arrangements, soft lighting casting a warm glow over the space. Tasting stations were set up strategically, each one manned by sommeliers in tailored uniforms pouring Kensington wines into crystal stemware.

The room was already filling with people who exuded wealth and refinement. Women draped in understated but obviously expensive jewelry. Men in suits so sharp they could cut glass. Their conversations buzzed in low, controlled tones, punctuated occasionally by polite, practiced laughter.

I didn’t belong here. The thought struck hard, no matter the designer dress hugging my body, no matter the carefully pinned hairstyle. These people had been born into this world, raised knowing its silent codes and unspoken rules.

“Come,” Christian said, his hand returning firmly to the small of my back, steady and possessive. “I want you to meet some people.”

The next minutes blurred together in a haze of names and faces. A French wine critic whose accent was so heavy I could barely catch his name. A pair of hotel-chain buyers who seemed to speak in nothing but numbers. The editor of a high-end gastronomy magazine whose handshake was soft but whose eyes were razor sharp.

Christian had introduced me to everyone as “my fiancée, Zoey,” and every single time those words left his mouth, something twisted in my stomach. The ease with which he lied was remarkable. Or maybe… it wasn’t entirely a lie? Technically, I was his fiancée. Just not for real.

“Zoey picked the ring,” he said when one of the women praised my diamond. “Her taste is impeccable.”

I forced a smile, trying to keep up with the flow of conversation. Christian, of course, seemed perfectly at ease, moving from one topic to another with the effortless charm of someone born into this world. Every so often, his eyes would find mine, as if checking that I was holding up.

After almost an hour of socializing, I felt like I needed air.

“I’ll grab a glass of wine,” I murmured to Christian while he was deep in conversation with a distributor.

He nodded absently, and I slipped away.

I drifted toward one of the quieter tasting stations and accepted a glass of white wine the sommelier described with terms that flew over my head.

Finding a relatively calm corner near one of the huge windows overlooking the vineyards, I stood there with my glass. The sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink that glowed in the golden liquid.

“Impressive, isn’t it?”

Elise’s voice snapped me out of my thoughts. I turned sharply. She stood just a few steps away, holding her own glass with casual elegance.

“The sunset?” I asked, trying to sound composed.

“All of it.” She gestured gracefully. “Christian Kensington. The vineyard. The world he lives in.”

I sipped my wine, buying time.

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