Hired a Gigolo Got a Billionaire (Zoey and Christian) novel Chapter 329

Chapter 329

The weeks following our move into the Notting Hill house brought a kind of domestic routine I’d never imagined could be so deeply satisfying. Of course, they also came with the inevitable small irritations of two people learning to share the same space, like discovering that Nate had a profoundly annoying habit of leaving wet towels on the bed after showering, or that he considered “doing the dishes” to mean rinsing the plates and leaving them in the rack to “air-dry naturally.”

“Nathaniel Carter,” I said one February morning, holding up a soaking towel I’d found on top of our duvet. “If you keep doing this, I’m going to start sleeping in the guest room.”

He appeared in the bathroom doorway with his face covered in shaving foam, looking at me with an expression of mock innocence that didn’t quite hide his mischievous smile.

“It was just once,” he protested, carefully running the razor along his jaw.

“It was the fourth time this week!” I shot back, shaking the wet towel like evidence. “And it’s only Thursday!”

“Technically, I shower twice a day,” he said, attempting to logic his way out of trouble. “So that’s two wet towels per day, times five days… honestly, I’m being very efficient.”

I couldn’t keep a straight face and ended up laughing, which made his eyes light up with that distinctly male satisfaction of having won the argument.

But I also discovered there were plenty of endearing things about living with him. Like the way he always made coffee far too strong for himself but absolutely perfect for me. Or how he unconsciously hummed while cooking, always classical melodies that turned our kitchen into an improvised concert hall.

“You need to learn how to make a proper Sunday roast,” he announced one Sunday afternoon, finding me in the kitchen trying to decipher a lamb recipe Elizabeth had sent me. “It’s practically mandatory if you live in England.

“I’m trying,” I protested, staring at the ingredients spread across the counter. “But your mother writes recipes like they’re poems. Look at this: ‘season with love and let time work its magic.’ How much salt is that supposed to be?”

Nate laughed and stepped up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist as he read the recipe over my

shoulder.

“Mum has never been very precise with measurements,” he admitted, pressing a light kiss to my neck. “She cooks more by instinct than by recipe.”

“Well, I’m Verdanian. I need at least some quantitative references,” I said, leaning back into his chest. “I can’t just feel when the lamb is ready.”

“I can teach you,” he offered, his hands covering mine as he guided me to season the meat. “It’s more about the texture when you touch it, the color it develops…”

What started as a cooking lesson quickly turned into something else entirely when I realized I was far more interested in the feel of his fingers guiding mine than in preparing dinner. Nate must have sensed the shift, because his hands stilled, and I felt his breathing change near my ear.

“Annie,” he murmured, his voice dropping, turning rougher.

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“Hmm?” I replied distractedly, turning in his arms.

“The lamb,” he said, but his eyes were fixed on my lips, not the meat on the counter.

“What lamb?” I asked innocently, slipping my arms around his neck.

He let out a soft laugh before kissing me, a kiss that started gentle but quickly deepened, making me forget all about English cuisine. It was only when the oven timer went off that we pulled apart, both of us slightly breathless and laughing at how easily we got distracted.

“We should finish cooking,” Nate said, even though his eyes suggested he’d much rather continue where we’d left off.

“Later we can finish… other things,” I promised, turning back to the lamb with flushed cheeks.

Work at Kensington had settled into a comfortable rhythm as well. The employees continued to show their support, and even the curious looks about my relationship with Nate had faded to a tolerable level. Gwen and I had grown into an even stronger partnership on our projects, and for the first time since arriving in London, I felt genuinely fulfilled professionally.

The only clouds in our sky were the occasional weekends when Nate went to visit his family in Bath and I couldn’t join him, either because of work commitments or, like that weekend in mid-February, because of a nasty virus that left me stuck in bed with a fever and a pounding headache.

“I’m not leaving you sick and alone,” Nate said Friday night, finding me wrapped in blankets on the sofa with a mug of hot tea.

“You are,” I insisted, even though I secretly loved how protective he got when I wasn’t feeling well. “It’s your dad’s birthday, and all I’m going to do is sleep. Besides, I don’t want to infect the entire Carter family.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, touching my forehead to check my temperature.

“Absolutely. Go. Enjoy time with your family. I’ll be right here when you get back on Sunday.”

He finally agreed, but not before filling the fridge with ready-made soup, lining up what looked like an entire pharmacy’s worth of medicine on the kitchen table, and making me promise to call if I needed anything. That, and appointing himself my on-call nurse from a distance.

I spent the weekend in a haze of naps and old movies, gradually feeling better as the days passed. By Sunday afternoon, I was almost completely recovered and impatient for Nate to be home.

It was around six in the evening when I heard the key turn in the front door. I stood up from the couch where I’d been reading, dressed in sweatpants and an old T-shirt, my hair pulled into a messy bun-definitely not my

best look.

“Nate?” I called, walking toward the entryway.

“Here,” his familiar voice answered, but there was something different in his tone, a barely contained excitement that made me quicken my pace.

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When I reached the door, I found him standing there with an expression that mixed nerves and excitement, holding a wicker basket covered with a soft flannel blanket.

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“How are you feeling?” he asked, watching me closely.

“Much better,” I said, though my attention was completely fixed on the basket. “Nate… what is that?”

His eyes lit up.

“I have a surprise for you,” he said, carefully lowering the basket to the floor.

My curiosity was fully engaged. I stepped closer and crouched beside it as Nate gently pulled back part of the blanket. What I saw made me gasp, and instantly melt.

A tiny golden retriever puppy, her fur soft and honey-colored, looked up at me with bright, dark eyes full of puppy curiosity. The moment our eyes met, her little tail started wagging furiously, and she leaned forward to lick my hand with a warm, clumsy tongue.

“Oh my God,” I whispered, carefully lifting her into my arms. “Nate…”

“She’s one of Sarah’s dog’s puppies,” he explained, kneeling beside me as I cradled her against my chest. Oliver said she was ready to go home, and I thought… it’s time we officially start our family.”

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Tears welled up in my eyes as I looked down at the tiny creature in my arms. She snuggled into me, warm and impossibly soft, and she smelled faintly sweet, almost like…

“She smells like cookies,” I said, laughing through my tears. “Like gingerbread. Like your mom’s Christmas cookies. Ginger,” I said immediately, the name falling naturally from my lips. “We’ll call her Ginger.”

The smile that spread across Nate’s face was so bright and genuine it made my heart race. I could see the relief and happiness in his eyes as he realized how much I loved the surprise.

“Ginger,” he repeated, holding out a finger for the puppy to sniff. “It’s perfect.”

“Nate, I…” I started, but I was interrupted when Ginger decided my face desperately needed a thorough cleaning with her tiny, enthusiastic tongue.

We laughed together as I tried to dodge the kisses. It was impossible to be upset at something so small and adorable.

“Wait,” I said, carefully passing Ginger into Nate’s arms. “I have a surprise for you too.”

I went to my bag on the coffee table and pulled out a folded sheet of paper I’d been carrying with me for days, waiting for the right moment. I returned to where Nate was sitting on the floor, Ginger trying to chew on his fingers, and sat beside him.

“What’s that?” he asked, eyeing the paper in my hands.

“An initial adoption interest form,” I said, unfolding it and handing it to him. “We’re officially ready to be parents.”

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