Hired a Gigolo Got a Billionaire (Zoey and Christian) novel Chapter 412

Chapter 412

Madeline’s POV

After lunch, Marcus invited me to take a walk through the olive groves that stretched across the entire property. It was a perfect Castorian morning. Sunlight filtered softly through the silvery leaves of the olive trees, creating a delicate dance of light and shadow on the packed earth between the perfectly aligned rows. The air was cool and clean, filled with the unmistakable scent of olive trees and a gentle breeze that made the leaves whisper in a soothing rhythm.

We walked in silence for a few minutes. It was hard to believe that just two days ago I had been trapped in that horrible clinic, drugged and hopeless. Now I was here, in Valentia, free, walking beside the man who had risked everything to save me.

“I thought your family was known for their wines,” I said at last, admiring the trees. Some of them were so old their trunks were as thick as pillars, their rough bark telling stories of decades of growth.

Marcus laughed, the sound genuine and amused as it echoed between the trees.

“They are. But my father never wanted to work directly in the family business. After living under that kind of pressure, I completely understand his decision.”

We stopped beside a particularly ancient olive tree, its twisted branches forming intricate patterns against the crystal-blue sky. Marcus leaned casually against the trunk, and I noticed how deeply relaxed he seemed here. As if this place soothed him in a way nothing else could.

“Of course, he still gets his share of the company’s stocks and dividends,” Marcus continued, gesturing broadly to take in the entire landscape around us. “But he chose a quieter life here with my mother. Far away from corporate politics, power games, and constant pressure.”

I looked around, trying to imagine what it must have been like to grow up somewhere so peaceful. Rows and rows of olive trees stretched in every direction, broken up by narrow stone paths that wound through the land. In the distance, rolling hills covered in greenery rose against the horizon, dotted with stone buildings that looked like they had been standing there for centuries.

“In Castoria, if you don’t have vineyards, you have olive trees. It’s practically an unwritten law of the region,” Marcus joked, his eyes bright with humor. “But this is really more of a hobby for them. They produce homemade olive oil, sell it locally, and use my mother’s last name, Galleo, for the business. Nothing too ambitious. It’s more about having something of their own. Something that doesn’t carry the weight of the Kensington name, even though they don’t really need to worry about that.”

“And you?” I asked, curious about how he had handled those family pressures. “Did you always prefer wine over seclusion like your father?”

Marcus sighed, running a hand through his dark hair, already slightly tousled by the morning breeze.

“As the eldest son, I didn’t really have a choice. It was me, Anthony, and of course Christian representing our generation. The responsibility kind of landed on my shoulders automatically.”

He paused, his gaze drifting toward the horizon where other estates stretched as far as the eye could see.

“But in the end,” he admitted with a crooked smile that made my heart beat a little faster, “I complain, but I like

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1. I don’t think I’d ever get used to complete calm. I like the adrenaline of business, the travel, the constant challenges. My father is way more zen than I’ll ever be.”

“And Luke and Mia?” I asked, curious about his younger siblings.

“They work at Kensington Valentia too,” Marcus explained as we started walking again. “Luke is more involved in administration and finance. He’s naturally good with numbers and analysis. Mia works in marketing. She has a natural gift for connecting with people, for making them feel special.”

We followed a narrow path that wound through the olive trees and led to a small rise in the land. The ground was uneven, scattered with loose stones and small dips that forced us to watch our steps, but there was something romantically rustic about the imperfection.

“You ever get hurt out here when you were a kid?” I asked, noticing a few especially treacherous stones along the path.

Marcus laughed again, this time with a clear note of nostalgia that softened his features completely.

“More times than I can count. Actually, this is where I got this scar on my chin,” he said, pointing to a small mark I had never noticed before.

“How?” I asked, stopping so I could look at him more closely, genuinely curious about this piece of his childhood.

“I was about eight years old, and I’d just gotten a brand-new bike for my birthday. Blue with silver details, and I was completely obsessed with it,” he said, laughing as he shook his head at the memory. “I was determined to show my parents that I could ride without training wheels. I wanted to impress them with my newly discovered skills.”

He pointed toward a steep slope farther ahead, where the land dropped sharply between two particularly dense

live trees.

it would be a brilliant idea to fly down that hill at full speed. I wanted to prove I was brave, that I raid of anything,” he continued, his eyes lighting up with that mischievous memory. “As you can e, it didn’t end exactly the way I planned.”

What happened?” I asked, already smiling in anticipation.

“I completely lost control of the bike halfway down, went flying over the handlebars like a human missile, and landed face-first on a sharp rock,” he said, laughing as his hand automatically touched the scar. “Blood everywhere. Me screaming like I was dying. My mother almost fainted when she saw me, and my father had to rush me to the nearest hospital.”

The image of an eight-year-old Marcus, stubborn and far too brave for his own good, made me laugh for real for the first time in weeks.

“Can I see it?” I asked, driven by a strange curiosity about that physical mark of his adventurous childhood.

Marcus leaned forward slightly, making it easier for me to examine the small scar. It was almost invisible, a thin white line that blended perfectly into the natural shadow of his masculine chin.

Without thinking, I lifted my hand and traced it gently with the tip of my finger. His skin was warm and slightly rough beneath my touch, and an unexpected shiver ran through me when I realized how close we were standing.

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“That must have hurt,” I murmured, my voice coming out softer and more intimate than I had intended.

“It did,” he said quietly, his intense blue eyes locking onto mine and holding me there. “But it was worth it. I learned early on that some adventures are worth any risk.”

There was something in the way he said it, an underlying intensity in his voice that had nothing to do with childhood bike accidents. My hand was still resting on his face, and I realized I had started caressing his cheek without even noticing, my fingers exploring the texture of his skin as if they had a mind of their own.

The moment stretched between us, charged with an electric tension that had been building quietly throughout our entire morning together. Maybe it was the golden Castorian sun casting a kind of magic around us. Maybe it was the romantically rustic landscape that felt like something out of a dream. Or maybe it was simply the fact that for the first time in weeks, I felt truly safe, protected, and at ease.

But I knew it was more than that. It was Marcus. The way he had risked everything for me. The way he looked at me like I was the most precious thing in the world. The way he made me feel both protected and desired at the same time.

Before I could think better of it, or consider all the complications of our situation, I rose onto my toes and kissed him.

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