Hired a Gigolo Got a Billionaire (Zoey and Christian) novel Chapter 51

Chapter 51

Friday morning dawned under a perfect blue sky, as if nature itself wanted to bless the arrival of the Bennett family at the Kensington estate. I watched from the bedroom window as their car climbed the winding road, my heart pounding with a mix of nerves and relief. After the chaotic week I’d had, seeing familiar faces was a comfort.

Christian stood beside me at the main entrance, as elegant as ever, though the subtle tension in the way he kept adjusting his watch betrayed him.

“Relax,” I told him. “They don’t bite.”

“Your father may not be too fond of me after last time…”

I didn’t have the chance to answer, because the car stopped and my family spilled out in a burst of energy. Annabelle was the first, practically leaping from the vehicle with an excited squeal, followed by my brother Matthew, who whistled appreciatively at the sight of the mansion. My parents came last – my mother nervously fixing her hair, my father wearing an expression that tried to look casual but couldn’t quite mask his awe.

“Zoey!” Annabelle threw her arms around me in a crushing hug before pulling back to give me a critical once- over. “You look amazing! I guess rushed weddings suit you!”

“Annie,” I’muttered, but I couldn’t hold back a smile.

My mother hugged me next, whispering a “My God, what a place!” in my ear before turning starry-eyed toward Christian. Matthew gave me a quick hug, then shook Christian’s hand with unnecessary force, a blatant attempt at intimidation that only made Christian arch an amused eyebrow.

Finally, my father embraced me firmly before extending his hand to Christian. Their handshake felt weighted with unspoken meaning, a silent recognition between them.

“Mr. Bennett,” Christian said with a slight nod. “Good to see you again.”

“Likewise,” my father replied, studying his future son-in-law with sharp, watchful eyes. “Though under… different circumstances.”

“So… ready to see the property?” Christian asked, slipping naturally into his role as host.

“More than ready!” Annabelle answered before anyone else could. “This is like Disneyland for wine!”

Matthew rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide his grin.

“Ignore my sister. She started drinking on the way here.”

“I did not!” Annabelle protested, then shot Christian a wink. “Not yet.”

The tour began with the main vineyards, where Christian spoke with genuine enthusiasm about the different grape varieties, planting techniques, and the importance of soil and climate. My father, initially reserved, soon started asking technical questions that showed real interest, while my mother photographed everything with her phone.

“And over there are our most modern facilities,” Christian pointed toward a cluster of buildings in the distance.” That’s where we handle fermentation and bottling.”

“Fascinating,” my father remarked, and I noticed that he truly was impressed. “How many generations of your family have worked at this?”

“Four so far.” The pride in Christian’s voice was unmistakable. “It started with my great-grandfather, who came from Valentia with almost nothing but his knowledge of vineyards.”

I saw something shift in my father’s expression – a glimmer of respect that hadn’t been there before.

“Hard work, then,” he observed. “Not just inherited money.”

“Dad,” I whispered in warning, but Christian only smiled.

“The money was built,” he agreed. “Though I was privileged to be born into a family that had already done much of the work.”

When we arrived at the main cellar, I couldn’t help but blush faintly at the memory of the last time I had been there the wine-fueled kiss we had shared, one we still hadn’t mentioned since. Christian seemed to catch my discomfort, because his eyes flicked to mine for an instant, a silent question lingering there.

“This cellar is over two hundred years old,” he explained, resuming his role as guide. “Some of these walls were built by the first Kensingtons who came to Verdania.”

“Wow!” Annabelle exclaimed, darting between the massive barrels. “Can we taste something?”

“Annie!” my mother scolded. “Don’t be inappropriate.”

“Actually,” Christian smiled, “I planned a small tasting after lunch.”

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