Hired a Gigolo Got a Billionaire (Zoey and Christian) novel Chapter 581

Chapter 581

Gwen’s POV

I woke up at six in the morning, before my alarm even went off. The mix of anxiety and excitement had barely let me sleep at all.

By seven, Nick and I were in the shed, taking stock of what we had to work with. Old wood that was still solid. Empty wine barrels. Rope. Tools that were rusty but usable.

At eight, we were in town buying what was missing. Solar LED lights. Paint. Brushes. A few meters of sturdy fabric for picnic blankets. Cheap terracotta pots. Lavender seedlings.

Nick paid for everything in cash, counting the bills carefully, and I saw the way his jaw tightened when the total was announced. It wasn’t much. But for someone in his situation, it probably felt like a small fortune.

I placed my hand briefly on his arm.

“It’ll be worth it,” I whispered.

He nodded but didn’t say anything.

Back at the property, we got to work. Nick, I, and two employees who usually worked in the vineyards but had volunteered to help.

We started with the tables. Improvised ones, made from wooden planks resting on sawhorses and barrels. They weren’t perfect. The surfaces weren’t completely level. But they had rustic charm, especially once we covered them with the fabric we’d bought.

“Hold this end,” Nick said, handing me one of the tablecloths.

I took it, and our hands brushed for a second longer than necessary as we stretched the fabric. Our eyes

met. He smiled faintly before stepping away to secure the other side.

Next came the signs. We painted simple phrases: Tonight at 7 p.m., Follow the Lights. We fixed them along the path leading up to the hilltop.

Nick painted with steady, precise movements, the tip of his tongue appearing slightly at the corner of his mouth when he concentrated. I caught him watching me more than once, and every time our eyes met, that familiar warmth crept up my cheeks.

“You’ve got paint on your face,” he said at one point, stepping closer.

“Where?”

He lifted his hand, his thumb brushing lightly over my cheek to wipe the smudge away.

“Here,” he said softly, his eyes locked on mine.

I went completely still, hypnotized by how close he was, by the gentle touch, by the way he was looking

at me like-

“Nick!” one of the workers called out. “I need help over here!”

He stepped back, wiping his hand on a rag, and went to help. But not before giving me a look that made it very clear he’d felt the moment too.

The lights went up next, placed carefully. Along the path. Around the dining area. Hanging from the branches of the old oak, highlighting the swing. Every time Nick and I worked close together, there was that tension in the air. That constant awareness of each other.

By four in the afternoon, everything was set up. It wouldn’t be perfect. We’d need to improve a lot later, add finishing touches, make adjustments. But for a first experience, it was more than enough.

The tables were set with simple but pretty place settings. Candles in glass jars waited to be lit. The lavender pots added pops of color and a soft scent. The grapevine arch was positioned perfectly for photos, the sunset as its backdrop.

“I think we did it,” Nick said, slipping an arm around my shoulders in a gesture that was half hug, half celebration.

I leaned into him for a moment, letting myself feel the warmth of his body, the scent of earth and sweat and something indefinable that was uniquely his.

“We did,” I agreed.

At exactly five o’clock, we started bringing the guests up. Some chose the tour truck, with Paula driving. Others took the bicycles. I went by bike as well, leading the small group and making sure no one got lost along the path marked by signs and lights.

When we reached the top and the guests saw the view for the first time, audible gasps rippled through the group.

“Oh mio Dio,” murmured the Valentian woman staying with her husband. “È bellissimo!”

“This is absolutely incredible,” the American woman said to her husband, already pulling out her phone to take pictures.

Martina arrived soon after with Nick, carrying the food in thermal containers. The incredible smell of meat pasta, fresh bread, and herbs immediately filled the air.

As everyone settled at the tables, I moved among them like a hostess, making sure wine was poured, water refreshed, bread baskets filled.

“And don’t forget,” I said with my best professional smile, “if you post photos on social media and tag Valemont Estate, you’ll automatically be entered to win a free weekend stay here with us!”

Phones came out instantly. Photos were taken from every possible angle. The grapevine arch framed by the colorful sky. The mountain views. The beautiful plates of food. Selfies. Group shots. Exactly like Zoey had said it would happen.

The sun began its slow, majestic descent, and conversation at the tables naturally quieted, people pausing mid-bite just to watch the show nature was putting on.

“It’s the most beautiful sunset I’ve ever seen,” one guest said to her husband, her voice full of genuine emotion. “Absolutely breathtaking.”

“Worth every cent of this trip,” he agreed, squeezing her hand across the table.

It was really working.

I stepped back for a moment, simply observing. Managing where needed. Making sure dishes were served on time by the staff Martina had brought. That the wine never ran out. That everyone was comfortable and happy.

Nick appeared beside me at some point, his fingers brushing lightly against mine as we stood there together.

“It worked,” he said softly, awe in his voice.

“It did,” I agreed, smiling.

That was when I noticed the grapevine arch was slightly crooked, probably from someone bumping into it while taking photos. It needed adjusting before more pictures were taken like that.

“I’ll be right back,” I told Nick, stepping away.

I walked over to the arch, assessing the problem. It just needed to be nudged a few inches to the left. I positioned myself, grabbed the base of the wooden structure, and put some force into moving it.

My foot slipped on the loose dirt.

I felt gravity yank me backward, my arms flailing uselessly as I tried to regain balance that was already

gone.

Then strong hands caught my waist, pulling me firmly back upright.

“Careful,” Nick said, his voice close to my ear, his chest pressed against my back, his arms still wrapped around my waist. “We don’t want you hitting your head again.”

I turned slowly in his arms, our faces ending up just inches apart. I could see every detail of his green eyes in the golden sunset light. I could feel the heat of his body through our clothes. I could hear his breathing, slightly unsteady.

I pretended to think for a moment, tilting my head as if seriously considering it.

Then I smiled.

“If it means having you as my fiancé again,” I said softly, never breaking eye contact, “maybe it’s worth the risk.”