Hired a Gigolo Got a Billionaire (Zoey and Christian) novel Chapter 64

Chapter 64

The Valentian sun was already high when I opened my eyes, golden rays streaming through the half-drawn curtains. My hand instinctively searched the other side of the bed, finding only cool sheets. Christian was gone.

On the nightstand, a neatly folded piece of paper caught my eye. I recognized Christian’s precise handwriting immediately.

‘Had to take care of some matters at the vineyard. I’ll be back for lunch. Feel free to explore the property. Lucy will help with anything you need. – C.’

I sighed, caught somewhere between relief and disappointment. The almost-intimacy in the vineyards last night, the awkwardness in the kitchen, and that quiet promise was a lot to process.

I took a long shower, letting the hot water loosen the tension in my muscles. Then I slipped into a light cotton dress. Thankfully, I had plenty of those from Virelia, and headed downstairs to the kitchen.

Lucy was humming a Valentian tune I didn’t recognize while preparing something that smelled divine. Her face lit up when she saw me.

“Buongiorno, ma’am!” she exclaimed, gesturing for me to sit. “Coffee?”

“Yes, please. Grazie,” I answered with my limited Valentian.

She placed a strong cup of coffee in front of me along with fresh rolls, butter, and homemade jam. As I ate, she chatted away in Valentian, not minding at all that I couldn’t follow. Her presence was strangely comforting.

When I finished, Lucy took my hand and led me through the villa, speaking and gesturing in a way that, surprisingly, I began to follow by context. She showed me rooms I hadn’t seen the night before-a library with shelves that reached the ceiling, a sitting room with enormous windows overlooking the vineyards, a terrace covered with flowering vines.

In each space, she pointed to old silver-framed photographs, telling me Kensington family stories in a torrent of Valentian. I didn’t need a full translation to understand. In many photos, I recognized a dark-haired, serious- eyed boy who could only be Christian.

One especially charming picture showed him around eight years old, holding a bunch of grapes nearly as big as his head, grinning broadly-a smile I rarely saw in the man he had become. Lucy pointed to the photo and then to herself proudly, saying something I guessed meant “I was there.”

“Did Christian smile more as a child?” I asked slowly, miming a grin to make myself clear.

Lucy seemed to understand. Her face grew briefly sad. She pointed to another photo-Christian with Joseph and a woman who must have been Sophie-then to one with Lawrence and Isabelle, where his posture was noticeably stiff.

“Genitori… non buono,” she said, shaking her head. “Piccolo Christian…” She hugged herself, then pointed to her heart and to Joseph in the picture, as if to say his grandfather had filled the void his parents left.

Something tightened in my chest. It was easy to forget that behind Christian’s controlled façade was a boy once wounded by neglect. I’d glimpsed that pain in his eyes before, when he spoke of his parents-or when he thought no one was watching.

Lucy noticed my thoughtful expression and patted my hand gently, saying something that sounded like “Ora è felice”-now he is happy. She pointed to me, then made the universal gesture for “love,” smiling,

My heart raced. If only she knew the truth…

By noon, I heard a car pull up outside. Moments later, Christian came in, looking more relaxed than I had ever seen him in Verdania. He wore dark trousers and a simple rolled-sleeve shirt, casual in a way that suited him

almost too well.

“I see you’ve met our family historian,” he said, finding me and Lucy still in the photo gallery.

“She’s been showing me a side of you I never knew,” I replied, gesturing to the childhood pictures.

Christian exchanged a few words in Valentian with her, and she answered animatedly before leaving us.

“Like what?”

“So… at ease. Natural.” I studied his relaxed face, glowing in the torchlight. “It’s like you’re a different person.’

“Maybe this is the truest version of me,” he said, handing me a cup of local red wine. “Here no one expects me to be the ruthless CEO or the perfect heir.”

As night fell, the music grew livelier and couples began to dance. Christian pulled me onto the makeshift dance floor, one hand holding mine, the other settling at my waist.

“I don’t know how to dance this!” I protested, laughing as I tried to mimic the steps.

“I’ll guide you,” he promised, his eyes sparkling in a way I had never seen before.

Beneath the Valentian stars, with the taste of sweet wine on my lips and the music weaving around us, Christian spun me, led me confidently among the other dancers, our bodies drawing closer with each turn.

Eventually, we slipped away from the crowd in search of a quieter moment. Christian led me to a small stone bridge arching over a stream, where the music drifted faintly in the distance.

“Thank you for coming with me tonight,” he said, his voice softer than usual. “Seeing this place through your eyes… ..it’s like rediscovering it.”

Moonlight glimmered across his face, carving out angles that had become painfully familiar to me. He leaned in slowly, his eyes locked on mine, giving me every chance to pull away if I wanted. But I didn’t. My heart hammered as his lips drew closer.

“Hey, lovebirds!”