Hired a Gigolo Got a Billionaire (Zoey and Christian) novel Chapter 67

As we walked back to the festival, a comfortable silence settled between us. The revelations about Christian’s past with Francesca still weighed on my mind, but somehow, I felt he had truly opened up to me, showing a vulnerability he rarely let anyone see.

The village’s central square was even livelier now, lit by hundreds of colorful lanterns strung between centuries- old buildings. A local band played traditional Valentian music, and the aroma of regional food mingled with the sweet scent of ripe grapes.

“Do you still want to stay?” Christian asked, his cautious look suggesting he half-expected me to want to return to the villa after our conversation.

“Yes,” I answered with more firmness than I’d anticipated. “I’m not letting anything ruin our night.”

A genuine smile lit up his face-that rare kind that reached his eyes and softened his features.

“In that case, I think we arrived just in time,” he said, pointing toward a small crowd gathering around a huge wooden vat. “It’s almost time for the pigiatura.”

“The pi-what?”

“Pigiatura. The tradition of stomping grapes with your feet to make wine,” he explained, guiding me through the crowd with a hand at my waist. “An old practice hardly anyone keeps anymore, but at this festival it’s preserved as part of the celebration.”

When we got closer, I saw the vat brimming with plump, dark grapes. An elderly man in a straw hat was speaking animatedly in Valentian, gesturing toward the audience.

“He’s saying that, as every year, we need a couple to begin the pigiatura,” Christian translated, leaning down to whisper in my ear. “Traditionally, it has to be a couple in love, to bring luck to the harvest.”

Before I could process what was happening, people around us started pointing and calling out, their eyes fixed on us.

“Kensington! Kensington e sua sposa!” several voices cheered.

“What’s going on?” I asked, feeling my cheeks heat as every gaze in the square turned toward us.

“They want us to be this year’s couple,” Christian said, looking almost shy-an expression I had never seen on his face before. “Do you mind?”

I hesitated only a second.

“Why not?” I replied with a smile. “When in Rome, do as…”

“Actually, we’re in Castoria,” he teased with a half-smile, as the crowd practically pushed us toward the vat in their excitement.

The old man welcomed us warmly, showering us with rapid Valentian. Christian replied in the same language, and soon the crowd erupted in applause.

“This is another one I’ll love helping you take off,” he whispered, his low, husky voice sending shivers down my spine.

Before I could respond, he pulled me up and captured my lips in a deep, passionate kiss-right there, in the middle of the vat, in front of the entire village. The crowd erupted in cheers and applause, but I barely heard them. In that moment, there was only us, wrapped in the music, the scent of crushed grapes, and the heat of our bodies.

When we finally broke apart, breathless, Christian rested his forehead against mine, his dark eyes locked on me with an intensity that made my heart race.

Over his shoulder, I caught a glimpse of Francesca storming off through the crowd, her expensive dress swishing as she vanished among the people.

For a fleeting moment, her words echoed in my mind-about Christian always coming back to her in the end. But as I looked at the man in front of me, stained in grape juice and smiling in a way I so rarely saw, I decided I didn’t care. Not tonight. Tonight, he was mine. Tonight, we were real.

“Shall we go home?” he asked, his eyes saying far more than his words.

Home. The word felt strangely right, even though the Kensington Villa was only ever meant to be a temporary stop along our journey. Like our marriage.

“Yes,” I answered simply, intertwining my fingers with his.

Under the starry Castorian sky, we walked back to the villa, our bare feet stained purple from grape juice, leaving a trail of footprints along the stone path. Just as, I was beginning to realize, we were leaving deep marks on each other’s hearts-marks no contract with an expiration date could ever erase.