Hired a Gigolo Got a Billionaire (Zoey and Christian) novel Chapter 737

Chapter 737 Extra 6

Zoey’s POV

The bakery smelled indecently good-like butter and sugar had teamed up to remind every adult that happiness is way simpler than we like to admit. The display case gleamed with perfectly aligned rows of pastries, like someone had organized indulgence with a ruler.

I was sitting at a table with Mia and Madeline.

Mia kept playing with her hair like it was an extension of her mood-today she was buzzing, energized, the kind of person who wakes up ready to turn any conversation into an event. Madeline, on the other hand, had that satisfied, slightly hungry look, switching between listening and strategically deciding which dessert would be her next target.

“So…” Mia leaned forward, hands clasped like she was about to announce an official agenda. “A big thirtieth birthday party? The kind that shuts down Verdania and half the world?”

I rolled my eyes hard enough to practically see my own brain.

“Let’s take it easy,” I said. “I want something small. Just close friends and family.”

Madeline laughed, scooping up a spoonful of something creamy with the seriousness of someone doing very important work.

“‘Small’ and ‘Kensington’ don’t go together.”

Mia lit up like she’d been waiting for that exact line.

“Exactly. We have, what, three hundred very close people?”

We all laughed, because it was true-and because laughing was easier than trying to explain that “intimate” didn’t really exist when your family came with a last name, a fortune, and a deeply ingrained habit of turning everything into a social headline.

I picked up my cup and took a sip of coffee, trying to convince myself I was calm. The bakery had that soft background music, the polite hum of conversation, people discussing small things in low voices like the real world wasn’t allowed inside.

“Speaking of…” I said, pointing my spoon at Mia before she could derail the topic into something outrageously expensive. “You and Matthew seem pretty… close lately.”

Mia leaned back in her chair like I’d just pressed a button.

“He’s adorable…” she said, with the most dangerous sweetness in the world. “Until he isn’t.”

I clapped my hands over my ears like that might protect me from details.

“Oh my God, Mia. That’s my brother.”

“You asked, sister-in-law,” she replied, way too innocent to be believable.

Madeline waved down the waitress without even looking, like she already had a silent agreement with the place: ‘more samples, please.’ Mia and I exchanged a knowing glance and laughed-the kind of laugh that said we both knew Madeline was fully using pregnancy as a guilt-free excuse to indulge.

“What?” Madeline asked, feigning offense. “I’m eating for two.”

She rested a hand on her belly, proud, and something about that always got to me a little. There was a kind of certainty in her 1 wasn’t sure I knew how to have.

“By the way…” Madeline added, her tone shifting into that fake-casual mode. “You and Christian-when are you ordering the second one? You’re not going to let Matt be the only heir to the entire Kensington empire and carry that alone, are you?”

I laughed, because the sentence was as absurd as it was completely believable coming from my family.

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“He’ll have plenty of cousins,” I said, trying to sound light.

“And Matthew and I are practicing the fun part a lot,” Mia added, that teasing spark back in her eyes.

I grabbed a pastry and threw it at her before I could stop myself.

“Shut up!”

The pastry hit her shoulder with a ridiculous little plop, and Mia burst out laughing like I’d just handed her an award.

Madeline raised both hands, wearing the expression of someone offering a public service.

“You can practice the non-fun part too, if you want. I can lend you mine.”

Mia made a dramatic face.

“Ugh I’ll pass on that part.”

We laughed again, and for a few seconds, I felt that rare kind of comfort that comes from being around women who know you well enough to tease you and protect you at the same time. It felt like life could be just this: coffee, sugar, friends, laughter, a weightless afternoon.

The waitress arrived with a tray of samples, and Madeline looked at it like it was a work of art. She pointed at three different desserts, choosing with the precision of a food critic. Mia already had a fork in hand before the tray even touched the table.

I watched them and felt a quiet wave of tenderness.

This was mine.

This network, this safety, this table full of people who saw me.

“Anyway,” Mia picked up the party conversation again, “do you know what Christian’s getting you for your birthday?”

I shrugged-but it came out emptier than I wanted.

“I think Christian… needs a vacation,” I said. It wasn’t a lie. It was the kindest way I could put it. He’s tired. He’s restless. He’s….. distant. “I think I’d like a romantic trip.”

Mia stared at me like I’d just suggested celebrating my thirtieth with silent meditation in a park.

“Oh my God, Zoey,” she said, scandalized. “It’s your thirtieth. He is not giving you a romantic trip. It’s going to be something huge. Just wait.”

Madeline nodded, chewing slowly, like she was approving a thesis.

“Christian doesn’t do ‘small,” she said. “Not even when he tries.”

I smiled, because it was true,

Christian had been built for grand gestures since birth.

But this time, the words left a bitter taste in my mouth.

Because I had no idea what he was planning.

Or if he was planning anything at all.

I started fiddling with my napkin, twisting the edge between my fingers-a habit I had when I wanted to look calm

They kept talking. Comparing desserts. Laughing about some old story involving Marcus and the parks. Mentioning the new Northeast branch like it was just another natural step in a life that never slowed down.

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I followed along. I answered. I laughed at the right moments.

On the outside, I was still Zoey. Easygoing. Present. Part of it all.

On the inside, my brain did what it had been doing for days.

Connecting dots.

Christian had started throwing himself into extreme sports like he was trying to prove something-to himself. Skydiving. Some kind of training he swore was “just curiosity.” A list of “new things” that kept appearing out of nowhere, always with that same look in his eyes.

Not joy.

Urgency.

And he hadn’t said a word about my birthday.

Not “I’m not doing anything.”

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