Hired a Gigolo Got a Billionaire (Zoey and Christian) novel Chapter 76

Chapter 76

“We’ll need comfortable clothes,” Christian said, stepping into our room just as I finished getting ready for dinner. His eyes lit up when he noticed the amethyst necklace at my throat. “You like it.”

It wasn’t a question, but I caught a faint trace of insecurity in his voice-a crack in the confident manipulator Francesca had painted him to be.

“It’s beautiful,” I answered honestly, touching the tiny grape cluster. “I’ve never had anything like it.”

“It suits you.” He came closer, his fingers brushing the base of my neck where the pendant rested. “Amethysts are almost the same color as the grapes in Zoey Vineyard when they’re perfectly ripe.”

“That’s why you chose it?” I asked, trying to keep my tone light despite the doubts still echoing in my mind. “Color coordination?”

Christian laughed.

“Among other reasons.” He touched one of the little stones. “They also say amethysts ward off negative thoughts.”

Francesca. Isabelle. Doubts. Did he know how much I needed that protection?

“Comfortable clothes for what, exactly?” I changed the subject, stepping away slightly. “I thought we had the formal dinner

‘s been planning for the past two days.” your

“I canceled.’

hristian’s grin carried something mischievous, almost rebellious. “Isabelle will have to postpone her plans to torture you with another pompous wine-tasting evening.”

“You canceled an event Isabelle organized?” I asked, genuinely shocked. “She’s going to disown you.”

“I own the vineyard,” he said with a careless shrug. “And tonight, I’ve got better plans. If you’re willing.”

There was something in his gaze—a mix of expectation and vulnerability—that made it harder to keep my emotional guard up.

“What kind of plans?”

“Surprise.” He went to the wardrobe, pulling out clothes for both of us. “But I promise it’s worth missing Isabelle’s brilliant monologue on how you hold a wineglass wrong.”

Despite my doubts, I laughed. It was hard to resist this side of Christian-less calculating CEO, more mischievous boy.

Half an hour later, we were winding through narrow Castorian roads in a vintage Alfa Romeo, lovingly maintained. Christian drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on my thigh. The air was fragrant with cypress and sun-warmed earth, and for a moment, I almost forgot Francesca’s poisonous insinuations.

“Where are we going?” I asked again as he turned onto a secondary road that climbed steadily upward.

“Patience has never been your strong suit, has it?” he teased, eyes on the road. “We’re almost there.”

Finally, the car rolled to a stop on a small plateau overlooking the region. Below us, the valleys spread out like a mosaic of green and gold in the fading light. In the distance, a village nestled among the hills, its first lights twinkling at dusk.

“It’s incredible,” I murmured, taking in the view.

“Wait until you see the rest,” Christian said, stepping out of the car and opening the trunk.

To my surprise, he pulled out a picnic basket, a large blanket, and most surprising of all—a small telescope.

“In the city, we forget this is here every night,” he said, his voice lower, almost reverent. “Look.” He pointed to a cluster of stars. “Cassiopeia. And there, Cygnus. And that one, glowing alone hear the horizon? That’s Antares, the brightest star in Scorpio.”

“How do you know so much about stars?”

Christian was quiet for a moment.

“When my grandmother Sophie died, I was eight. My grandfather brought me here one night and told me she had become a star. “His smile was tinged with melancholy. “I believed him. I spent years trying to figure out which one she was.”

The story had a moving simplicity. It didn’t feel rehearsed or performative. Just a child’s memory, shared without pretense.

“Did you ever find her?” I asked softly.

“No.” He turned his head to look at me. “But searching taught me bout patterns, constellations. How to navigate by the night sky. Useful for a boy who often felt… lost.”

So much was wrapped in those words-the loneliness of absent parents, the loss of his grandmother, the guidance of his grandfather. This wasn’t the story of a cold manipulator. It was the story of a boy who grew up looking for points of reference.

When he leaned in to kiss me, I didn’t pull away. His lips tasted of wine and truth, and for a moment, all doubts seemed to vanish like mist in the morning sun.

The telescope lay forgotten as we explored each other under the starlit sky. Every touch felt more honest than words, every sigh a promise no contract could contain.

Later, when we adjusted our clothes and he finally showed me Jupiter and its moons through the telescope, my thoughts drifted to Alex. To how his romantic gestures had always seemed calculated for an invisible audience. To how his sweet words always sounded like they’d been lifted from a movie script.

Christian was different. Or was I just convincing myself he was?