Hired a Gigolo Got a Billionaire (Zoey and Christian) novel Chapter 95

Chapter 95

The grand entry hall of the Kensington estate welcomed us with its silent luxury, the marble floors reflecting our figures like discreet mirrors. Christian kept his hand at my back, a gesture of support that had become almost instinctive over the past few hours.

“Viral infection,” he said, repeating Dr. Mendes’s diagnosis as if still processing it. “At least now we know what’s been causing the nausea.”

“Everything’s always a virus,” I replied with a faint smile, slipping off my shoes to feel the cool marble beneath my feet. “Fever? Virus. Headache? Virus. Zombie apocalypse? Probably just a very aggressive virus.”

Christian laughed, the sound echoing through the empty hall, filling the space with an unexpected lightness. His face softened into that rare, genuine smile that always caught me off guard-as if, for a moment, all the tension of the past days had simply lifted.

“Well, the important thing is that you’re going to be fine.” He brushed back a strand of hair that had slipped loose from my messy bun. “A few days of rest, plenty of fluids, and you’ll be back to your usual sarcastic self.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“On the contrary.” His eyes found mine with an intensity that made my stomach flip in a way that had nothing to do with the virus. “Your sarcasm is one of my favorite things about you.”

The comment-so simple, yet so loaded-hung between us like an unintentional confession. Heat crept up my neck, a ridiculous reaction considering everything we’d already shared.

“Thank you,” I said quietly, the words carrying far more than just gratitude for the compliment. “For today. For taking care of me.”

“No thanks needed.” His hand slipped from my waist to lace his fingers with mine. “It’s what we do for each other, isn’t it?”

Such a simple question, but layered with meaning. What did we really do for each other? In the beginning, our roles were clearly defined by the contract: I helped save the vineyard, he erased my father’s debts. Clean, practical, transactional.

But somewhere along the way, the lines had blurred. Somewhere between the Valentian vineyards and sleepless nights, between heated fights and even hotter reconciliations, we had become… what, exactly?

Maybe we were never just about sex and convenience, I realized, startling myself with the clarity of it. Maybe we never had been.

“Yes,” I answered at last, giving his fingers a slight squeeze. “That’s what we do.”

Christian smiled again, and in that smile was an unspoken promise, a silent understanding that warmed me from within. We began climbing the sweeping staircase toward the bedroom, my body suddenly feeling the weight of the past few exhausting days.

“You should rest before dinner,” Christian suggested, as if reading my thoughts. “Marcus said Joseph’s been asking for you several times today.”

“Does he know we were at the doctor’s?”

“Only that you weren’t feeling well.” Christian hesitated briefly. “I thought it better to keep the details… private.

I nodded, grateful for his discretion. The morning had been emotionally draining enough without having to explain a false pregnancy scare to the entire Kensington family.

We were nearly at the top of the stairs when a voice sliced through the air like a sharp blade.

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