Hired a Gigolo, Got a Billionaire

Chapter 102 The routine settled in faster than I expected. Mornings always started the same way-me waking before the alarm, rushing to the bathroom to fight off that stubborn wave of nausea that refused to leave, splashing cold water on my face, and brushing my teeth with a little too much determination, trying to erase any trace of it.

Then came the job hunt -résumés sent, polite interviews ending with tight smiles and the usual empty promise of "we'll be in touch." And on the nights Christian was in Solara for business meetings-which, thankfully, had become more frequent lately-there was a fleeting sense of normalcy. A purpose. Something that almost felt like a real marriage. "It's getting late." Christian stretched his arms above his head, his shoulders cracking after hours bent over the papers scattered across the dining table. "I think we're done for tonight." I nodded, collecting the empty coffee cups.

Christian had been sleeping at my apartment whenever he had work in Solara―an unspoken evolution of our arrangement that neither of us questioned. He'd just show up with a small suitcase, work until midnight, and then slide into bed beside me as if he'd been doing it forever. "What time's your flight tomorrow?" I asked, keeping my tone casual as I carried the dishes to the kitchen. "Nine-thirty." He rubbed his eyes, exhaustion softening the sharp lines of his face.

"Marcus needs me for the video call with Gwen before noon." That familiar ache bloomed in my chest-the quiet disappointment that always came the night before he left. One night. It was always just one night. Sometimes two, if we were lucky. Never enough. Christian appeared behind me, his arms slipping around my waist as I rinsed the cups. "What are you thinking about?" he murmured into my hair, his body warm and solid against my "Nothing important," I lied, leaning into him. "Just tired." His fingers traced slow, lazy circles over my hips, a touch that had become second nature. back.

but when we pulled apart, that

in bed, as his fingers absentmindedly brushed through my hair, he broke

all these interviews isn't helping you recover and-" "Don't you dare finish that sentence, Christian Kensington." I sat up, pulling the sheet with me. "We agreed I'd keep my own life. My independence. That includes my career." "Technically, you're my wife." He tried, unsuccessfully, to hide the small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "It would be perfectly

just because you sleep here a few nights a month." Christian propped himself up on his elbows, his face suddenly more serious. "Is it really so terrible that I worry about you? That I want to make things easier?"

both of us naked in my bed, the room still heavy with the scent of sex. "I think we passed that point a long time ago." I couldn't argue with that. He was right, of course. Whatever we had

contacts, references..." "That I'll take." I smiled, sinking back against the pillows. "Just don't try to turn me into some kind of trophy wife." He laughed, pulling me back into his arms. "You'd be the most stubborn, defiant trophy in history." "And don't you forget it." I nestled against his

soon. "You could come with me tomorrow," Christian suggested one night as we lounged on the couch, wrapped up together. The TV played in the background, just noise neither of us was really paying attention to. "Spend a few 2/4 days in Highridge. Joseph keeps