Chapter 15

CHAPTER 15

MARIGOLD

" Y ou look disgustingly chipper," Courtney groaned from her spot in one of the lounge chairs poolside, one hand shielding her eyes from the light.

"I'm just high on life," I said with a wink, not bothering to hide the smirk on my face.

Courtney rolled her eyes but smiled. "Or high on something else."

"What can I say? I love weddings." I grabbed my iced coffee and took a seat next to Elaine's lounge chair. The other girls chuckled, but I could feel their curiosity hanging in the air.

We were all sitting by the pool to sweat out our hangovers after a leisurely brunch. Although I wasn't hungover. Courtney wasn't wrong. I was still riding high on the multiple orgasms Zayn had given me last night and then just before making my way down to the pool. He insisted on a quickie.

His idea of a quickie was limiting the orgasms to two instead of five or more.

"So," Elaine started, turning to face me fully as she pushed up her sunglasses. "You and Zayn. What's the story there?"

I paused, my lips wrapped around the straw in my drink. I knew this was coming, but I hadn't expected it so soon. I took a sip, buying myself a moment to think.

"Oh, you know, the usual," I began, keeping my tone light and breezy. "We met at a party in the city a few months ago. Hit it off, started dating, and well, here we are."

The girls exchanged glances, clearly not satisfied with that vague answer.

"Come on, Marigold," Courtney said, leaning forward. "Details. How long have you been together? How did he propose? What's his family like?"

I felt my pulse quicken. Crap. I hadn't thought this far ahead. Last night, everything was in the moment, and I hadn't planned for the inevitable questions that would come with our little lie. I was treading on thin ice, and the realization sent a shiver down my spine. If they found out I was lying, they were never going to let me forget it.

I could already see the billboard Courtney would put up.

Time to channel my inner Meryl Streep.

"Well," I started slowly, carefully choosing my words. "We've been together for about six months now. He proposed last month—total surprise. I wasn't expecting it at all."

Elaine raised an eyebrow. "Six months? That's pretty fast."

I forced a laugh. "Yeah, I guess it is. But when you know, you know, right?"

The girls seemed to accept that, nodding along. But Courtney, always fucking Courtney, had to go deeper. "What's his last name again?"

My blood ran cold. His last name. Of course, I didn't know it. In all the talking we did, he'd never told me his last name. Why would he? It was just supposed to be a fling. A fun, no-strings-attached weekend. Now I was trapped in this web of lies, and I had to keep going.

A last name was something a fiancé should definitely know.

"Klein," I said quickly, forcing the word out before I could second-guess myself. "Zayn Klein."

Courtney nodded, seemingly satisfied, but I could feel the tension coiling tighter in my chest. This was getting out of hand. I'd never been a good liar, and now I was lying to a group of women who could sniff out a fib like bloodhounds.

"What about his family?" one of the other girls asked. I couldn't remember her name. "Are they nice?"

I hesitated, my mind racing. Family. How was I supposed to make up an entire family? I glanced at Elaine, hoping she might throw me a lifeline, but she just gave me an encouraging smile, oblivious to my inner turmoil.

"They're lovely," I lied, swallowing hard. "His parents are old money, very classy. But down to earth, you know? They made me feel welcome right away."

The girls oohed and aahed at that. I took another gulp of the ice-cold coffee, wishing it was something stronger. The more I lied, the more I hated myself for it.

"Isn't it crazy?" Elaine said with a laugh. "It's like something out of a fairytale."

I forced a smile. "Yeah, something like that."

The conversation eventually drifted to other topics—Courtney's upcoming trip to Europe, someone's new job, the latest gossip from back home—but I couldn't relax. I felt like a fraud, sitting there in my bathing suit, pretending to be something I wasn't.

And it didn't help that I was all too aware of how I looked in the bathing suit. I wasn't exactly out of shape, but I wasn't one of those fitness-obsessed women who could proudly display a six-pack either. Courtney, of course, was one of those women. She was poking at her perfectly flat stomach, complaining about being "fat," which was ridiculous. I wanted to force feed her a pound of bacon, but instead, I just sipped my drink and avoided assaulting her with calorie-dense breakfast meats.

I made sure my swimsuit cover-up was pulled over my thighs. The sheer gauze didn't do much to hide anything, but I noticed a faint bruise on the inside of my thigh. I knew where it came from, but I wasn't interested in bragging about Zayn's rough nature.

The water looked inviting, but I wasn't in the mood for swimming. I just wanted to sit under the umbrella and let my thoughts unravel. Maybe I could figure out a way out of this mess.

"Marigold, you're so lucky," Courtney said, her voice cutting through my thoughts. "Zayn sounds like a dream."

"Yeah," I said, forcing another smile. "He's pretty great."

But inside, I was screaming. This wasn't supposed to happen. I wasn't supposed to lie to all my friends and Courtney. This was supposed to be a fun weekend, a break from reality. But now, I was caught in this web of lies, and I didn't know how to get out.

I reminded myself I would be going back to New York, and they would go back to Wyoming and wherever else they lived. I could claim Zayn and I broke up before I ever had to see them again.

The afternoon dragged on. I was grateful when the girls started talking about dinner plans, eager to escape the heat and the lies. I was even more grateful when Elaine suggested we all do our own thing for the evening. I needed time to think, to figure out my next move.

I hoped I could enjoy dinner with Zayn, but I didn't want to make any assumptions. Back in my room, I took my time getting ready, choosing a simple sundress and sandals. I put on a little makeup, hoping to impress him enough that he would want to have sex with me again.

And again.

And then one more time in the morning.

I knocked on his door and waited, trying to think of something cool and casual to say. "Fuck me" seemed a little bold. I wanted to be subtle in my request for more pleasure. "You are cordially invited inside me this evening" was too formal. Maybe I could just hike my dress up and point.

The door opened, and there he was, but instead of the relaxed, charming man I'd spent the night with, he was dressed with his open suitcase on the bed behind him.

"Hey," he said, pulling me inside the room.

"Zayn?" I asked, confusion lacing my voice. "What's going on?"

"I'm sorry, Marigold. I have to leave."

My heart plummeted. "Leave? Already?"

"It's a work thing," he said quickly, closing his suitcase with a snap. "Something came up, and I need to fly back to the city."

"But isn't there only one flight off the island each week?" I asked, trying to keep the panic out of my voice.

He gave me a small smile, almost like he was amused. "I'll be taking the family plane."

"The family plane?" I echoed, feeling like the ground was slipping out from under me. "I thought it was in the shop?"

I felt so stupid even saying it. I didn't know anything about private jets, but I was guessing they didn't go in the shop . That had been one of his many jokes.

"Zayn, who exactly is your family?"

His eyes met mine, and for a moment, I thought he was going to brush off the question. Maybe he didn't want the crazy woman that proclaimed him to be her fiancé to know his last name.

But then he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I'm a Bancroft."

The name hit me like a freight train. Bancroft. As in the Bancrofts, one of the wealthiest families in the country.

Two countries!

Suddenly, everything made sense. The effortless charm, the confidence, the way he carried himself like he owned the world. Because he practically did.

I was in the banking world. Not one of the executives but I knew the Bancroft name. I literally could not believe it.

"Wait, the Bancrofts?"

"‘Fraid so," he said, smiling.

I was speechless, my mind racing. How had I not realized this sooner? How could I have been so blind?

He must have seen the shock on my face because he stepped closer, his expression softening. "I'm sorry, Marigold. I should have told you earlier. But this wasn't supposed to be serious. And it was kind of nice that you didn't know who I was. It was truly refreshing."

I nodded numbly, not trusting myself to speak. No, it wasn't supposed to be serious. But it felt serious now, with him standing there, suitcase in hand, ready to leave me behind.

He reached out, cupping my cheek with his hand. "You've been amazing. Truly. But I have to go. Believe me. Seeing you in that dress makes me want to say fuck it and stay, but I don't have a choice."

I swallowed hard, fighting back the tears that were threatening to spill over. "What am I supposed to do?" I asked, my voice trembling. "How am I supposed to convince everyone we're engaged if you're not even here?"

He smiled, a sad sort of smile, and leaned in to kiss my cheek. "You'll figure it out. You're a great liar, Marigold. You'll manage."

I wanted to scream, to tell him this wasn't fair, that he couldn't just walk away like this. Did fake engagements mean nothing to him?

But I didn't. I just stood there, frozen, as he grabbed his suitcase and headed for the door.

"Goodbye, Marigold," he said softly, and then he was gone, leaving me standing in the middle of the room, my heart breaking into a million pieces.

I stood there for a long time, staring at the door. Eventually, I sank down onto the bed, burying my face in my hands. I felt stupid, so stupid, for getting caught up in a fantasy. It had all been an act so I didn't feel like a loser in front of my friends. But now it was time to get back to real life, where I was in fact a sad lonely spinster.

I'd been lying to everyone, including myself. I wasn't Zayn's fiancée. I wasn't even his girlfriend. I was just a woman who'd had a weekend fling with a man way out of her league.

And now I was left to pick up the pieces.

The thought made me laugh, a bitter, humorless sound. I'd lied to everyone about Zayn, and now I had to keep lying. But this time, the lie felt heavier, more painful, because it wasn't just a fun story anymore. It was a reminder of everything I didn't have.

I wiped away the tears that had started to fall and stood up. I needed to get out of this room, away from the memories of Zayn and the mess I'd made.

But as I reached for the door, I couldn't help but glance back at the empty room, the bed we'd shared last night. It felt like a different lifetime, a different me. The Marigold who'd woken up this morning, high on life and Zayn, was gone. In her place was a woman who'd been reminded of her place in the world.

And it hurt like hell.