Chapter 23

CHAPTER 23

MARIGOLD

D ad .

I hadn't heard from my father in weeks, but the word "DAD" was flashing across my phone screen. My heart skipped a beat as I stared at the name. My relationship with my father had always been a bit strained since Mom passed away, and it was rare for him to reach out.

I prayed there wasn't an emergency.

I glanced around the crowded restaurant. I didn't want to have this conversation in front of Zayn or anyone else for that matter.

"I'll be right back," I said to Zayn before jumping up and rushing outside.

"Hi, Daddy," I said, trying to keep my tone light. "Is everything okay?"

"I'm fine, sweetheart," he replied, but there was a tightness in his voice that immediately put me on edge. "How are you?"

"I'm good," I said. "Just out for dinner. Can I call you back in a bit?"

"I ran into Elaine's folks yesterday," he said, completely ignoring my question. "They told me she had a beautiful wedding. They also mentioned that my daughter has a dashing fiancé of her own and that I must be over the moon."

My breath caught in my throat, and my stomach churned with guilt. I could hear the hurt in his voice, and it twisted something deep inside me.

Elaine must have told her parents.

I texted her and told her about it just because I didn't want her to see it in the newspaper. She might have blown the ruse.

Why she told her parents was beyond me. Maybe she was trying to brace them for whatever was coming as well.

But now, I had a father with some very hurt feelings.

"You're engaged, and you never even told me you were seeing someone," he continued. "I thought…" He trailed off, and I could picture him sitting in his old recliner by the front window of our family home. Some sort of auto show was probably playing on the TV, and a Hungry Man dinner was likely on the table beside him on one of Mom's old doilies. The image made my heart ache even more.

"Daddy," I said softly.

The cool night air hit me as I stepped onto the sidewalk. I immediately wished I'd brought my coat. I wrapped my arms around myself, shivering as I paced back and forth. "It's complicated. It's not what you think."

"So you're not engaged?" he asked, a hint of hope in his voice.

"No, I mean, yes, I am, but…" I stumbled over my words, trying to figure out how to explain this tangled mess. "I can explain, but not here, and not right now. Can I call you tomorrow?"

There was a long pause on the other end of the line, and I could hear the faint sound of the TV in the background. "No," he finally said. "I booked you a flight to come home. I want you to come see me and introduce me to this man of yours. You're not marrying some man until I meet him and decide if he's good enough for you."

"Daddy, you didn't have to do that," I said, panic rising in my chest.

The last thing I needed was for him to get more involved in this fake engagement than he already was.

"I know I've been a bit absent," he said, his voice softening. "And I'm sorry about that. But I want to make it right. I want to be part of your life. Your mother would have been over the moon to hear this news. She would want me to do my job as your father and make sure this guy was right for you. And if he isn't right, I need to let him know there's a cranky old man standing right behind you."

His words made my throat tighten. I had to swallow hard to keep my emotions in check. "Dad, he's a good man."

"Good, then you'll have no problem bringing him home to meet me."

I didn't know how to tell him this wasn't real.

"Daddy, it's not that simple," I began, my voice hitching.

"Well, make it simple," he replied with a stubbornness that I knew only too well.

I took a deep breath and tried to find the courage to tell him the truth. I couldn't tell him. I was risking too many people finding out. And my father would lose his shit if he knew I accepted money to pretend to be someone's fiancée or wife. Both were equally bad.

"I'm happy for you, baby," he said. "Come home for a few days. I'll email you all your flight information. I just need his name. What is his name, by the way?"

"Zayn," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Last name?"

I chewed the inside of my cheek, trying to come up with a way to delay answering. "I'll tell you when we get there," I finally said.

"I need the name to book the ticket," he said.

There were about a million thoughts running through my head. I didn't want my father wasting money buying me or my billionaire fiancé a ticket. And the last name.

But I wasn't going to insult my father by not letting him buy the tickets.

"Bancroft," I murmured.

"Got it. How do you spell Zayn?"

I quickly told him. He was very excited. He hung up so he could book the tickets.

I stood there on the sidewalk for a moment, staring at my phone as the reality of the situation sank in.

"Oh, what a tangled web we weave," I muttered to myself.

This situation was spiraling out of control, and we hadn't even started.

I shivered as I felt the cold seeping through my clothes. Just then, Zayn came out of the restaurant, his coat in hand. He draped it over my shoulders. I couldn't help but think about how much this simple gesture reminded me of my father.

"Thanks," I said, giving him a small smile as I pulled the coat tighter around me.

"You looked like you were freezing," he said, his voice warm and teasing.

"I was just getting ready to come back inside," I said.

"Is everything okay?" he asked as he held the door open for me.

I didn't answer. We walked to our table and sat down. I reached for the glass of wine and swallowed it in one long gulp.

"What's going on?" Zayn asked with concern.

I took a deep breath, trying to gather my thoughts. "We need to fly home to see my father."

Zayn raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "Why do I have to go?"

"Because you're my fiancé," I replied, a bit more sharply than I intended. "I told Elaine, and she must have told her parents and they told my dad. He was very upset I didn't tell him."

"Wow. That's one hell of a gossip line."

I gave him a dry look. "We have to keep this airtight, Zayn. That includes my father. We just finished signing the legal documents saying as much."

He held up his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. No need to get snappy. I was just joking."

I sighed, feeling a bit guilty for snapping at him. "Sorry. It's just… complicated."

Zayn nodded, his expression softening. "I get it. So, what do I need to know about your old man?"

Oh God, I thought. Where do I start?

I opened my mouth to say something, but the words got caught in my throat. How could I talk about my father without also talking about my mother? And I didn't feel ready for that. Not yet.

Zayn seemed to sense my hesitation, and he reached out to gently touch my hand. "We don't have to rush," he said, his voice calm and reassuring. "We have time."

Just then, my phone buzzed in my hand, and I looked down to see an email notification from my father. I quickly opened it and felt my heart sink.

"No, we don't," I breathed, showing Zayn the ticket information on my phone. "We leave in two days."

He let out a low whistle, clearly taken aback. "Your dad doesn't mess around, does he?"

"No, he doesn't," I said, my mind racing with all the things that could go wrong. "He's going to want to know everything about you. Where you're from, what you do for a living, how we met… everything."

Zayn chuckled, but there was a hint of tension in his voice. "Well, I guess I'd better brush up on my backstory then."

I couldn't help but smile at his attempt to lighten the mood. "Yeah, I guess you should."

This was going to be one of the most challenging parts of our arrangement—convincing my father that Zayn was the man I was going to marry.

"You look stressed," he said.

"I don't like lying to my father," I said. "It feels so dirty."

I saw the look in his eyes and the way his nostrils did that little flare thing when he was excited.

"Don't you dare," I hissed. "I didn't mean that kind of dirty."

Zayn laughed, a deep rumbling sound that managed to ease some of the tension in my shoulders. "I know, I know. But consider this. We're not exactly lying. We're just withholding certain details."

"That doesn't make it any better," I muttered, running a hand through my hair.

"Let's get a bottle of wine and go back to my place," he said. "We'll prepare for this visit together and make sure your father believes our story. Consider it a cramming session."

I shook my head. We both knew what would happen if I went back to his place. We'd do a lot of fucking and zero talking. There might be words, but it wouldn't be a conversation.

"I have to go," I said.

"What? We're not done eating."

"I'm not hungry," I said and got to my feet.

"Let me call a car to take you home," he said.

"No, thanks. I'll take a cab."

I turned and walked out of the restaurant. I waved my hand in an attempt to stop a cab. I must have been invisible because none of them were stopping.

"Marigold, I'll take you home," Zayn said.

"No. I just want to go home."

He nodded. "Okay."

He stuck his hand up and whistled. A cab pulled up almost instantly. I rolled my eyes with disgust.

"Figures," I said. I stopped before getting in the cab. "I'll text you the flight information."

"About that?—"

I closed the door and told the driver to go.

He didn't get to back out of the trip.