Chapter 24

CHAPTER 24

ZAYN

T his was hell.

I had never flown economy for a reason. The seats were too damn small. I felt like a sardine packed into a tin can. The stale, recycled air reeked of something I couldn't quite place—maybe a mixture of cheap cologne, baby powder, and airport tacos.

Thank God Marigold had switched seats with me. I was far too big to be in the middle. The asshole in the window seat seemed to think he owned the whole row. There would have been an in-flight brawl if I had to sit next to him.

It was loud too, with the hum of the engines and the constant chatter of passengers. It was an assault on my senses. I had an aisle seat, which was great until the beverage cart rammed into my knee for the third time, making me clench my jaw to keep from cursing out loud. People kept glancing at me, like they could tell I didn't belong, and they were right. Thank God I didn't have to do this often.

This was so not my vibe.

I flagged down a flight attendant, hoping to fix this situation. "Is there any way you can upgrade us to business? Or first? Anything but this?"

She gave me a tight smile, the kind that didn't reach her eyes. "I'm sorry, sir. The flight is fully booked. There are no upgrades available."

I leaned in slightly, lowering my voice as if that would help. "You sure about that? Zayn Bancroft doesn't get no for an answer very often." I shot her a look that usually did the trick.

But she didn't even flinch. "I'm sure, sir."

I considered getting up and offering someone cash for their seat—anything to get out of this hellhole—when Marigold leaned over and placed a hand on my arm. "Man up, Zayn. It's just a few hours."

I glanced at her, ready to argue, but the way she was looking at me, with that little smile playing on her lips, made me sigh in defeat. She was right. I was acting like a spoiled brat. But that didn't mean I had to like it.

I tried like hell to get her to let me take the family jet. She refused. She said her dad paid for the flight and we were going to appreciate the gift. I was pretty sure this was about the farthest thing from a gift a guy could give.

I was being an ass. I needed to set aside the silver spoon and the arrogance and just appreciate the man's generous— gift .

While I was about as uncomfortable as I had ever been in my life, Marigold was perfectly at ease, flipping through a notebook she had pulled from her bag.

She looked up at me with a bright smile. I had a feeling she knew how bad this was and was enjoying my discomfort just a little too much.

"Alright, since we're stuck, let's make the best of it. I've got a list of things you need to know about my family. Ready?"

I rolled my eyes but nodded, trying to ignore the cramped feeling in my legs. "Just one thing."

"What?"

"When it comes time to get off this flying metal can, you might need to help me."

She frowned. "Why?"

"Because I'm pretty sure I've lost feeling in my feet," I said. "By the time we land, I'm sure the condition will have moved north."

Marigold laughed, drowning out the sound of crying infants around us. "I'll get you a wheelchair."

I let out an exaggerated sigh. "Hit me. With information. Don't hit me. Not yet."

"Okay, first question." She tapped the notebook with her pen. "What's my dad's favorite TV show?"

I stared at her. "Seriously?"

"Very seriously," she replied, her expression deadpan.

I thought for a moment. "Is it… something with cars?"

"Close," she said, grinning. "It's Top Gear . He's obsessed. He even tried to get me into it when I was younger, but I was more into books."

I made a mental note. "Got it. Top Gear . What else?"

She flipped a page. "What does he do for a living?"

"Uh…" I hesitated. "I actually don't know."

"He's retired now," she said, not missing a beat. "But he was a mechanic for thirty years. Owned his own shop."

That didn't surprise me. Marigold always had this no-nonsense, down-to-earth vibe, like she'd grown up with someone who knew the value of hard work. I could respect that.

As she continued to quiz me, I found myself getting more and more distracted from the discomfort of the flight. It was almost fun, listening to her talk about her dad, about her hometown of Green River, Wyoming, and all the quirks and details that made up her life before she came to New York.

"Okay, your turn," she said suddenly, closing the notebook and looking at me expectantly. "Quiz me about your family."

I chuckled, leaning back as far as the cramped seat would allow. "Where did I grow up?"

"Vancouver," she answered right away. "Give me another."

"How old am I?"

"Oh my God! I have no idea!"

I laughed. "I guess it's a good thing we're doing this. I'm twenty-nine."

"And your birthday?" she asked, raising an eyebrow challengingly.

"August eighteenth." I replied with a smirk, impressed with her curiosity. She made a note in her notebook and then looked up at me with a slight twinkle in her eyes.

"When is your birthday?"

"May third," she replied, smiling. "I always loved having a spring birthday."

"Favorite color?" I asked, getting into the spirit of the game.

"Yellow. It's bright and happy, just like me." She chuckled as she said it, obviously pleased with her own description.

"What's your favorite color?" she asked.

I looked at her hair. "Red."

She blushed a little.

I leaned close, my lips brushing against her ear. "If you ever want to get me a gift, red lingerie. That will make me the happiest man alive."

She spluttered out a laugh, looking both shocked and amused. "I'll keep that in mind."

The glimmer in her eyes suggested that she just might take me up on it. I fucking hoped so.

We continued the game. I knew her favorite song, Celine Dion's "My Heart Will Go On." Her favorite movie was "The Princess Bride," and her favorite food was fettuccine alfredo. She knew my preferences too, from a rather embarrassing love for Billy Joel to my extreme distaste for anything involving olives.

When the food service came around, I reluctantly accepted the tray of airplane food, knowing I wouldn't like it. One bite of the mystery meat confirmed my fears.

"This is horrific," I muttered, poking at the so-called meal with my fork. "I feel like I'm in prison."

Marigold burst out laughing, nearly spilling her drink. "Oh, come on, it's not that bad."

I gave her a pointed look. "That's not exactly a ringing endorsement."

She grinned. "You're such a snob, Zayn."

After we finished eating—or rather, after she finished hers and I abandoned mine—Marigold looked out the window, the sunlight catching on her profile. It made her look softer, more vulnerable, and for a moment, I felt a pang of something unfamiliar.

That was when I remembered. "Hey," I said, reaching into my pocket. "I brought something for you."

She turned to me, curiosity written all over her face. "What is it?"

I pulled out a small fabric pouch and handed it to her. "Open it."

She took it from me, her fingers brushing mine briefly. She dumped out the ring into her palm. "Zayn! Is this…" she began, holding it up to inspect it closely. "Is it real?"

I shook my head. "It's moissanite. But if anyone asks, yeah, it's the real deal."

She looked at me, then back at the ring. "If this were a real engagement, moissanite is what I'd want anyway."

I frowned. "Why? What woman doesn't want diamonds?"

She gave me a look. "Because they're unethical, Zayn."

I couldn't help but laugh. "Who's the snob now?"

She didn't argue, just slid the ring onto her finger. It fit perfectly. "Not the same," she murmured, admiring the way it caught the light.

For some reason, seeing that ring on her finger, knowing that to everyone else it looked like she was mine, hit me in the gut. It was just an act, just part of the deal, but something about it felt real in that moment. And I liked it. I liked how it made me feel, sitting beside her, like we were really together. Like she was really my girl.

"What's your hometown like?" I asked, needing to pull myself away from the thoughts about her actually being mine.

She hesitated for a moment, then started to tell me. "It's small. Really small. The kind of place where everyone knows everyone. That can be good and bad."

"Why?"

"Well, on the good side, there's a sense of community, a certain warmth that comes from everyone knowing your name, people looking out for each other. The local diner is the hub where all sorts of stories come to life—love stories, heartbreaks, successes and failures. It's the cradle of every major event in town. It's the place where rumors get started."

She paused, running her fingers absentmindedly over the ring.

"On the bad side, it means there's no privacy. Your business becomes everyone's business, whether you like it or not. One slip-up, one mistake, and everyone in town knows about it before you've even had your morning coffee. It can be suffocating at times."

"I could see that being a bit of a drag."

"I left when I was twenty-one, drove all the way to New York in a beat-up old Ford Aerostar, and never looked back."

I raised an eyebrow. "That takes serious balls."

She laughed softly. "Yeah, I guess it does. But sometimes I wonder if I made the right choice. I mean, look at me. I'm a bank teller. A waitress. All things I could have done back in Green River."

I shook my head, taking her hand in mine. "You're right where you're supposed to be, Marigold. If you hadn't come to New York, I wouldn't have found you."

She looked at me then, really looked at me. "Thanks, Zayn."

The captain's voice crackled over the intercom, announcing our descent. We stowed our trays and prepared for landing. As the plane touched down, I felt a strange mix of nerves and anticipation. This wasn't just about meeting her dad. This was about stepping into her world, seeing where she came from, and pretending, even if just for a little while, that we were really a couple.

I hoped her dad didn't hate me on sight. Parents didn't like me. At least not doting fathers.

Given where we were going, I had a feeling I might be staring down the double barrel of a shotgun if this guy didn't like me. I was going to do my best to keep from being shot.

We collected our luggage and stepped out of the tiny airport into the bright Wyoming sun. The place was so different from anything I was used to. It felt like we had landed on another planet. Marigold hailed a cab, giving the driver her father's address. We settled into the back seat for the ride.

As we drove through the barren landscape, I couldn't help but wonder what was waiting for us. What would her dad think of me? Could I really pull this off, pretend to be her fiancé when I was still trying to figure out what I felt for her?