Chapter 26

CHAPTER 26

ZAYN

A fter dinner, I hung back in the living room, watching Jay as he fussed over the couch like it was the most important task in the world. He draped a plaid blanket over it with the care of someone preparing a bed for a guest they didn't want to offend but also didn't particularly want around. The blanket was worn and thin, just like the pillow he thrust into my hands.

"Here," Jay said gruffly, eyes narrowing as he pointed at the makeshift bed. "This is where you're sleeping tonight."

I took the pillow, resisting the urge to fluff it up and complain about how flat it was. The last thing I wanted was to give him any more ammunition against me. "Thanks," I replied, forcing a polite smile.

Jay wasn't buying it. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned in, his voice low and dangerous. "And let me be perfectly clear, Zayn. You do not set foot in my daughter's bedroom. Understand?"

I nodded, understanding exactly what he was saying and what would happen if I didn't comply. The man might be older and shorter than me, but he had the demeanor of someone who wasn't afraid to throw a punch—or ten—if the situation called for it. And he had the strength to back it up.

"If this were a real engagement," he continued, his eyes boring into mine, "then maybe you two could share a room. But under these circumstances?" He shook his head, his gaze daring me to argue. "Not happening. You sleep here."

I glanced over at Marigold, who was standing a few feet away. Our eyes locked, and I saw the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. She was enjoying this. Of course she was.

"Got it," I said to Jay, trying to maintain a respectful tone. "Sir, I'm sorry for the false pretenses. I have nothing but respect for your daughter."

He grunted something unintelligible. "We'll see about that."

"Thank you for letting me stay here tonight," I said.

He gave a final nod, satisfied that he'd made his point before he turned and headed down the hallway.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Marigold's smile broke free. She bit her lip, trying to hold back a laugh. "You know, you might be the first person who's ever gotten the ‘Don't Touch My Daughter' speech from my dad."

"Feels like a badge of honor," I quipped, though my heart was still pounding from the intensity of Jay's warning. I wasn't about to test the waters with that one. The last thing I needed was to wake up with a black eye—or worse.

Something told me Jay was not just a lot of bluff and bluster. There was something about him that said he would not hesitate to find a hole out there in the barren prairie and drop my ass in it. She didn't provide ample warning about the man.

He was terrifying.

And I didn't scare easily.

She chuckled softly. "Well, good luck," she said, nodding toward the couch. "It's not the Ritz, but I guess it'll do. I don't know that my bed would have been any better."

"Yeah, I've had worse," I lied. The truth was, I'd never slept on anything less than a high-end mattress, but this was all part of the gig, right? Just another step in the charade we were both committed to.

"Just so we're clear," I added, lowering my voice. "This wasn't my idea, you know. The whole pretend engagement thing…"

"Well, it sure wasn't mine."

"I meant it was my brothers. When I thought about who would make the perfect fiancée, your name came up. I never expected this to have such a ripple effect. I'm sorry I didn't think of that. About how this would impact your life and your family."

"I know. I didn't either, really. I guess I had dollar signs in my eyes and didn't look beyond the money." She moved a step closer to the couch, eyeing the worn-out cushion and threadbare blanket dubiously.

"I will protect your reputation, Marigold."

"Thank you."

"Your father doesn't need to worry about that," I said. "I hate that he got dragged into this."

"He'll be fine," she said with a soft smile. "He's just looking out for me."

"Well, his threats landed," I said with a soft laugh.

"Goodnight, Zayn," she said. She reached out, catching my hand before I could turn away. Her fingers threaded through mine, and for a moment, I forgot that this was all supposed to be fake.

"Goodnight, Marigold," I murmured, my thumb brushing over the back of her hand. The warmth of her skin, the way she was looking at me, it was enough to make me forget about her father's threats, the uncomfortable couch, and the ridiculousness of our situation.

I really wished I could be crawling into that little bed with her, but I was going to have to keep it in my pants for the night. This situation was not an all-access card to her sweet pussy. If anything, it was access denied for the duration.

As soon as she released my hand and walked away, I felt the cold reality of it all settle back in. I watched her disappear down the hallway before I turned back to my makeshift bed, sighing as I plopped down onto the couch.

The couch springs groaned under my weight. I didn't dare strip down to my underwear like I would normally. If I was going to be thrown out or accosted by an angry father in the middle of the night, I wanted my pants on.

I shifted around, trying to find a comfortable position. My feet hung over the edge, and the blanket was too short to cover me entirely. I punched the pillow a few times, trying to fluff it up, but it remained stubbornly flat. This was going to be a long night.

In the quiet darkness, I closed my eyes and tried to imagine myself back in my penthouse. The smooth silk sheets. The magnificent view of the city skyline at night from the giant windows. The whisper-quiet hum of the air-conditioning. But try as I might, all I could hear was the deafening silence of the country night and the sporadic hoots of an owl somewhere in the distance.

My mind refused to switch off. Instead, it seemed to be stuck on replay, playing back the evening's events with painful precision. Jay's warning had struck home.

I closed my eyes, hoping that exhaustion would kick in and knock me out, but after what felt like an eternity of tossing and turning, I felt something. I couldn't say what I felt, but there was something. I cracked one eye open, only to find Jay standing in the hallway, his arms crossed, and a stern look on his face.

"Sleep tight," he said, his tone making it sound more like an order than a wish.

That was disturbing. Deliverance level of disturbing.

I stared at the ceiling after he left, trying to ignore the fact that he might come back at any moment to check if I was still on the couch. Sleeping was officially out of the question.

Jay wasn't a huge man, in terms of physical stature, but he had an intimidating presence that filled the room. He was all steel and grit, the kind of man you'd expect to see out in the wilds of the midwest, surviving on canned beans and stubborn determination.

I buried my face into the rough fabric of the couch. If I was going to be murdered in my sleep, I didn't want to see it coming.

The night stretched on, minutes dissolving into hours. The silence enveloped me like a woolen blanket, heavy and suffocating. The lone owl continued its incessant hooting. I swore I heard coyotes. I didn't know if it was in my head or the real thing.

I was legit in the Wild West.

The next morning, I was the first one up. Not that it was surprising, considering I hadn't slept a wink. My body ached from the couch's unforgiving springs, and I was desperate for something—anything—that would make me feel human again. Coffee. I needed coffee.

I dragged myself into the kitchen, bleary-eyed and grumpy. Jay's kitchen wasn't what I was used to. There was no fancy espresso machine with touch screens and multiple brewing options. Instead, I found an ancient-looking coffee pot that seemed more like a relic than a functioning appliance. It belonged in a museum.

I stood there, staring at the coffee pot, trying to figure out how to work the damn thing. There were no buttons or digital displays, just a simple on/off switch. I helped myself to the kitchen, opening various containers in search of precious coffee.

Finally, I found the coffee in an old butter container. I didn't want to know why it was in the container or where they kept the actual butter.

After a few minutes of fumbling, I finally managed to fill the machine with water and scoop in some coffee grounds. I hit the switch, praying that it would work.

I had only ever seen one of the antique appliances in the movies. I had no idea if I was doing it right. If I burned the house down, Jay would kill me.

The machine sputtered to life, startling me at first. It squealed and made gasping sounds like it was taking its final breaths and then a drop plopped into the stained pot. I stared at it. I wasn't sure what I thought was going to happen, but I couldn't look away. I was invested in the process now.

Finally, dark liquid started to spit and sputter.

"Shit. Is that normal?"

That was when I heard the giggle behind me. I turned to find Marigold standing there, watching me with an amused grin.

"Having some trouble, Mr. Bancroft?" she teased, crossing her arms as she leaned against the doorframe.

I gave her a sheepish smile, rubbing the back of my neck. "You know, I'm used to more… advanced technology."

She snorted. "Yeah, I can see that. You look like you're trying to decipher an ancient artifact."

"Well, this thing might as well have hieroglyphics on it," I shot back, but I couldn't help but chuckle. "Is it supposed to sound like that?"

She shook her head, laughing. "It's fine. Just takes a bit of time to get going. Unlike your fancy machines, this one doesn't come with a barista."

I raised an eyebrow, pretending to be offended. "Hey, I'm perfectly capable of making my own coffee."

"Clearly," she said, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "But it's a little adorable, watching you struggle with it."

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn't stop the smile that tugged at my lips. "Adorable, huh? That's not a word I hear very often."

She grinned. "Well, you're full of surprises, Zayn Bancroft."

"Just like this coffee pot." I turned my attention back to the device, which was finally starting to drip at a more consistent pace. "You know, your dad's old school. I'm guessing he doesn't like a lot of change."

She sighed, leaning her hip against the counter as she watched the coffee brew. "Yeah, he's set in his ways. Doesn't like anything too modern, too flashy."

I poured us both a cup once the coffee was done. After handing one to her, I leaned back against the counter. The coffee was hot, strong, and exactly what I needed to shake off the fatigue of a sleepless night.

"So, what's the plan for today?" she asked, taking a sip of her coffee. "My dad won't be up for a couple more hours. He likes to sleep late. He's retired and he can sleep as late as he wants."

I nodded. "Plus, I think he was up all night, standing guard to make sure I didn't sneak into your room."

She shrugged. "He's protective."

"As for today's agenda, we're going to be seen together in your hometown," I said. "Right? That's why we're here."

The color drained from her face. She put her coffee cup down, staring at me like I'd just suggested we rob a bank. "No way," she said, shaking her head emphatically. "I'm not interested in that."

I raised an eyebrow. "Why not? Isn't that the point of this whole thing? To convince people we're really engaged?"

"There are too many people here I've spent a lifetime trying to avoid," she said, her voice tense. "I don't need them all in my business."

I could tell this was a sore spot for her, but I also knew we had to do this if we were going to make this charade believable. I took a step closer, softening my tone. "This time it will be different."

"How do you know that?" she asked, her skepticism clear in her voice.

"Because you're with me," I replied, a confident smile playing on my lips. "It worked out at the wedding. It'll work out now too."

She looked at me, uncertainty still clouding her eyes. I knew this wasn't easy for her. But I also knew we didn't have a choice if we were going to pull this off.

"Trust me," I said softly, reaching out to brush a strand of hair behind her ear.

She sighed, shaking her head. "Okay. But if this blows up in our faces, I'm making you take a Greyhound bus back to New York."

I chuckled, relieved that she was on board.