Chapter 31

CHAPTER 31

MARIGOLD

T he sunlight streaming through the kitchen window lit up the room. I took my seat at the table. The smell of freshly brewed coffee was oddly normal, even though this situation was anything but normal. Dad was already at the table, his expression a mix of annoyance and exasperation as he stared at me.

I could tell I was in trouble.

Zayn was sitting across from me, his gaze steady, and for a moment, our eyes locked. There was something unspoken in that look—something that I couldn't quite decipher. I wondered if he was still processing the events of last night, or if he was trying to figure out where he stood in all this mess.

He was probably thinking he made a mistake picking me as his fake fiancée. I came with baggage.

"Marigold," Dad said. I could hear it in his voice. I knew the tone. I was about to get a lecture. I didn't have to guess what it was about. I told Zayn this was what it was like living in a small town. We didn't need social media when folks around here still relied on the good old gossip mill.

"Yes, Daddy," I said with some exasperation.

"I need to have a word with you about last night."

I braced myself, knowing this was coming. I'd expected Dad's disappointment, though it did little to soften the sting. I often disappointed him.

"You made quite a scene at the tavern," Dad continued, shaking his head. "Roger called me this morning. He's furious. Claims that my daughter has become one of those ignorant city folks we all hate."

I rolled my eyes, feeling a surge of frustration. "Courtney had it coming. She was being a bully, just like she was in high school. She was insulting me. Saying things that weren't okay then, and as a grown woman, they are definitely not okay now. I will not apologize. If anything, I wish I would have done more. She tortured me most of my life. Trust me, no one in that bar didn't think she had it coming."

Dad's eyebrows shot up, clearly taken aback. He looked over at Zayn, as if searching for support. Zayn's gaze met mine, and then he turned to Dad, his expression serious but unwavering.

"Bullies need to be put in their place," Zayn said, his voice calm but resolute. "Courtney shouldn't dish it out if she can't take it."

Dad sighed, his shoulders slumping forward. He muttered something under his breath about how he'd be the one left dealing with the fallout from small-town gossip. I could sense the weight of his frustration. After all, he had to navigate the community's judgment, and here I was adding fuel to the fire.

"Mom would have been cheering me on," I said.

Dad nodded reluctantly. "Your mother was a spitfire. She didn't take kindly to anyone talking about the family."

"She always said we should stand up for ourselves," I added softly. "I didn't. Not for a long, long time. I let it go. I let Courtney say and do awful things to me without saying a word."

"And it's high time that you did stand up for yourself, Marigold," Zayn said with a certain air of authority. It mattered to me what he thought. "You don't deserve that kind of treatment."

"But that doesn't mean you have to fight every battle," Dad said, his eyes softening. He reached over to pat my hand on the table, a rare moment of affection between us. "The world is full of Courtneys. You don't need to prove anything to them."

"I know that," I said. "After Elaine's wedding, I had more than enough of Courtney. And last night she kept coming at me. It was too much."

Dad finally smiled and nodded. "I guess we all have our breaking points."

"Dad, don't worry about that miserable shrew," I said, trying to steer us back to safer territory. "We're flying back to New York tomorrow. How about we focus on spending our last day together?"

Dad looked at Zayn. "Zayn, if you don't mind, I'd like to have this last day to catch up with my daughter. Why don't you take the day for yourself? I'm sure you have things you'd like to do. Marigold, we're going fishing. I'll go get the poles ready."

He rushed out of the kitchen, clearly eager to spend the day by the river.

Zayn grinned. "You two have fun. The very last thing I want to do is stand by a mucky river that smells like fish."

I laughed, despite the lingering tension. "It's actually very relaxing. You might be surprised."

He shook his head and smiled. "I never realized how much of a city boy I am until I came out here. Wyoming is lovely and all, but for me, it's best seen from a distance, where all the wild critters can't get me."

"You're safe," I said, laughing.

Zayn's grin widened, and he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to my lips. The kiss felt natural, easy—nothing forced or performed. It was just us, in that moment. But as I pulled away, my cheeks flushed with heat. I realized with a sudden jolt that I had kissed him as if we were a real couple. It wasn't for show. There was no audience, no need to perform. It was simply us.

Zayn's eyes sparkled with mischief, and he flashed me a cocky, bratty grin. "Don't get addicted, little flower."

I felt my face heat up even more at the nickname. "Don't call me that," I said, trying to sound stern but failing to hide the small smile that tugged at my lips.

Zayn chuckled, obviously enjoying my reaction. "Real fiancés have nicknames for each other," he said, clearly pleased with his choice. "And I like that one for you. It's sticking."

I sighed, shaking my head as I grabbed my jacket. "You're impossible. I hope the critters do get you."

With a final wave to Zayn and a promise to see him later, I followed Dad outside. The morning air was crisp and cool. I climbed into the passenger seat of Dad's truck, feeling a little guilty about what we had done in this truck last night. Dad started the engine, and we were off.

Dad whistled as he drove, the melody light and carefree, but I could sense the undercurrent of concern in his demeanor. He glanced over at me, a knowing look in his eyes.

"You know," he said, trying to sound nonchalant, "you're in over your head with Zayn. I can see it."

I turned to look at him, feeling a pang of uncertainty. "I know."

The words came out more resigned than I intended. I had been trying to keep my feelings in check, trying to remind myself that this engagement was a means to an end. But it was hard when Zayn was so real. And now, facing my father's scrutiny and dealing with my own tangled emotions, I felt more confused than ever.

We drove in silence for a while, the landscape outside the window shifting from the familiar small-town scenery to the more rustic countryside.

Part of me was grateful for the chance to spend this last day with my father. It was a rare opportunity to reconnect, to relive some of our old routines. Fishing was something we hadn't done together in years, and the thought of it brought a bittersweet smile to my lips.

He pulled into the parking area by the lake. I could see the water shimmering under the morning sun. The sight was soothing, a reminder of simpler times. We unloaded the gear and walked down to the edge of the lake, where the old wooden dock extended out over the water.

As we settled into our familiar fishing spots, Dad started setting up the equipment like he had done it a million times. I watched him, feeling a pang of nostalgia. He looked older now, more weathered, but there was something comforting about his presence.

"So, tell me how things are going with Zayn. You seem different. Happier, maybe?"

I hesitated, unsure how much to reveal. It was hard to put my feelings into words, especially when they were still so tangled up. But there was something in his voice—an earnestness, a desire to understand—that made me want to open up.

"It's more complicated than I expected it to be," I admitted, casting my line into the water. "Zayn and I—well, we're playing a part, you know? It's all for show. But there's something real there, too. It's hard to explain."

Dad nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Sometimes, the lines between what's real and what's just a performance can get blurred. You have to be careful not to lose yourself in it."

I nodded, feeling the weight of his words. It was something I had been grappling with, trying to separate my genuine feelings from the fa?ade we were maintaining. His advice was practical and wise.

We fished in companionable silence for a while, the only sounds the gentle lapping of the water and the occasional bird call. It was peaceful, a welcome respite from the chaos of the past few days.

As the morning wore on, we both caught a few small fish. The process was familiar, almost meditative. It reminded me of the times we used to come here together, just the two of us, enjoying the quiet and each other's company.

By the time we packed up and headed back to the house, I felt a sense of contentment I hadn't experienced in a long time. The fishing trip had been a good distraction, a way to reconnect with my father and push aside some of the more complicated feelings I'd been dealing with.

Dad was already planning what to do with the fish for dinner. I could see the excitement in his eyes. It was a small thing, but it meant a lot to me. He was proud of his fish, and I knew he wanted to show off to Zayn a little.

Zayn was sitting on the porch, his laptop open. He looked up and smiled. "How did it go?"

"Fish for dinner," Dad said. "I'll finish getting these cleaned up."

I sat down in the chair next to Zayn. "Thanks for giving us the day. It was really nice to spend time with my dad."

"Anytime, Marigold. I'm glad you had a good time."

"It was exactly what I needed."