Chapter 49

CHAPTER 49

MARIGOLD

T elling Zayn the truth was as hard as I thought it would be, but now that it was out there, I felt infinitely lighter. My heart pounded in my chest as I fumbled with the ring on my finger, twisting it around and around until it slid off. The cool metal felt foreign in my palm, its weight far heavier than it should have been for such a small thing.

The look on his face caused me physical pain, but I knew it had to be done. We were never going to be Cinderella and her handsome prince. I was back to my little cinder girl status, and he was going back to his royal castle.

I held the ring out to him, my hand trembling. For a moment, he just stared at it. He looked at me with an expression I couldn't quite read. When he finally took it from me, his fingers brushed against mine, sending a shiver down my spine. It was like the final connection between us had been severed by that simple touch.

Zayn opened his hand, holding the ring. The silence between us stretched on, thick and suffocating, until it was broken by the sound of my father's voice calling from inside the house.

"What's taking so long? If the racoons are in the trash again, just swat ‘em away with the broom."

I almost laughed at the absurdity of it, but the sound got caught in my throat. Instead, I focused on Zayn, waiting for his response, dreading what he might say.

He looked up at me, his eyes softening. "Thank you for telling me the truth, Marigold," he said quietly. "I'm sorry I put you in this position."

I shook my head, swallowing hard. "You didn't put me in this position, Zayn. We both knew what we were getting into, and it just wasn't right. I should have thought it through. I made a decision without thinking about the consequences."

He nodded, his gaze dropping back to the ring in his palm. "I'll sit down with my PR rep this week and work out a good way to announce our split to the public. We'll do it in a way that doesn't tarnish your reputation. Mine be damned."

"Zayn, I—" I started, but he cut me off with a shake of his head.

"No, Marigold, you don't need to say anything. I have immense respect for you. I wish things had gone differently." He closed his hand around the ring, a sad smile on his lips. "You're the best fiancée I'll ever have. You're a good woman, Marigold. You deserve the best. You deserve someone that will love you the way you deserve."

I couldn't stop the tears from welling up in my eyes. I blinked them away furiously, refusing to let them fall. This wasn't the time to break down. I had to stay strong.

Zayn's smile faltered as well, making me think this wasn't as easy for him as he was trying to make it seem. He took a deep breath. "I should go," he said, glancing at the trash bag at my feet. "Let me take that for you. In case the racoons are actually here."

Before I could protest, he reached down, grabbed the bag, and hoisted it over his shoulder. He turned on his heel and started down the driveway, the bag swinging with each step.

I watched him go, my heart aching with every inch he put between us. A part of me wanted to call after him, to tell him to stay, to tell him that maybe, just maybe, we could make this work. But I knew better. This was the right thing to do, no matter how much it hurt.

Still, I couldn't help but imagine how it would feel if he were to turn around and come back to me, to tell me he loved me, to kiss me, and ask me to marry him for real. The thought was bittersweet, a fleeting fantasy that I knew would never come true.

The illusion shattered when my father's voice called out to me again, louder this time, pulling me back to reality.

I sighed, tearing my gaze away from Zayn's retreating figure. I barely noticed the cab waiting for him, like he had known there was a good chance he was going to have to turn right back around and leave. Part of me wondered if he had come all the way here to dump my ass.

Did I just beat him to it?

My feet felt like lead as I turned around and went back inside. The warmth of the house enveloped me, but it did nothing to chase away the cold emptiness inside. Every step I took felt like my feet weighed a thousand pounds each.

Dad was waiting for me in the kitchen, his eyebrows raised in concern as he took in my expression. "What happened? Should I get the broom?"

"Zayn was here."

He blinked. "What? He's here?"

"No. Not anymore."

"I don't understand. When was he here?"

"A few minutes ago," I said. "He left."

Dad put a hand on his hip. "Marigold. One doesn't just stop by Green River. Didn't you guys tell me he lived in Manhattan? I don't think that's a quick or easy journey. Where is he?"

"He went home," I said with a sigh.

"I think I'm going to need a drink for this."

He went to the fridge and opened two cans of beer, handing one to me. "Tell me what happened."

We sat down at the kitchen table. I was shaking. The reality of what just happened was weighing down on me.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. "I told Zayn the truth," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "And I gave him the ring back."

He nodded slowly, his eyes searching mine. "How do you feel?"

"Like I've been hit by a truck," I admitted. "But also kind of relieved. It's over now. I don't have to pretend anymore."

A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He got up and bent over to give me a hug. "I'm proud of you, Marigold. That couldn't have been easy."

I buried my face in his shoulder, letting his familiar scent comfort me. "It wasn't. But it was the right thing to do."

He pulled back, looking me in the eye. "You did the right thing, sweetheart. Now, let's not dwell on it. How about we have some dinner and talk about your plans for Green River?"

I nodded, grateful for the distraction. "Yeah, that sounds good."

He went out to check on his chicken. I finished the cold salad I made along with the garlic bread. I felt numb as I set the table.

Dad came back in, a plate of grilled chicken thighs in his gloved hands, the smell of rosemary and thyme mingling with the burned wood smell that clung to him from the grill. It was simply the best scent combination in the world. For a moment, I forgot about Zayn and the aching hole in my chest.

My dad would barbecue in three feet of snow. In fact, he said it tasted better when it was cold out. I wasn't sure about that, but I appreciated his cooking in any weather.

"Smells good, doesn't it?" Dad said with a sly grin, placing the chicken on the table.

"Yeah, it does," I replied.

We sat down to eat. We talked about my move back to Green River. I wasn't sure how long it would take me to pack up everything in my apartment, but I hoped to be back here in two weeks. I'd stay with Dad through Christmas, and then I'd start looking for my own place, hopefully with a new job lined up by then. Waitressing wasn't glamorous, but it would pay the bills until something better came along. Maybe I could apply at one of the local banks or even the library. It didn't matter as long as I could start fresh.

After dinner, we played cards at the kitchen table, just like old times. Dad dealt the cards with a practiced hand, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he teased me for losing the last game. I tried to keep up the banter, but my mind kept drifting back to Zayn. I would never forget the way he looked at me when I handed him the ring or the sadness in his voice when he said I was the best fiancée he ever had.

It was a strange feeling, this sense of loss over something that was never real to begin with. We weren't really together, not in the way that mattered. Our engagement had been a fraud, a carefully crafted lie meant to benefit both of us. But somewhere along the way, the lines had blurred, and now it felt like a real breakup, with all the pain and confusion that came with it.

Dad noticed my distraction and set his cards down, giving me a concerned look. "You okay?"

I forced a smile, nodding. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just processing everything, I guess."

He nodded in understanding, reaching across the table to squeeze my hand. "It's going to take time, Marigold. But you'll get through this. I'm here for you."

"I know," I said, squeezing back. "Thanks, Dad."

"How about some tea?" he suggested.

I knew he was doing his best to distract me. It was just like back in high school when I got picked on one time too many or didn't get asked to one dance or another. We would stay up playing cards and drinking tea.

"That sounds perfect," I replied, grateful for the offer. Tea had always been our go-to comfort drink, something Mom used to make for us whenever we had a bad day. It was a tradition that had stuck, even after she was gone.

I got up and put the kettle on, the familiar polka-dot pattern bringing back memories of my childhood. Mom had loved that kettle, insisting on using it even after the handle had cracked and the spout had chipped. It was like a piece of her was still with us, a comforting presence in the house.

As the water heated up, I leaned against the counter, staring out the window into the darkness. I wondered where Zayn was now, if he was okay, if he was feeling the same strange mix of relief and sorrow that I was.

The kettle's whistle broke through my thoughts, sharp and piercing, like a train horn blaring in my brain. I jumped, my heart racing. Unease washed over me. Something wasn't right.

I turned off the stove and poured the hot water into our mugs, trying to shake the feeling, but it clung to me like a shadow. I couldn't put my finger on what was wrong, but the nagging sensation in the back of my mind wouldn't go away.

I carried the mugs back to the table, putting one in front of Dad.

"Do you ever get the feeling that something isn't right, but you can't figure out what it is?" I asked him.

He considered my question for a moment, then nodded. "Sometimes, yeah. It's usually your gut trying to tell you something. Always trust your gut."

I frowned, stirring my tea absentmindedly. "But what if I don't know what it's trying to tell me?"

He leaned back in his chair, giving me a thoughtful look. "Well, sometimes it's not about figuring it out right away. Sometimes, it's just about being aware of the feeling and letting it guide you. Trust your instincts, Marigold. They're usually right."

I nodded slowly, his words sinking in. Maybe that was it. Maybe my instincts were trying to tell me something, something I wasn't ready to face just yet.