Chapter 55

CHAPTER 55

MARIGOLD

I put down my purse, amazed by Zayn's amazing apartment. After seeing my own tiny little space emptied, I realized just how small my apartment was compared to his penthouse. I couldn't resist walking to the windows and looking out at the city. There were gray clouds rolling in. It would either rain or snow. I hoped it was just rain. I didn't want to deal with snow just yet. I would get plenty of that back home in Wyoming.

I turned away from the window and watched Zayn as he draped his suit jacket over the back of a chair. He rolled up his sleeves. When he said he was going to make dinner, I assumed he was going to order something.

But now, it looked like he was actually going to make a meal. I was impressed. I had no idea he knew how to cook.

But that thought was quickly dashed.

The moment Zayn opened the refrigerator and started rifling through the shelves, I knew we were in trouble. He pulled out a stick of butter and put it on the counter before going back into the fridge.

His usual smooth, composed demeanor had evaporated the second he started his attempt to make dinner. Gone was the confident, collected man who could command a room with just a glance. Instead, I watched him pull out random ingredients like he was spinning a culinary roulette wheel.

He stood in front of the open fridge, hands on hips and wearing a frown that looked both determined and bewildered. He pulled out a carton of eggs, scrutinized it for a moment, then put it next to the butter with a nod. The refrigerator door finally shut with a low hum, as if sighing in relief.

I hid my smile behind my hand, disguising it as a cough. "You sure you know what you're doing over there?" I teased, leaning against the counter with a smirk.

Zayn gave me a quick glance over his shoulder, flashing that infuriatingly handsome grin of his. "Of course, babe. I've got this under control."

The man had many talents, but as he fumbled with a carton of eggs and nearly dropped the entire thing, I realized cooking was definitely not one of them. I watched, half in amusement and half in disbelief, as he cracked the eggs into a bowl with so much force, one of the yolks splattered onto the countertop. Without skipping a beat, he wiped it up with his sleeve.

"Very sanitary." I laughed, shaking my head. "You want me to give you a hand? I'm not saying I'm an expert, but I'm starting to think this isn't quite your domain."

He turned back to me, shaking his head confidently. "I promised you dinner. I'm making you dinner. I've got this under control."

I crossed my arms, trying to suppress a smile. It was endearing, seeing him like this—so out of his element, yet determined to prove himself. Normally, Zayn was so polished and sure of everything he did. But here, in this kitchen, he was floundering.

I had no idea what he planned to make with eggs and a stick of butter. I was pretty sure he didn't either. He walked to his amazing walk-in pantry. I had to follow. This was too good not to watch.

Zayn came back with an unopened bag of flour and a puzzled look on his face as if he was trying to solve a math problem. He squinted at the flour, then the butter, then tossed a glance my way, as if looking for any hint of encouragement.

"Zayn, are you going to bake something?" I asked, but he waved me off dismissively.

"I've seen this done on TV," he insisted confidently. "A bit of this, a bit of that… and voila."

"What TV show was that?" I asked with a quirked eyebrow. "The Disaster Chef?"

Ignoring my jab, he turned back toward the ingredients, now looking slightly less confident. Still, he cleared his throat and squared his shoulders, clearly not ready to give up just yet.

He cut off a large chunk of butter and let it drop into the mixing bowl, causing droplets of raw egg to leap out in protest as if disturbed by the intrusion. Unfazed, he then proceeded to pour an exaggerated measure of flour in, causing a small cloud of white dust to puff up and settle on his suit pants.

He moved around the kitchen like a tornado, pulling out pots and pans, putting them on the stove, and opening and closing drawers at random.

I assumed he was attempting to make pancakes.

Maybe.

He poured what I supposed was batter into the hot pan. Steam rose and I knew that whatever concoction he prepared was now forever stuck to the bottom of the ungreased pan.

At one point, he tried to flip it. I cringed as half of it flew out and landed on the floor.

"Zayn!" I burst out laughing. "What is happening here? Are we cooking, or are we preparing a crime scene?"

"You just wait. This is going to be the best meal you've ever had. Trust me."

"Can I ask what it is?"

"Pancakes. Or crepes. I remember my mom used to make this."

I slowly nodded. "I see. Do you remember her adding anything else?"

"No. Maybe, but I know it's flour and egg. Oh, salt!"

He dumped salt in with a level of confidence that should have been reserved for someone who actually knew what they were doing. The smell of something burning started to fill the air. I glanced at the stove.

"Uh, Zayn, I think something's?—"

The smoke alarm cut me off, blaring through the kitchen. Zayn swore under his breath, grabbing a dishtowel and waving it around like a madman, trying to disperse the smoke.

I couldn't stop laughing. The whole situation was too ridiculous, and Zayn's flustered expression was the icing on the cake.

"This is not what I had in mind for a hot date," I teased, still laughing. "You said you were going to take care of me, remember?"

Zayn finally managed to get the alarm to shut off and turned to me with a sheepish grin. "Okay, so maybe I'm not a Michelin-star chef. But I'm giving it my best shot."

I shook my head, still chuckling. "Maybe I should call it quits now and find a man who knows what he's doing in the kitchen."

He raised an eyebrow, walking toward me with that cocky, irresistible swagger of his. "Is that so?" He leaned in, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "You really think you could find a better cook than me, huh?"

I bit my lip, unable to hold back the smile. "Yes. One hundred percent."

He chuckled, brushing his fingers lightly against my arm, sending a shiver down my spine. "How about we see how this meal turns out before you make any rash decisions?"

I rolled my eyes. "Babe?"

"Yes?"

"I'm not eating whatever you're calling that," I said.

He groaned and shook his head. "I swear I was trying to impress you. This is not how I imagined tonight going."

"You cooking for me? It's a disaster. Maybe you should stick to what you're good at."

He smirked. "Like what?"

I raised an eyebrow, giving him a playful look. "Oh, I don't know. Sweeping me off my feet in Mallorca. Making me feel like the most beautiful woman in the world. Banging me in the office at the bank. Stuff like that."

His smile fell away, and he suddenly got very serious. "You are the most beautiful woman in the world, Marigold. That hasn't changed."

I felt my heart skip a beat. There was something in his voice—something raw, vulnerable—that made my chest tighten. This was all very real to him, just like it was for me. This was about us. Despite all the chaos and uncertainty, he still wanted me.

But there was something else weighing on my mind. As much as I wanted to be with him, there was my father. The promises I had made to him. The fact that Green River was where I needed to be right now. I couldn't just abandon that, no matter how much I wanted Zayn.

If he would have said all of this a week ago, maybe things would have been different.

He seemed to sense my hesitation because he let out a long sigh. "You have to go back, don't you?"

I nodded, my throat tightening. "Yeah. I can't just leave my dad after getting his hopes up."

Zayn was quiet for a moment. "I could come with you," he said finally. "We could figure it out. I could fly back and forth between New York and Wyoming, manage the business from there. I could even buy us a house down the street from your dad's place. We'd make it work."

The idea was tempting, but I couldn't shake the feeling that it wasn't realistic. Zayn was a man used to the fast-paced life of New York. Green River was too small for me, let alone for someone like him.

I shook my head slowly. "I don't think that would make you happy, Zayn. I love you, but maybe we just weren't meant to be. Maybe all we were supposed to have was this fun little business arrangement and great sex."

He frowned, clearly not liking where this conversation was headed. "I don't believe that. There has to be more. I want more with you. The house. The family. The memories. Old age. All of it."

His words tugged at my heartstrings, but I couldn't ignore the reality of our situation. I loved him, but I didn't see how we could make this work.

His lips brushed mine in a kiss that was both desperate and passionate. I kissed him back, but even as things heated up between us, a part of me knew this couldn't last.

When we finally pulled away, I rested my forehead against his. "It's time to announce the split," I whispered.

Zayn's eyes searched mine, as if looking for any sign that I might change my mind. "Are you sure?"

I nodded, even though my heart felt like it was breaking in two. "I'm sure."

He pulled back with a pained expression. "I'll tell Kate to go ahead with the release."

I nodded, feeling like my heart was in my throat. With a few quick taps, he sent the message to his PR rep, instructing her to break the news tomorrow on his socials. It was done. Marigold and Zayn would officially be over.

He looked at me, his voice rough. "You're still keeping the money."

I shook my head. "No. The only thing I'll take from you is one last night together."

He didn't argue. Instead, he kissed me again, and this time, there was no holding back. We both knew this was the end, and we wanted to savor every last moment of it.

"Why don't I order us a real meal?" he said with a half-smile. "We'll stay in. Eat in the nude."

I laughed. "Depending on what you order, that could be dangerous."

"If you spill anything, I will happily lick it off you."

I laughed again, and this time it was less of a laugh and more of a sob. He squeezed my hand gently and then picked up his phone to order food. I watched him as he scrolled through the menu. He always looked so confident and determined, even when he was just ordering takeout.

It was so hard to accept this would be our last night together.