Chapter 62

CHAPTER 62

ZAYN

A irports during the holidays were like purgatory. Or maybe worse. If there was a level below purgatory where you were stuck in a constant state of chaos, surrounded by screaming kids, disgruntled adults, and the distant stench of over-salted pretzels, I was pretty sure I'd found it at JFK. And lucky me, I'd been here for hours.

This had to be some kind of penance for my life choices up to this point. I had twenty-nine years of poor decision-making to account for. Apparently, it was all going to happen right now. I had more money than God, and even I could not buy my way out of this horror.

The airport smelled strongly of disinfectant, mixed with the heavy scents of greasy fast food and stale coffee floating through the security checkpoint. Crammed in the crowd of holiday travelers, I was picking up slight hints of perfume and cologne, the cheap kind, along with the underlying odor of sweat.

I wasn't the only one stressed out. People were panicking with the typical slew of canceled and delayed flights. Weather was coming in and it was already hitting some of the midwest where it seemed everyone was trying to get to—including me.

Overhead speakers blared announcements, and muffled conversations echoed throughout the terminal. Every announcement elicited groans and slumped shoulders from travelers all trying to get where they were going. My nerves were shot. By the time I made it to the front of the line to buy a ticket, I was riding that last nerve like it was a lightning bolt.

"A one-way ticket to Green River, Wyoming, please," I said, trying to keep the desperation out of my voice. The lady behind the counter looked at me with an exhausted gaze, her eyes underscored by shadows that hinted at her busy holiday season.

"Sir, we have a severe weather warning," she said matter-of-factly, the edges of her words hardened from repeating this very phrase again and again.

"Here, yes, but what about Wyoming?"

She rolled her eyes and started typing. "There are no flights to that airport."

"Okay, another airport in the general area, then?" I was doing all I could not to lose my shit. It wasn't this lady's fault the sky was shitting down snow.

"No."

"Can you get me to Wyoming?!" I exclaimed. "The state. I'll take a damn stagecoach to get to Green River, but I need to get to Wyoming first."

She glanced at her computer screen, her fingers dancing over the keyboard for a minute before she looked at me again. I saw her frustration as well. "Sir, as I've already explained, we are fully booked. There are no seats available."

Sweat trickled down the side of my face despite the cold winter weather outside the door. Her customer service voice had gone from mildly polite to somewhere in the realm of "I've already written your obituary in my mind."

"You don't understand. I have to get to Green River, Wyoming. It's an emergency." I leaned in with what I hoped was my most charming grin. Normally, that worked. I'd been voted Sexiest Man Alive three years running, after all. This woman, however, seemed impervious to all levels of charm. I might as well have been smiling at a brick wall.

"An emergency?" she asked, deadpan, raising an eyebrow like she didn't believe me for a second. "Is someone dying?"

"No, but?—"

"Is it a medical emergency? Are you a doctor? A transplant organ donor?"

I blinked. "No, but I really need to?—"

"Look, Mr. Bancroft, I'm not bumping someone who thought ahead to buy their ticket weeks in advance for a guy like you." She shot me a pointed glance, eyes lingering like she knew exactly who I was.

Right. Of course, she'd read the articles.

I let out a long sigh. Great. Here we go.

"You've heard all the rumors about me, haven't you?" I asked, trying to sound casual, like it wasn't a big deal.

She didn't answer, but the twitch in her lip was enough. Of course, she'd read them. Who hadn't at this point? Zayn Bancroft, the lying billionaire, buying wives and ruining lives. The guy who faked an engagement to a sweet, innocent girl. For what reason? I wasn't even sure anymore. Whatever the internet had collectively decided on this week.

"Fine," I muttered, rubbing a hand over my face. "Look, I'll make you a deal. I'll pay whatever it costs. Triple the price of a first-class ticket. No—quadruple. I don't care. Just get me on that plane. I'll put your kids through college. Anything you want."

Her expression didn't budge. "Sir," she said slowly, as if talking to a toddler, "it's not about the money. There are no seats left. The flights are all full."

"I'll buy the fucking plane," I growled. "Hell, I'll buy the airline."

"Then do it and give me a frigging break." She looked like she wanted to punch me square in the nose. "You've been up here three times, harassing every single ticket counter for the last two hours. You aren't getting it, buddy. You are not getting on a flight out of this airport. Period. Stop wasting everyone's time. Do you not understand tickets sell out months ahead of this weekend? Look around. Everyone wants to go somewhere."

I opened my mouth to argue again, but the guy behind me in line cut in with a snort loud enough to turn a few heads. "Hey, man, we all have places to be. It's Christmas. You've had your turn. Move."

I shot him a look, but that only seemed to encourage him. Now everyone around us was looking at me. The slow recognition crept through the crowd, followed by murmurs, the telltale sign of whispers spreading like wildfire. Here we go again.

"That's him, right? The guy from the news?"

"Yeah, the fake fiancée guy. What a jerk."

"He's just trying to cut in line now. Typical rich prick."

The whispers quickly turned to full-on boos. The kind of booing you would expect at a football game when your team fumbled in the last quarter.

Awesome .

For reasons I couldn't quite explain, I just lost it.

I started laughing.

Not the polite kind of laugh. Not the chuckle that slipped out when someone made an awkward joke. No, this was a full-on, hysterical, borderline maniacal laugh. The kind that made people take a step back, wondering if you were seconds away from a nervous breakdown.

Maybe I was.

The crowd was definitely wondering if I was about to strip naked and start licking the floor. I could see it in their faces. The guy behind me gave me a wary glance like I might just start flipping tables WWE style.

I waved a hand, trying to catch my breath between laughs. "Merry Christmas, you assholes ," I muttered under my breath. Not loud enough for them to hear, but it made me feel better.

This was it. I was officially going insane. I had been at this airport for what felt like an eternity, trying every trick in the book to get to Green River before Christmas. But apparently, fate had other plans. I was about two seconds from admitting defeat and crawling back into an Uber to spend the holidays holed up in my penthouse with a bottle of whiskey and a tragic playlist.

This was why I needed my own plane. The family shared a couple of planes but they were all in use. Even rich pricks like me had to reserve the family jets in advance.

I couldn't charter a flight because they were all booked. Everyone was fleeing like the apocalypse was coming. Add in the fucking snowstorm barreling down on the city and I was absolutely fucked. Stranded. I couldn't drive because of the weather. A train would take forever.

If I could find a plane to buy right that minute, I would have done it. I had looked, but it turned out there was a little more to it than simply writing a check.

Fuck me.

As I turned to leave, already accepting my miserable fate, a murmur rippled through the crowd again. Great. More whispering. What now?

Out of nowhere, someone shoved a phone into my hands. I blinked at the screen, confused, before realizing what I was looking at.

It was Marigold.

Her face filled the screen, a little blurry from the low-quality video but unmistakably her. She was sitting in front of a Christmas tree. I recognized the wall and the chair. She was at her dad's house. And she was pouring her heart out.

"The lie started because of me," she was saying, her voice soft but steady. "I wanted to impress people. People from my old life. People who'd moved on, done bigger things, and I didn't feel like I was enough. So, I lied. I told them Zayn and I were engaged, and it just snowballed from there."

An arrow straight to the heart.

I stared at the screen, barely processing the words before the video cut off. The person who'd handed me the phone was looking at me expectantly, like I was supposed to have some sort of life-altering epiphany right there in the middle of JFK airport.

And, well, maybe I did.

I whipped around so fast I almost knocked the phone out of her hand. I stormed back to the check-in counter with renewed determination, slapping my hands down on the counter like I was about to start a revolution.

"Okay. I need to get on that plane." I stared the clerk dead in the eyes. "No matter what it takes. You know who I am. You know how much money I have. I will pay you enough money to retire right now. You'll never have to deal with another angry traveler again."

She looked unimpressed. "Sir, for the last time?—"

Before she could finish her sentence, someone behind me spoke up.

"Hey, you can have my ticket. I don't really want to go to Wyoming today. I'll get another flight."

I turned around, and sure enough, there was a guy standing there holding up his boarding pass like it was no big deal.

"Are you serious?" I asked, half-expecting this to be some kind of prank.

"Yeah," he said, shrugging casually. "I was going to visit my cousin in Green River, but I can take a later flight. You look like you need it more."

I stared at him, speechless. This was a miracle. A literal Christmas miracle.

"I—uh—wow. Thank you," I stammered, still trying to wrap my head around it. "I'll write you a check right now. How much? A million? Five?"

"No," the guy said with a smile. "Just pay it forward when you get the chance, okay?"

I nodded, still in shock. "Yeah. Yeah, of course."

I handed over the boarding pass to the check-in clerk, who looked equally stunned but finally started typing something into her computer. A few minutes later, she handed me my new ticket with a begrudging sigh.

"Gate Twelve," she said. "Have a nice flight, Mr. Bancroft."

I took the ticket, my heart still racing. I couldn't believe it. I was actually going to make it to Green River. I was going to see Marigold.

Turning back toward my savior, I pulled out my wallet and shoved every last dollar I had on me into his hand. "You have to take this."

It was probably a thousand bucks or so.

The guy grinned and nodded. "Happy to help."

"Thank you," I said. "Seriously, if you ever need something, you know how to find me."

I glanced back at the crowd of people who had been booing me only minutes ago. They were still staring, probably trying to figure out what just happened. I gave them a little wave and a grin, feeling a hell of a lot better than I had all day.

"Merry Christmas," I called out, this time without any muttering of insults under my breath.

And with that, I headed toward security, my heart pounding with anticipation.

I was going to Green River.

I was going to see Marigold.