Page 85 of Meadowsweet and Marigold
She shifted against him, turning slightly so she could watch the fire while still maintaining their contact. The flames reflected in her eyes, making them look liquid and distant, as if she was seeing something far beyond the present moment.
"But never to the extent that she pulled in the end. I thought we were competing in a healthy way, pushing each other to be better. I didn't realize she saw it as a zero-sum game where my success meant her failure."
The sadness in her voice made Meadow's chest tighten with protective anger toward a woman he'd never met. To betray a sibling's trust so completely, to use intimate knowledge of their vulnerabilities as weapons—it spoke to a kind of cruelty he couldn't fathom.
"I'm sorry," he said simply, his hand continuing its gentle movement through her hair. "That must have been devastating to realize."
"It was," she whispered, her gaze still fixed on the dancing flames. "Because it meant that everything I thought I knew about my life was wrong. Not just my relationship with her, but with everyone. If she could lie to my face for years while planning my downfall, what did that say about my judgment? About my ability to trust anyone?"
The question hung in the air between them, weighted with implications that extended far beyond her relationship with Magnolia. Meadow could hear the doubt beneath her words, the way betrayal had shaken her faith in her own perceptions.
"You're not responsible for other people's deception," he told her, meaning every word. "Someone's ability to lie convincingly doesn't reflect poorly on your ability to trust. It reflects poorly on their character, not yours."
She turned her head slightly, enough to look up at him, and the vulnerability in her expression made his breath catch. This close, he could see the flecks of gold in her green eyes, could count the freckles scattered across the bridge of her nose, could feel the warmth of her breath against his neck.
"I worked so hard," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "My whole life revolved around success, around beingperfect, around making everyone proud. I put the world ahead of myself for so long, thinking that if I just achieved enough, earned enough recognition, that I'd finally feel... worthy, I guess."
The admission broke something open in Meadow's chest. He'd suspected there were depths to her pain beyond simple romantic betrayal, but hearing her articulate the existential crisis that Magnolia's actions had triggered made him want to gather her against him and promise that she'd never have to question her worth again.
"You thought your pack was on board because they encouraged you," he said, understanding dawning. "They told you they supported your dreams."
"Constantly," she confirmed, leaning more heavily against him, as if his solid presence could anchor her to something real. "They came to performances, celebrated my successes, told me how proud they were. In the end, everyone was lying to my face, and I was simply the fool who wished to believe she was supported."
She closed her eyes, and Meadow watched a tear slip down her cheek, catching firelight as it traced a path to her jaw. The sight made something fierce and protective rise in his chest, a desire to hunt down everyone who'd hurt her and make them understand the magnitude of what they'd destroyed.
"You weren't a fool," he said firmly. "You were trusting people who didn't deserve that trust. That makes them unworthy, not you naive."
They sat in silence for a moment, the only sounds the gentle crackling of the fire and the soft whisper of wind through the trees outside. Meadow could feel the wine working through his system, making him more aware of her warmth against his side, of the way her hair smelled like vanilla and something uniquely her.
"What do you want now?" he asked finally, the question prompted by genuine curiosity about her hopes for the future. "You have this freedom, this chance to start over. What does that look like for you?"
Marigold was quiet for so long that he wondered if she'd dozed off against his shoulder. But then she stirred slightly, opening her eyes to stare into the dying embers of the fire.
"I want to start new on my terms," she said slowly, as if the words were being pulled from some deep place within her. "I want to do things that will give me new experiences, things I never had time for when my entire life was scheduled down to the minute."
She paused, taking another small sip of wine before continuing.
"I drilled myself to aim for perfection for so long, but that's not what was making me happy. I was trapped in a cycle that centered the world around me and not my true dreams. I understand now that while dance was my passion, it had gotten to the point where I was losing the joy of it. The pressure to be perfect, to be worthy of everyone else's expectations... it was killing the thing I loved most."
The pain in her voice was palpable, the grief of someone who'd watched their greatest joy be slowly strangled by external demands. Meadow found himself tightening his arm around her, offering what comfort he could through simple human contact.
"So now I'm going to discover new joy," she continued, her voice gaining strength with each word. "By doing things I never had time for, by exploring interests that have nothing to do with performance or perfection. By putting myself first for once instead of constantly sacrificing my own needs for other people's approval."
The determination in her voice stirred something warm and admiring in Meadow's chest. This was the woman he'd glimpsedbeneath the careful composure—fierce and resilient and ready to fight for her own happiness.
"I'll help you do just that," he said, the promise emerging before he'd fully considered it. "And I know Flint and Gus would be happy to join in too. Whatever you want to try, whatever experiences you want to have—we'll make it happen."
She lifted her head from his shoulder to look at him directly, surprise and something else—hope, maybe—flickering in her eyes. "How are you going to help when you're all so busy? The ranch requires so much work, and you each have your own careers..."
"We can take turns," he said, the plan forming as he spoke. "Each of us could introduce you to different activities around town, different hobbies or interests you might want to explore. The ranch isn't super busy aside from maintenance and tending to the animals, so there's always room for different activities."
The idea appealed to him more than he'd expected. Not just the chance to spend more time with her, but the opportunity to see Willowbend through her eyes, to rediscover his own community through the perspective of someone experiencing it fresh.
"Flint could teach you about metalworking if you're interested," he continued, warming to the theme. "Gus knows every hiking trail and swimming hole within fifty miles. I could show you the parts of the ranch most people never see—the old growth forest on the north boundary, the meadow where the wild horses sometimes graze."
Marigold's eyes brightened with each suggestion, the wine and the warmth of the fire and the promise of new experiences combining to bring color back to her cheeks.
"You really think they'd want to do that?" she asked, and the careful hope in her voice made his chest tight with affection. "It wouldn't be a burden?"
