Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

On a warm spring evening, Zoya reluctantly followed Monet into the bustling bar. Laughter mingled with the clinking of glasses, as Monet’s college classmates gathered for celebratory drinks. With graduation around the corner, the atmosphere buzzed with anticipation.

Yet, amid the festivities, Zoya struggled to join in the enthusiasm, her thoughts consumed by the impending separation looming over them. Weeks had slipped by too quickly, leaving her selfishly unprepared to be away from each other.

As they delved into discussions about life after graduation, Zoya couldn’t help but steal glances at Monet, whose infectious smile and laughter seamlessly blended with the others. Each laugh felt like a bittersweet melody, filling Zoya with guilt. She was supposed to be a supportive girlfriend, but all she could worry about was how this new distance would affect their relationship.

After a few girls shared their plans, Monet’s eyes shimmered with excitement as she leaned in, eager to share her news. “Finally, my turn,” she exclaimed, growing bored and impatient after waiting for what felt like an eternity.

“After graduation, I’m going to be laser-focused on starting my career,” she announced proudly. “I’ve landed a PR internship with one of the top firms in Los Angeles, no surprise there. I’ll be working with some of the biggest names in the industry and making a real impact.”

The other girls gasped in awe, their faces lighting up with admiration, though a hint of jealousy lingered beneath the surface. "Wow, Monet, that's amazing!" a few of them chimed in.

"I know," Monet replied with a confident grin. "I can't wait to dive in and start making waves." She thrived off the envy in the room. This was her chance to create a name for herself, independent of her mother's influence or the shadow of biotech. It was time to show everyone what she knew she was capable of all along.

“And what about you Zoya?” one of them asked.

Monet interjected, “Oh, Zoya isn’t graduating, she’s a year behind me. Should be two, but she racked up college credits during high school in her typical nerd fashion,” Monet quipped.

As the conversation redirected back to Monet’s internship, Zoya couldn’t shake off the growing unease. A knot formed in her stomach at the thought of Monet embarking on a new chapter of her life while she remained behind for another year. What if, when Monet goes to L.A and starts her internship, she doesn't see Zoya as adult enough for her new life, or worse, forgets all about her and finds someone new? What if she decides to move there permanently?

While her mind raced with these thoughts and questions, the chatter around Zoya turned into a blur, drowning her in a sea of noise. Desperate to escape the suffocating atmosphere, Zoya gracefully excused herself from the group.

On her way to the washroom, an impulsive urge seized her, prompting her to backtrack. She found a spot in front of the crowded bar, needing a second to collect her thoughts. It seemed like the perfect refuge.

The bartender approached, asking, “What can I get for you?”

Zoya’s heart raced, and she stammered, about to explain that she didn’t want anything, but then, driven by a rebellious spirit, she leaned against the counter.

“Actually, can I get a shot of tequila?” she blurted out, defying her usual reserved nature. But in that moment, she knew she needed this departure – a way to loosen up and make it through the rest of the night by Monet’s side.

The fiery liquid scorched her throat as she bravely downed the shot, offering a fleeting distraction from what awaited her. Scanning the lively crowd, her attention veered back to the group. As she observed them, her eyes were magnetically drawn to Monet, absorbed in conversation, her radiant smile reflecting excitement for the future.

Caught in the grip of insecurity, Zoya hesitated, then signaled the bartender for another.

**

With a newfound determination coursing through her, Zoya decided to bring a round of shots back to the table. Carrying the tray with a confident yet unsteady walk, she returned to the group, eager to show she could be the supportive girlfriend Monet deserved.

Setting the shots down, she raised a toast. “Here’s to Columbia’s graduating class of 2027,” she declared, her voice carefully concealing her true worries. With a tender smile, Zoya leaned in and planted a kiss on Monet’s cheek, catching her off guard.

Shortly after, the effects of the tequila combined with the earlier margaritas began to hit Zoya hard. She definitely wasn’t used to consuming this much alcohol, and her embarrassingly low tolerance was becoming apparent.

Every attempt to act normal proved increasingly challenging as the room spun around her. Despite the ongoing conversation, Zoya struggled to keep up, her words slipping out in a slightly disjointed manner, and her movements becoming more reckless.

Graduation had become an especially touchy subject for her; she didn’t want to hear about it anymore, fearful she might say something regrettable. So, whenever the subject resurfaced, she tried to steer it in a different direction.

“Heyy, here’s a crazy idea. How about we forget all this graduation talk?” Zoya slurred, her words tangled. “Because I hate to be the one to break it to you guys, but college, my friends, is the best it’s ever gonna get.”

A sneer cut through the air as one of the girls, Isabella, responded with a snicker, "Maybe for you."

Monet’s eyes immediately shot daggers at her. “Let’s keep it light and fun tonight, hmm?” she added a subtle warning to ease up on Zoya. The truth was, most of these girls were merely her acquaintances, and she didn’t particularly care about them; she merely tolerated their presence because they were in her program.

Zoya, still attempting to remind them how amazing college was, continued with determination, as if it was magically going to make Monet want to stay or something. “Aren’t any of you going to miss having no responsibilities, the parties, and….uhh, what was I saying?” She paused, taking a swig from her glass. “Oh yeah, not the boring grown-up stuff. Come on, don’t you just wish we could stay here together forever?” she pleaded with a hint of desperation, her gaze unconsciously fixed on Monet.

Monet sat there with her mouth slightly agape, feeling she was supposed to answer but didn’t know what to say. There was a momentary pause, and then Isabella deadpanned, “No,” as the rest of them tried to stifle their laughter, effectively taking the focus off of her.

Unaware of the judgment, Zoya let out a tipsy giggle, joining in. However, Monet wasn’t going to let Isabella’s snark comment slide. Zoya might be too drunk to care, but Monet wasn’t going to allow anyone to disrespect her girlfriend like that.

Monet's eyes narrowed with a protective glare, her voice cutting through the room with a firm and authoritative tone. “You can be nice to my girlfriend, or you can leave,” she ordered, her words leaving no room for argument.

The table fell into an uncomfortable silence as Monet’s authoritative presence asserted itself. Isabella, realizing she had overstepped, hesitated before offering a reluctant apology. Just like at Constance, Monet still had a way of making people think twice before crossing her, and now that extended to Zoya.

The conversation quickly resumed to normal with everyone now on their best behavior. They began discussing finals when Zoya jumped into an intoxicated rant about her playwright class.

However, Zoya’s animated and unsteady gestures led to an unintentional collision with her own drink. It splashed everywhere, including all over Isabella, who jumped back in disgust.

“Shit. I’m sorry,” Zoya yelled out, her face flushed with embarrassment.

Right before Isabella was about to express her anger, Monet raised an eyebrow. Isabella, now reminded of Monet’s ability to unleash serious wrath, quickly shifted from tense to accommodating.

“You know what? I didn’t even like this dress, anyway,” she lied, forcing out a nervous laugh.

“Neither did I,” Monet fired back, a playful smirk tugging at her lips.

Luckily, one of Monet’s actual friends, Naomi, wasn’t a total snob. She chuckled, jumping in to help clean up the spill. “Looks like you’re really feeling it, huh?” she teased Zoya, breaking the tension.

Zoya managed a sheepish smile. ”Just a bit…” she admitted.

Monet interjected, her irritation evident. “It’s not her fault. She’s a total lightweight,” she defended, discreetly moving any drinks away from her reach. Then, with a concerned expression, she leaned in, whispering, “Zoya, maybe it’s time to slow down. You don’t seem like yourself tonight.”

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, trying to brush off the concern. “No, no, I’m fine. Just having a good time,” she insisted. Then, signaling the waiter over to request another drink and an order of nachos.

But, before she could finish her request, Monet cut her off with a stern tone. “Zoya, seriously, let’s get you home. You’ve had enough.”

“But the nachos?” she pouted, casting a hopeful glance at the waiter.

Sensing the tension, the waiter paused, unsure whether to proceed with the order. Monet dismissed him, and continued to argue with Zoya until she finally gave in.

“If you insist, your highness of the drinks kingdom,” Zoya responded resentfully as she attempted to stand up, accidentally knocking her chair back in the process. The clatter drew a few glances from nearby tables, adding to the spectacle of the night.

Monet sighed, realizing that managing a drunk Zoya was becoming more challenging by the minute. She gently tried to guide her towards the door, but Zoya suddenly wriggled out of her grasp, staggering a bit as she tried to maintain her balance. She then turned back with a wave, shouting, “Bye, you guys are the best. Except for you, Isabella, you are sort of the worst?”

Monet gave an apologetic glance at her classmates, her eyes silently conveying both amusement and regret. A few of them started to offer assistance, but Monet assured them she had it all under control, before leading her outside.

As they stepped out into the cool night air, Zoya briefly clung to Monet, the brisk breeze doing little to sober her up.

They began the short walk to their fortunately nearby apartment. The streets were dimly lit, casting a soft glow on the sidewalk, and the distant hum of the city would have been serene under normal circumstances.

Zoya, caught up in the whimsy of the moment, let go and stumbled down the street, passionately reciting Maya Angelou’s powerful words through the quiet night, her voice echoing against the empty buildings.

“You may write me down in history with your bitter, twisted lies. You may trod me in the very dirt. But still, like dust, I’ll rise.” She swayed, on the verge of tipping over, her face filled with contentment.

As an embarrassed Monet struggled to keep up with her, she couldn’t help but express surprise, tinged with laughter. “Babe, I cannot believe you got Maya Angelou drunk tonight,” she remarked, referencing the rare occasions she had witnessed Zoya after six drinks.

"Monet, do you know why the caged bird sings?" Zoya asked emotionally as she drew closer to her, pointing a finger at her chest for emphasis.

“I have a feeling you’re about to tell me,” she joked, raising an eyebrow playfully.

Zoya continued with dramatic gestures. "Just like moons and like suns, with the certainty of tides… just like hopes, springing high, still I’ll rise," she declared with conviction before falling into Monet’s arms.

Caught off guard, Monet grunted as she tried to support Zoya’s sudden weight. "Okay. Oh.”

**

After a quick setback, Zoya staggered as she walked, her arm once again linked with Monet's. Her guilt spilled out as they strolled along, "I’m sorry I ruined your night.”

Monet reassured her, "It’s fine. It’s not like I’m going to talk to half of them after graduation anyways." Sensing Zoya’s lingering guilt, she added, “Seriously, don’t worry about it. They are so dull; they make me want to drink myself to oblivion too.” She tried to lighten the mood with a smirk.

Suddenly, Zoya's brow furrowed in confusion as she stopped and turned to Monet. "Wait, why aren't you as drunk as I am right now?" she asked, oblivious.

“Because I am not a lightweight? And I don’t take tequila shots solo at the bar,” she replied, her observant eyes capturing every detail. With a wink and a gentle squeeze of Zoya's arm, Monet resumed leading them through the streets, wearing a patient smile.

They continued walking, and Zoya’s words poured out like an unfiltered stream of consciousness. “Monet, I love you, you know? Like, so, so much,” she mumbled.

Monet let out an exasperated breath, a mix of frustration and affection in her eyes. “Yes, Zoya. You’ve only told me five times already,” she added with a laugh.

“But, it’s true!” Zoya insisted, hiccuping. “I want to make sure you know how much I love you, especially tonight. I can’t help it, Monet de Haan, I’m a fool for you, and I just want the whole world to know.”

Monet tried to suppress a smile at Zoya's relentless enthusiasm. "Trust me, they know," she said, gesturing to the people on the street who could all hear her right now.

Zoya, however, was undeterred. She came to a sudden stop in the middle of the sidewalk, ignoring Monet’s attempts to steer the conversation elsewhere. Raising her arms defiantly, she let out a declaration of passion, shouting, “I LOVE THIS WOMAN RIGHT HERE !!!!”

“Oh my god,” Monet muttered, feeling utterly mortified. With panicked wide eyes, she swiftly pulled Zoya back towards her. “Okay, time to get you home. Now,” she urged.

**

Five minutes later, Monet found herself being dragged by Zoya into a bodega, her current state left no room for refusal.

"Come on, Monet! I'm starving," she pleaded urgently.

Monet sighed, but relented. "Fine, but make it quick," she warned as they entered, the fluorescent lights flickering overhead.

Inside, Zoya was overwhelmed by the options, her eyes widening at the variety of snacks and drinks lining the shelves. Monet trailed behind her, already regretting giving in to Zoya’s insistent hunger.

"Ugh, I want everything," Zoya groaned, her eyes scanning the shelves in awe.

Monet, growing increasingly impatient, urged, “Zoya, just pick something, please. I can’t have anyone see me in here!” she added, looking around nervously.

“This decision is crucial, Monet. It could alter the very trajectory of my life! I must choose wisely,” she said dramatically, causing Monet to roll her eyes.

“Just get whatever you want. At this rate, I might as well buy the entire store,” she said with a serious yet aggravated tone, catching the amused glance of the cashier.

So, Zoya stumbled towards the cashier, piling a bunch of junk food onto the counter, and making a few last minute additions. “Hi…” she squinted at the man’s name tag and cheerfully exclaimed, “Michael!”

She then slouched on the coucher, and bragged, “The lady said I could get whatever I want,” eliciting a laugh from him. Leaning in, believing she was being discreet, she whispered, “And by ‘lady,’ I mean that insanely hot woman over there who is totally out of my league. That’s my girlfriend.”

Unknown to Zoya, Monet had strolled over, silently listening to the entire confession. "Unfortunately!" she added sarcastically, placing a water bottle on the counter.

"How lucky am I? I mean, seriously, she’s like the most amazing, gorgeous, and smartest person ever," Zoya proclaimed, throwing her arm around Monet, who turned to her with an arched brow and a smirk.

As Zoya continued to gush about her, Monet snapped. “Will you excuse us for a moment?” she interjected sharply. With a forced smile at the cashier, she grabbed Zoya by the arm and pulled her towards one of the aisles.

Once they were out of earshot, she couldn't contain her irritation any longer. "Okay, what's going on with you today?" she demanded, her forced smile replaced with a look of annoyance.

Zoya, looking genuinely confused, responded, “What do you mean? I’m just expressing my love for you. Isn’t that a good thing?”

"Come on, the constant declarations, the lovey-dovey act, it's getting a bit weird, Zoya. Even for you. So, spill, now." She crossed her arms, her concern deepening.

“It’s nothing,” Zoya protested, chuckling nervously.

Monet’s eyes then narrowed with realization. "Is this about me graduating and taking the internship?"

Zoya's expression faltered, and she glanced away for a moment. “Yes…”

“I knew it!” Monet exclaimed, snapping her fingers. “But you seemed fine with it?”

“Because I am!” Zoya began to ramble on. “It’s just…you’re about to graduate, and I’m stuck here for another year. What if you forget about me?” Her voice trembled as she looked up at Monet. “What if you find someone else?”

Monet brushed off her concerns with a casual wave of her hand. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

But Zoya persisted, her desperation clear in every word. “I’m serious, what am I gonna do without you next year? Promise me you won’t forget me!” she pleaded.

Monet’s heart softened. She reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair from Zoya's face. "Zoya, you know I could never forget about you." she said tenderly. “And besides, my internship is only for a few months. LA is just a six hour-flight away, I checked. And it’s even faster when your girlfriend has a private jet.”

“You say that now but couples drift – what if we drift? I mean, you’re off to bigger and better things, and I’m just here. It’s like we're on different paths – and literal time zones now. And you’re the best thing to ever happen to me, and I’m so afraid of losing you, Monet I –” her words tumbling out, filled with worry.

Monet’s sharp voice cut her off, snapping her back to reality. “Zoya, listen to me. Graduation doesn’t change how I feel about you, and I’m not going anywhere. We’ve made it through much worse, like Gossip Girl for starters. We survived the tempest that is my mother and triumphed over the trials of my transition to college, remember? If those challenges didn’t break us, what makes you think graduation will?” A smug expression crossed her face, knowing she was right.

“I guess…” her worry easing slightly, though she wasn’t fully convinced.

“And I’m quite certain more hurdles lie ahead in our future, unfortunately,” Monet continued. “but rest assured, we’ll make it work, and come out even stronger because that’s what we always do. I promise.” She reached out, taking Zoya's hand in hers.

Zoya’s attention seemed to wander, then her eyes lit up with sudden clarity, sparked by Monet’s words. She withdrew and began rummaging through the nearby candy display. After a frantic search, she triumphantly held up a watermelon ring pop, as if it held the answer to all her worries.

She tore open the packaging, calling out, “Don’t worry Mike, I’m gonna pay for this too – well, she is.” Then, slightly out of breath, she approached Monet before dropping to one knee.

Monet blinked in confusion, her brow furrowing. "What is happening right now?" she asked, her eyes darting around nervously.

“I’m proposing, like you just suggested?”

“That’s not what I…Get off the floor, it’s gross,” Monet demanded, initially laughing it off , assuming it was some sort of joke. But as she saw the earnestness in Zoya's eyes, her laughter faded, and her eyes widened in shock. “Wait…you’re serious? Are you insane??”

“Possibly, but I’m certain of this.” Zoya's heart pounded with determination as she knelt, feeling it was the right moment to take her chance. “Monet Makeda de Haan, will you marry me?”

“Oh my god. Zoya stop, you’re embarrassing me!” she exclaimed, covering her face with one hand, trying to contain her mortification.

Confused, Zoya glanced around. "From who? There's nobody in here except for the cashier?”

Monet sighed, trying to reason with Zoya. "Still! Can we talk about this at home, or, I don’t know, when you're not intoxicated?"

“No.” Zoya insisted stubbornly. “You said it yourself, we are going to make it through more challenges in the future, so why not start tackling them now? What's the point in waiting? We've been through so much together already, and I know what I want. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Monet.”

“I know you mean well, but you are not thinking clearly. When I mentioned facing challenges together, I didn’t envision tying the knot at 21,” Monet remarked, noticing Zoya’s fallen expression. She softened her tone and clarified, "It's not that I don't want to marry you; I do. I just don't think now is the right time."

Zoya grasped Monet's hand, her eyes pleading. “But why put it off? We love each other, don't we?”

“This isn’t about love, Zoya,” she responded firmly.

But Zoya wasn’t about to give up. She asked again, her voice begging. “Please, say yes,” she whispered. “Please, please, please.”

Monet found herself unable to resist Zoya’s persistent and adorable drunk face. She couldn’t bear to watch her girlfriend's sad and desperate attempt for much longer. Figuring Zoya wouldn't remember this tomorrow, she decided to give in, seeing it as the fastest and most harmless way to end the situation.

After a moment of contemplation, she relented with a resigned sigh. "Yes, I will marry you," she agreed, allowing Zoya to slip the ridiculous green ring pop onto her finger. "Now, let’s go get your snacks, and get out of here."

Zoya's eyes sparkled with joy as she planted a big, enthusiastic smooch on Monet's lips. Without wasting another moment, she seized Monet's hand and pulled her back to the counter to pay.

On their way out, Zoya made sure to announce proudly to the cashier, “She said yes!” gesturing towards Monet, who rolled her eyes with a fond smile. Monet flashed her ring, along with a so-help-me expression.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Monet awoke to find herself still sleeping alongside Zoya, who was sprawled out on the bed, looking like a disheveled mess despite being the one who had gotten all the sleep.

Monet’s mind was restless with worry after a sleepless night. She had made sure Zoya didn't cause any mishaps in the kitchen, guiding her to bed safely. However, even after Zoya fell asleep, Monet couldn’t find any rest. She was too preoccupied with fretting over every word Zoya had uttered, replaying the proposal over and over in her mind.

She tossed and turned, pondering what it all meant, whether Zoya was even going to remember it. The uncertainty gnawed at her, leaving her feeling unsettled. She began to question whether the proposal had aligned with what sober Zoya truly wanted and envisioned for them. Was it possible they weren’t on the same page like she thought?

As Monet glanced at the time on the bedside clock, she noted with a sinking feeling that it was almost noon. She forced herself to get up, her mind and body feeling heavy with exhaustion. Monet knew she loved Zoya deeply, but the thought of marriage right now was never in her vision. She wasn’t ready for that level of commitment. They were still young, with so much ahead of them to explore and experience together.

Her heart ached with conflict as she watched Zoya stir awake, her eyes squinting against the morning light.

“You’re up? How are you feeling?” Monet asked, feigning surprise, though in reality, she had been carefully watching her every move, trying to figure out what was going on in that mind.

Zoya winced, her head pounding from the previous night’s indulgences. “I feel like I got hit by a truck,” she muttered, her voice hoarse with regret.

“It happens, don’t worry about it,” Monet brushed off with a sigh. “Unfortunately I won’t be able to stay. Luna’s back from Paris, but I’ll order you your favorite before I go, okay?” She reached for her phone on the side table, intending to help ease Zoya’s hangover while she got ready.

And in that moment, Zoya’s eyes fell upon the ‘ring’ still adorning Monet’s finger, and a rush of memories flooded her mind, At first, confusion clouded her thoughts, but gradually she pieced together fragments of the previous night: the proposal, Monet saying a lot of words she didn’t remember, but ultimately she said yes.

She said yes.

Panic surged within Zoya as she realized the weight of Monet’s gesture. She hadn’t wanted any of this. She was drunk and stupid. This wasn’t like her at all. She had thought Monet knew that. But there it was, the ring, a symbol of Monet’s seriousness about their future together.

Then, Zoya, her voice trembling with disbelief, uttered without thinking, “You’re still wearing the ring?”

Monet glanced down, realizing she had never had a chance to remove it. Caught up in the chaos of the night and exhausted from taking care of Zoya, she hadn’t even noticed. It wasn’t exactly heavy.

Sensing Zoya’s confusion, Monet felt a flush of embarrassment crept up on her cheeks. She didn’t want her getting the wrong idea. “Right, I’ll take it off,” she offered with a nervous laugh, eager to finally put this behind them. But, before she could act, Zoya surprised her with words.

“No, you don’t have to. Keep it on, green looks good on you,” Zoya remarked with a sleepy smile.

Monet froze, her hands hovering over the ring, still uncertain if Zoya was serious. To break the tension, she responded with a hint of sarcasm, "Okay, but just know I’m expecting a real ring,” as she began to make her way out of the room.

"Of course! I’ll get right on that," Zoya replied hastily, not wanting to disappoint Monet. “Uh, What cut do you prefer again?”

“Emerald, and nothing less than five carats,” she stated matter-of-factly. However, she slowly realized that this wasn’t their usual banter. Zoya wasn’t joking, nor did she seem to regret the previous night’s events after all. She turned back around, slowly approaching the bed with a suspicious look, trying to gain some clarity. “Wait, so…you don’t regret proposing to me?”

Zoya wanted nothing more than to admit she did, but as she gazed at Monet, she couldn’t bear the thought of breaking her heart. Zoya observed Monet’s hopeful eyes, noting her nervous expression. She could sense that Monet was waiting anxiously for her response, probably terrified she might take it back.

So, she gulped, summoning her resolve, and replied, "No, of course not," meeting her gaze with sincerity shining in her eyes.

Then, Zoya asked back, “You don’t regret saying yes, right? I’m sure there’s all these possibilities going through your mind of what could go wrong. What people might think?” She hoped Monet, who was usually the realistic, brutally honest one, would give her some sort of out, sparing her from having to reveal her true feelings.

Monet wanted nothing more than to yell yes, listing every possible reason why this was the worst idea on the planet, but she knew that would hurt Zoya and paint her as the villain.

She couldn’t help but feel pity for Zoya at this moment. She looked like an anxious hot mess, and the last thing Monet wanted was to make things worse. Especially since she knew Zoya was already feeling insecure about the future of their relationship. Zoya could clearly use a win right now, and Monet didn’t want to knock her down and cause her to spiral further into self-doubt. That wouldn’t be good for either of them.

So, instead, she held back, her words caught in her throat. “No! Why would I?” she replied defensively, hiding her apprehension.

“Great,” Zoya forced a smile, the tension palpable in the room.

“Great!” Monet echoed, her response mirroring Zoya's, though her eyes betrayed her unease.

The room fell into an uneasy silence, with neither of them speaking. Their eyes darted around, each avoiding the other’s gaze.

Unable to endure the discomfort any longer, Monet finally spoke up, her words cutting through the awkwardness. “So, I’m going to go shower…I suggest you do the same,” she said, trying to assert some normalcy into the situation.

Zoya pleaded, her demeanor hopeful. "Can I get a kiss first?" she asked, pushing herself up from the bed, her eyes searching Monet's face, hoping to find reassurance that things were still okay between them.

Monet hesitated, her gaze assessing Zoya’s messy state. “Not until you clean yourself up,” she responded firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument. “You’re all sweaty and still reek of cheap tequila,” she added, still avoiding Zoya’s gaze.

While that was partially true, Monet suddenly felt a strange unease around Zoya. She had no idea how she was supposed to navigate their unique predicament.

Sensing the same tension, Zoya sighed audibly, her shoulders slumping as she tossed the covers aside and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. “Whatever you say,...fiance,” she muttered, the word feeling heavy on her tongue, not liking the sound of it.

**

Monet met Luna for lunch at her favorite brunch spot, hoping for some solace and advice. The timing of her visit couldn’t have been better, considering Monet's frazzled state.

As they settled into their seats, Luna couldn’t help but notice how exhausted Monet looked, her usually composed demeanor overshadowed by traces of distress.

“Okay, I’m the one who just survived Paris Fashion Week, not the other way around. What’s going on Mone?” she asked, tilting her head suspiciously.

Monet rolled her eyes. “Thanks,” she replied dryly, then continued, “I actually had the pleasure of taking care of my drunk girlfriend last night. So, that was fun!”

Luna chuckled, her tone tinged with disbelief. “Zoya Lott? I thought she was strictly straight edge..?”

“Seems like she’s full of surprises lately!” Monet’s lips tightened, her tone carried a clear sense of frustration.

Luna leaned forward, her curiosity piqued. "Relationship troubles..?" she prodded, her eyes narrowing with interest.

“Something like that.” Monet winced with embarrassment as she reached into her purse, fishing out a ring pop. She held it up sheepishly, offering it to Luna.

Luna regarded it with confusion and blurted out, "What the fuck is that?"

“Apparently my engagement ring!” she said, pretending to be enthusiastic, looking at Luna, clearly seeking her assistance. “My temporary one, at least.”

“Ew, is this some sort of joke?” Luna’s confusion deepend.

“Unfortunately, not.” Monet sighed, then proceeded to explain the situation. “It seems that Zoya has been feeling insecure lately with my graduation coming up, so she got drunk like a complete idiot, and then proposed.” She omitted the bodega part.

“And you said yes??” her jaw hung open in disbelief.

“Look, someday I want to get married, and I’m assuming that will be to Zoya. You should’ve seen the look on her face when she asked me, she basically begged me Lune. How was I supposed to say no?”

“Easy, like this...” Luna interrupted, irritation evident in her voice. “No,” she enunciated to prove her point, clearly annoyed with her friend for not shutting down the situation sooner. “Seriously, I think this relationship has softened you a bit too much.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter what you think because she wants this, and so do I,” Monet affirmed with uncertainty.

“Except you don’t…right?”

Monet’s eyes flickered downwards, a gesture Luna knew all too well.

"Fine! I don’t,” Monet clenched her jaw, the frustration knotting her stomach tightening with each word. "Except, there’s one tiny problem," she admitted, her voice tinged with bitterness. "I can't be the one to break it off. I refuse to be the bad guy in this."

“Yeah, there’s no way,” Luna agreed, as if it were an unspoken rule. Then, she started to ponder. “Hmm... did you try dropping any hints?” she asked, taking a sip of her mimosa.

“Tons, yet it appears her hangover didn’t detect my sarcasm this morning,” she rolled her eyes. “But don't worry because I have a plan…”

"I'll show Zoya what being a De Haan really means," Monet declared with a determined glint in her eyes. "The responsibilities, the expectations—everything. It won't take long until she realizes the weight of marrying into the de Haan family." She paused with a sense of satisfaction. "She’ll be taking back that engagement before she knows it.

Luna's eyes lit up with approval. “That's brilliant. I might have some other ideas to help speed up the process,” she exclaimed, leaning in to whisper them into her ear.

**

Back at the apartment, Zoya stumbled her way from the washroom, exhaustion dragging her steps. All she craved was the comfort of her sheets to sleep off this hangover. Yet, there was a pressing matter she needed to do first.

Collapsing onto her bed, she reached out for her phone, her fingers fumbling for Shan's contact. With a shaky breath, Zoya made the FaceTime call, the screen transitioning to Shan’s face filling the display.

“Hey…”As Shan walked the bustling streets of Washington, DC, she leaned closer to the screen, immediately noticing Zoya’s messy appearance and background behind her. Concern etched her features as she recognized this was unlike her best friend. “Zoya? Why are you still in bed? It’s noon. Are you sick?” she inquired.

“I am sick, Shan. Sick of being engaged,” Zoya declared dramatically, offering zero context. “I also am kind of hungover right now.”

“ENGAGED!?” Shan exclaimed, drawing curious glances from the people passing by. “Seriously, Z? You can’t just drop a bomb like that on me over facetime.” Her gaze narrowed slightly as she pieced together the puzzle. “Hold on…engaged…hungover… wait, don’t tell me. Was this some impulsive, booze-fueled decision? Did you two get drunk and pull a Vegas?” she smirked, trying to lighten the mood.

“No, this one was all me,” Zoya clarified in defeat. Then, she filled Shan in, recounting every detail, although her version slightly differed due to her drunken haze. She described it as a grand romantic gesture, assuming Monet couldn’t say yes fast enough that night.

Shan raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “So, let me get this straight,” she began. “You asked Monet to marry you drunk in a bodega with a piece of plastic, and by some sort of miracle, she said yes willingly? No brainwashing involved?” She paused, processing the absurdity of the situation. “And you’re the one having second thoughts?”

Zoya sighed. “I know, it sounds crazy.”

“That’s because it is…” Shan argued, trying to stifle her laughter. “You got Maya Angelou drunk, didn’t you?” she teased, unable to contain her amusement.

“Can we please stop calling it that! It only happened twice – well, now three times. But still!” she protested, her tone defensive.

Shan’s laughter subsided, replaced by a teasing grin. “So that’s a yes?”

“Yes… Now, can you help me? Is it bad that I regret it?” she pleaded.

“No, because it’s a terrible idea,” Shan asserted firmly but empathetically. “You can’t go through with this if you don’t wanna get married.”

“Well, I can’t just ask her and then take it back either,” Zoya reasoned, her distress showing. “You should’ve seen the look on her face this morning. I’d crush her…she said she was expecting a real ring! I can’t even afford that.”

“Well, to be fair, you did propose with a ring pop,” Shan pointed out, finding some humor in the situation.

Zoya’s face lit up with a brief smile, “I know, it’s so cool. I saw it in a movie once – okay, not the point,” she stopped herself with a sigh. “You’re right,” she continued, her expression turning to nervous determination. “I know what I have to do. I’ll tell her the truth tonight, let her down easy, and face the consequences –”

Shan interjected, her tone urgent and concerned. “Yeah, Zoya, you can’t do that.”

“Why not?” she challenged.

“Because this is Monet we’re talking about. You know how she operates. Do you really want to risk getting on her bad side right now, especially when she’s about to be in L.A?” she paused, her gaze steady. “And in the off chance she forgives you, she’ll never let you forget it. She’ll have all the power in the relationship, and she won’t hesitate to use it to her advantage,” she cautioned.

“So, you think, she will say she’ll get over it, but what she means is she’ll get even?” Zoya reiterated with apprehension.

“Precisely,” Shan confirmed. “Which is why you have to give her no choice but to tell you how she feels first. Smoke her out.”

Chapter Text

In the heart of their upscale apartment, Monet lounged on the plush sofa, immersed in her latest fashion magazine. Meanwhile, Zoya stepped inside, proudly clutching a new pair of overalls.

“Zoya, don’t you think you have enough overalls,” Monet remarked, her tone tinged with amusement as she glanced up from her reading.

A playful smirk graced Zoya’s lips as she drew closer to Monet. “They aren’t for me,” she teased, her expression suddenly serious. “They’re for you.”

Monet’s brows furrowed in confusion. “But I hate overalls?” she protested in mild horror.

“I know, but marriage is all about sacrifices, right?” she began. “Every year, we do a Lott-Calloway family portrait – and get this – we all wear overalls! Me, my dad, his girlfriend, Julien, and now you…since you’re going to be part of the family.” Her eyes lit up with excitement as she continued, “It’s a sacred tradition we did in Buffalo. We send them out to everyone we know, post them all over social media…” Zoya held her breath, watching for Monet’s reaction, knowing full well the resistance she would face.

Except to Zoya’s surprise, Monet forced a smile, agreeing to her request. “If it’s important to you, it’s important to me,” she muttered, her voice strained. “I’m sure I can make these work, no matter how hideous they are.”

As Zoya held out the overalls, her confusion lingered. Monet’s unexpected agreement threw her off balance. Was this a sign of surrender or merely a strategic move?

But then realization dawned upon her. As she met Monet’s strained smile, a subtle sense of satisfaction crept into her own expression. She understood now. Monet was playing the same game – pretending to go along with her wishes while concealing her true feelings.

A knowing smile curved Zoya’s lips as she handed over the overalls. She had just set the first domino in motion, and she could sense Monet’s internal struggle to conceal her disgust. It was only a matter of time until she cracked - this was just the beginning.

Monet’s skepticism was obvious. She accepted the overalls, her fingers curling around the fabric with a sense of resignation. Without a word, she turned away and made her way to the closet, where she pushed the overalls to the back, out of sight. She made a mental note to burn them when she emerged victorious in this battle.

She returned, holding two giant stacks of paper. A satisfied smirk played on her lips as she set one down on the coffee table with a deliberate thud. It was a silent declaration, a reminder that she too, was capable of playing the game — and better.

“While we’re on the topic of family,” Monet began, her tone measured, “I had my family lawyer draft up some legal documents for us. Of course, there’s the prenup, and just for extra measures…” she added, setting the other one beside it with another thud, “the NDA.”

Zoya's expression flickered with concern as she eyed the towering stacks of paper, each page dense with tiny font. She couldn't help but wonder what exactly she was agreeing to. Monet noticed her unease and reassured her, "Oh, don't worry, it's standard. Have your lawyers take a look. I'm sure your dad would be happy to..."

The emphasis on "dad" didn't escape Zoya's notice. Quickly composing herself, she seized upon Monet's subtle cue. "I'm sure he would be," she replied smoothly, her mind racing to keep pace with Monet's calculated moves. "Except, he's actually traveling for work right now.” She feigned disappointment. “Maybe when he's back.”

Monet's curiosity piqued. "Oh, where is he? I can just have the lawyers fax it to him."

Zoya hesitated, then leaned on the power of confidentiality. "Sorry, lawyer-client privilege. Can't tell you where," she countered, a hint of defiance in her voice.

Their frustration simmered just beneath the surface as they exchanged pointed looks, each acutely aware of the other's tactics. With a shared huff of exasperation, they stormed into separate rooms, each retreating to consult their best friends.

**

Monet paced back and forth in the bedroom, frustration mounting with each step. She immediately saw through Zoya’s charade. There was no annual family portrait; if there was, she would have heard about it by now or received one. It dawned on her – Zoya was playing the same game she was.

If Zoya was pretending, did that mean she didn’t want to get married either?

With a sigh, she called Luna. "Luna," Monet began as soon as the call connected, "she's totally trying to smoke me out. She wants me to break off the engagement, so she can live a guilt-free life like some righteous victim!”

On the other end of the line, Luna’ voice carried a hint of amusement. “Isn’t that what you’re doing?” she quipped, unable to hide a snicker.

Monet’s expression flickered, momentarily taken aback by her blunt observation. “No – well, Yes!” she admitted. “But at least I had the foresight to think of it first.”

“You two are truly made for each other,” Luna remarked, slightly irritated. There was a brief pause before she continued, her tone curious. “So, what’s your next move? Planning to come clean?”

“No, I can’t let her have the upper-hand.” Monet's eyes flashed with determination as she clenched her phone tighter. "I'm going full-on bridezilla on her ass," she declared, flames of resolve igniting in her eyes as she hung up the phone, ready to unleash her fury upon Zoya.

**

Meanwhile, Zoya retreated to the bathroom, dialing Shan’s number. “Shan, we have a problem,” she began, her voice hushed. “Operation Overalls as a bust. It’s going to be a lot harder to get Monet to crack. I think she’s onto us!”

Shan reacted with a resigned sigh. “We should’ve known,” she murmured. “I thought that for sure would’ve done it.”

“I know. She’s always ten steps ahead, it’s terrifying.” Zoya’s frustration bubbled up as she vented, “I don’t get it. If she didn’t want to get married, why wouldn’t she just tell me? I don’t understand why she’d play this game instead of being upfront with me.'”

“Seriously, Zoya?” Shan’s voice was a blend of amusement and exasperation.

There was a moment of silence before Zoya dismissed the thought, shaking her head. "Forget that. We need to kick it up a notch," she declared, her competitive spirit igniting.

Shan’s voice softened with determination. “Okay, think. What are some things Monet cannot stand?” she suggested, her mind already racing with ideas.

They began exchanging ideas back and forth, each suggestion more devious than the last.

After thirty minutes of brainstorming, Shan joked, “I knew it was only a matter of time until you started scheming against each other. Gotta admit, there’s something kinda hot and twisted about it,” she added with a playful grin.

“I’m hanging up now.” Zoya announced with a laugh.

**

Zoya stood amidst the aisles of the campus bookstore, browsing through the titles lining the shelves in search of a brief escape from the tension back at their apartment. Yet, her sanctuary was abruptly invaded as Monet marched towards her with a determined stride.

“I thought I might find you here,” she declared, her voice slicing through the quiet. “Since you so generously brought me a gift yesterday, I thought I’d return the favor!”

Zoya’s heart skipped a beat as she turned to face Monet, forcing a smile. “Oh, that is sweet, but not necessary –” she responded, fully aware of her intentions.

Without wasting any time, Monet extracted a rectangular box from her bag and shoved it into her hands.

Zoya’s eyebrows knitted together as she cautiously opened it. “You bought me an iPad?” she queried, suddenly confused.

With a sly grin, Monet leaned in, explaining, “Oh, this isn’t just any iPad, Zoya. It’s our key to keeping our schedules in perfect sync.”

She deftly opened the calendar app, revealing a meticulously organized and jam-packed schedule. “I hope you don’t mind. I’ve cleared and rearranged your schedule to make room for let’s just say…more high-priority commitments – since you’re soon to be a de Haan, there are certain expectations and responsibilities that come with the territory. For starters, mandatory family dinners EVERY Friday night. So fun, am I right?”

Zoya’s eyes scanned the calendar in horror, realizing every day was packed with commitments. “Wait when am I going to have time to —”

Monet waved off her concerns as she continued to navigate through the calendar. “And you’ll need to accompany me to all my family’s events – every charity gala, fundraiser, business dinner. Need I go on? Oh, and there’s the expectation of being actively involved in the de Haan Arts Foundation. Every spouse is required to be on the board, but don’t worry it’s mainly just a bunch of meetings on how to improve the company’s image.” She paused, the implication sinking in. “That isn’t going to be a problem for you, is it?”

Zoya glanced at the calendar once more, then turned back to Monet with newfound determination. “Well, if we’re really doing this, we better do it right."

“Exactly,” Monet replied through gritted teeth, struggling to conceal the anger simmering beneath her words. “Which means you won’t have a speck of free time for the foreseeable future!”

"You're worth it," Zoya interjected, brushing her hand against Monet’s cheek playfully. She smirked, feeling as though she had the upper hand.

“Oh, and there’s just one more thing…” Monet added, bursting Zoya’s bubble. With a snap of her fingers, one of her family’s staff appeared, leading her dogs on leashes toward them.

Zoya raised an eyebrow as they approached. “Oh, Coco and Chanel,” she observed, her tone laced with irritation. She was not a fan of Monet’s dogs, not in the least.

Monet confirmed with enthusiasm. “I thought they should live with us for a little while. You know, I need to make sure my wife is capable of taking care of my babies,” she said, dismissing the staff, turning her attention back to her dogs.

Zoya forced a smile, though her discontent was clear. “Sure, sure. I’ve been meaning to spend some quality time with them." She glanced around to hide her expression.

“Great!” Monet exclaimed, reaching into her bag and retrieving a piece of paper. “Here is a list of everything you need to know,” she said, handing it to Zoya with a hint of satisfaction. “As you can see, they follow a very strict schedule and diet. One misstep and their entire balance is thrown off.”

Zoya took the leashes from Monet’s hand and glanced at her thoughtfully. “Oh, and I’ve been thinking, uh, Baraka, or maybe Hughes?”

“You’re already working on the guest list?” she asked with disdain.

Zoya raised an eyebrow, her tone serious and slow. “Those are poets, Monet,” she clarified. “And their words…will inspire my vows.”

Monet smirked, her lips curling into a knowing grin. “Why not Maya Angelou? Since you know, you do it so well?”

“I think I’m actually going to stay away from tequila for a while."

“Who said anything about tequila? I’m sure it won’t take much, just one glass of champagne and bam,” Monet quipped, knowing Zoya’s sensitivity about being a lightweight.

“If you insist, it’s just I would hate to embarrass you on your big day,” Zoya stated, feigning concern.

“Don’t worry because the only person you’d be embarrassing is yourself,” Monet countered with a mocking laugh.

Zoya then turned the tables, her expression challenging. "Speaking of embarrassing yourself, have you been working on your vows?”

Monet hesitated for a moment before responding with a nonchalant “Uh-huh.”

“Mhm,” Zoya leaned in skeptically, her eyes narrowing. “And just a reminder, this is a wedding not a roast.”

She rolled her eyes ever so slightly. “Why, yes. I was thinking of channeling Beyoncé with a dash of Jay-Z,” Monet replied smoothly, her mind racing to come up with the perfect comeback.

Zoya seized the opportunity. “Let me guess. Your love’s got me looking so crazy right now?” she mocked, her gaze fixing on Monet, emphasizing the subject of her comment.

“Crazy, drunk, either works if we’re talking about you, considering you did pop the question after one too many,” she proposed, her tone dripping with irony.

Zoya couldn’t help but chuckle. “I’m a romantic, what can I say? But, not as romantic as you, of course. Wait, until all your friends and family find out how you soberly said yes in, where was it again..? A bodega?” she teased.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me,” Zoya shot back, her voice laced with defiance.

As Monet turned to storm off, Coco and Chanel, sensing her departure, barked protectively at Zoya.

**

A few days later, Zoya juggled her phone in one hand while trying to navigate the tangled mess of Coco and Chanel’s leashes with the other. With a sigh, she answered Shan’s Facetime call.

“Hey, Shan. What’s up?” she greeted, her attention divided between the call and the dogs pulling her in different directions. Coco let out an excited bark, adding to the commotion.

Shan chuckled as she observed Zoya’s struggle.“You know, you can put an end to this craziness whenever you want, right? Plus, you’re obviously a cat person.”

Zoya managed a tight smile, her determination evident. “Yeah, except I love her enough to ask her to marry me. I’m not gonna lose her,” she replied firmly.

“Uh, you mean you don’t want to lose to her,” she corrected, raising an eyebrow.

“Exactly. Plus, these two are kind of starting to grow on me, ain’t that right, Coco and Chanel?” she said, adopting a playful tone as she addressed the dogs who were still causing chaos around her.

Shan shook her head in disbelief. "You're something else, Z. Hey, do you wanna Netflix party 'Love is Blind' tonight?”

“I would, but I’m taking Monet to a sports bar…” she admitted mischievously.

Shan’s eyes widened in surprise. “I’m sorry, what?” she exclaimed, before catching on to Zoya’s intentions. “Oh, you’re good.”

Chapter Text

As they were about to head out the door, Zoya suddenly paused, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Wait,” she declared, disappearing into the front closet. Moments later, she came out holding a mysterious shopping bag.

Monet arched an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. “What’s this?” she asked, eyeing the bag as Zoya handed it to her.

Zoya’s grin widened as she explained, “I got this for you so you can blend in with the other Buffalo fans at the bar.”

“Another gift? How thoughtful of you...” Monet remarked dryly, taking the Buffalo Bills Jersey out of the bag and holding it up with a look of disdain.

“Turn it around,” Zoya prompted eagerly.

As Monet reluctantly flipped the jersey, her eyes widened in surprise. Across the back, in bold letters, it read “Mrs. Lott.”

"Mrs. Lott," she murmured, barely above a whisper. “I must admit, that’s…unexpected,” she managed, her voice strained as she fought to maintain her composure.

Zoya watched her intently, almost tasting the victory. “I know you boldly assumed I would be a de Haan, but I thought maybe you would reconsider after you saw the jersey,” she added slyly.

“How could I not after such a thoughtful gesture,” Monet remarked, her tone laced with sarcasm.

“Now, put it on. Let’s see how it looks,” she urged, barely able to contain her excitement.

Monet took a deep breath, trying to conceal her annoyance as she reluctantly slipped the jersey over her head. It hung loosely on her frame, clearly not her usual style. “Happy?” she asked, trying to catch a glimpse of herself in a nearby mirror.

“Elated!,” Zoya replied with a smile, extending her hand to Monet. "Shall we?

Monet composed herself, smoothing out the fabric of the jersey with practiced ease. With a forced smile, she nodded. "Lead the way!”

As they walked into the bar, the loud cheers of drunk and obnoxious fans echoed off the walls. Monet wrinkled her nose in distaste at the sticky floors and the crush of bodies pressing in around them.

Navigating through the crowd, they finally found an empty space at the bar. Just as they were about to sit down, someone bumped into Monet, nearly spilling their beer on her.

“Watch it! This is Prada,” Monet snapped with irritation as she gestured to her designer purse slung over her shoulder. With a frustrated huff, she wiped the seat down before finally sitting.

Zoya couldn’t help but suppress a smirk at Monet’s reaction, finding amusement in her discomfort. “You can always admit defeat and we can go home,” she teased.

“What? I can’t hear you?” she raised her voice, pretending she couldn’t hear her.

They exchanged a few more playful jabs back and forth, but eventually, Zoya relented. “Never mind, let’s just watch the game.”

However, as the game progressed and the team’s performance continued to falter, Zoya realized one crucial detail she had overlooked – her fiancé was incredibly competitive, and she didn’t like to lose.

As the opposing team made a successful play, Monet couldn't resist a bit of trash talk. "Oh, please! That was pure luck!" she scoffed, rolling her eyes at the screen.

Zoya watched as Monet’s demeanor shifted, becoming increasingly animated, her eyes glued to the tv. With each missed opportunity, Monet's outbursts grew more passionate, her competitive spirit shining through. It was a side of her partner she hadn't fully anticipated, yet one that she found herself drawn to.

“Seriously, what are you doing out there!” Monet shouted, gesturing wildly at the tv, as if her words could influence the players’ actions.

"You know what? I'm going to buy the Bills so I can fire that coach!" Monet declared, her eyes ablaze with determination. She turned to Zoya, a smirk playing on her lips. "Get ready to be owners," she added, her tone filled with both excitement and exhilaration.

Growing frustrated that her plan seemed to backfire, Zoya excused herself to visit the washroom. However, as she tried to mention her leaving, Monet absentmindedly shushed her, her attention solely fixated on the screen, without even sparing a glance or nod in acknowledgment of Zoya’s departure.

A few minutes later, when she emerged from the washroom, Zoya was met with a scene that caught her completely off guard. The entire bar was erupting into cheers and applause, chanting "Monet" in unison as she chugged a beer with ease. It was a sight to behold - the usually composed and sophisticated Monet, now fully immersed in the revelry of the moment, basking in the adoration of the crowd.

Their eyes met, and in that moment, Zoya could see a spark of victory in Monet’s gaze, her lips curling into a triumphant smile.

"Well played, de Haan," Zoya muttered to herself. Despite her initial frustration, she couldn't deny the undeniable charm and charisma of what seemed to be her soon-to-be-wife.

As Zoya returned, she had to push past a few enthusiastic fans, politely asking them to move aside. When she finally reached Monet, she gave her a questioning look, silently asking, “What was that?”

“What?” Monet asked innocently, her expression feigned ignorance. She glanced at the empty beer glass and continued, “Oh, this. Before you showed up, the gang spent fall break at Obie’s family house in Germany during Oktoberfest,” she explained with a nonchalant shrug as if it were no big deal.

Zoya shook her head in disbelief. “You were like 15!??” she exclaimed, her voice rising in shock.

“So?” she replied, unfazed.

**

Monet waited eagerly by the door, her phone pressed to her ear as she chatted with Luna from inside the apartment.

“I still can’t believe you went into a sports bar,” Luna remarked with disbelief.

“I had to do what I needed to do to win. And come on, Luna, out of all people, I thought you’d understand,” Monet replied confidently. “Plus, this is all about to be over very soon. Zoya is on her way back from a day with my siblings as we speak, and I might have instructed them to freak her out a bit,” she added with a sly smile.

“Poor little Z, she doesn’t stand a chance,” Luna quipped, clearly amused by the scheming.

“I know.” Then, lowering her voice to a hush, Monet said, "I hear them coming. Okay, gotta go.This is gonna be good”

As Zoya and the others walked through the door, their laughter filled the room, and Monet awaited their acknowledgement. But, to her dismay, they barely noticed her presence, continuing their conversation as if she were invisible.

She cleared her throat, trying to draw their attention. "Sooo, how was it?" she asked with anticipation.

“Oh, Monet, didn’t even see you there,” Theo said casually, addressing her almost as an afterthought, turning his attention back to the conversation.

Monet's confusion deepened as she observed the interaction. Before she could inquire further, Theo checked his phone and said, "I gotta go, but Zoya, we're still on next week for that rematch?"

Zoya nodded with a smile, "Yes, definitely. You’re on."

Monet threw her hands up in frustration, then shot Theo a look of bewilderment, to which he quickly responded, "Sorry, sis. She gets it."

Turning to Nicole for some sort of explanation, Monet found no solace as she gave her a remorseful look and confirmed, “She gets it.”

Monet's last hope rested with Celine, praying she had managed to intimidate Zoya in some way, as she did best. However, Celine's unexpected comment dashed Monet's hopes even further. "She's not as terrible as Mom describes her," Celine chimed in, her tone surprisingly neutral as she shut the door behind them.

Monet couldn't believe what she was hearing. "You have to be kidding me!" she exclaimed in disbelief.

Zoya stepped forward, a knowing smile on her face. "You’re the one who taught me to always do my research beforehand. It’s weird, it turns out, your siblings and I have so much in common,” she said, her enthusiasm tinged with fakeness, reveling in the moment of turning the tables.

“Oh, and they were absolutely thrilled when I suggested a tennis match as a fun way to bond,” she added.

Monet gasped in shock, “I forgot how good you were at tennis!” Then, brushing past Zoya, she pushed her aside as she made her way to the kitchen. The slam of cupboards and the clatter of dishes echoed through the hall as she rummaged through the cabinets for her ‘secret’ guilty pleasure snack.

Zoya overheard it with a smirk, knowing she had indeed gotten to her. Despite Monet's attempts to keep her feelings hidden, Zoya could read her like an open book.

**

After taking some time to calm down, Monet entered the bedroom where Zoya was quietly reading. She was still seething with frustration. If her siblings couldn’t scare Zoya, she would have to finish the job herself.

With a determination in her stride, Monet made her way to the mirror, pausing to glance at her reflection.

“Wouldn’t I look hot pregnant?” she mused aloud, her gaze fixed on her reflection in the mirror. She gently rubbed her stomach, pretending to envision what she would look like with a baby bump.

Zoya’s head shot up from her book. “Wait what?” she exclaimed, caught off guard.

Monet turned and approached Zoya, her expression a carefully crafted mask of sweetness. "You know, seeing how much my siblings adored you earlier made me realize I want to build a big, loving family with you…” Her words were delivered with a calculated charm, a subtle retaliation for Zoya’s earlier stunt. “As soon as possible.”

As Zoya’s eyebrows raised in surprise, Monet leaned in closer, her movements seemingly suggestive, but instead, she reached for her iPad on the side table. "You see, I've been thinking a lot about our future together.”

She looked at Zoya expectantly. “Do you want kids?”

Zoya paused for a moment, considering her response. “I mean, eventually–”

“Well, I want at least four. Ideally, two boys, two girls,” Monet's eyes widened with excitement, cutting her off. “And I want to start trying soon, so I can have kids before I’m 25. Let’s face it, I’m way too hot not to be a MILF,” she added eagerly.

“You realize that’s only a few years away?” Zoya moved back on the bed, apprehension creeping into her voice.

Monet shrugged, undeterred. “Exactly. We aren’t waiting to get married, so what’s stopping us from starting a family? That’s the obvious next step right?”

With a grin, she held up her latest project on her iPad, fully prepared for this moment. "See, it's all on the vision board," she said, tapping on the screen and scrolling through various images and notes. "These are all the possible options of what our future kids will look like…Oh, and I already have names picked out, and top preschools in the area!"

Zoya nodded along in horror, trying to process it all while attempting to feign agreement. She was definitely not ready for this. She was way too young for kids, and this wasn’t even something they discussed.

However, with a deep breath, she managed to push aside her apprehension and replied with a forced smile for the sake of winning, "I'm so glad we're on the same page!"

“Me too!” Monet repeated with resignation, before tossing her iPad aside in defeat.

Feeling the tension in the air, Zoya moved closer to Monet and gently pulled her into her arms. Despite the resistance, Monet leaned into the embrace, allowing herself to find comfort in her irritating presence.

A little while later, Zoya carefully removed her arm from around Monet. They had been cuddling while watching TV, but now Zoya felt a sense of urgency pulling her away—a reminder not to get too comfortable, contemplating whether this was part of Monet’s trap.

Monet turned to her, pleading, “Can’t we just stay like this for a little longer? It’s been…sort of nice?” Her hands reached out slightly towards Zoya, trying to get her to reconsider.

“No can do.” Zoya shook her head gently, a small smile playing on her lips. “I’ll just be a moment,” she muttered, her eyes meeting Monet’s briefly before she rose from the bed and entered the walk-in closet.

Just as Monet sank back into the pillows and got comfortable, she watched in disbelief as Zoya emerged wearing the tackiest suit she had ever laid eyes on. It looked straight from the 80s, with clashing colors and an abundance of ruffles – a fashion nightmare.

“It’s for our wedding,” Zoya declared proudly, doing a little spin. “I had it specially made. What do you think?” she asked, her expression expectant.

Monet’s face contorted into a battle between horror and suppressing her disgust. Her eyes furrowed, and her lips pressed together tightly as she tried to muster some semblance of approval.

Yet, after reminding herself of what was at stake here, Monet knew she needed to maintain control of the situation. “Hot,” she remarked, rising from the bed and taking seductive steps toward Zoya.

Abruptly, she took Zoya by surprise, initiating a fervent make-out session. Between breaths, she murmured, "I love how you look in this suit. Let's see how it looks on the floor," while sliding the arms of the blazer off.

Caught up in the moment, Zoya reciprocated, momentarily forgetting the game as passion took over.

That was until Monet reached for the ruffled blouse, struggling to remove it, her fingers fumbling with the fabric in an increasingly awkward silence.

Zoya, satisfied with how the situation was unfolding, suggested, “It’s fine, let’s just keep it on.”

However, in an impulsive move, Monet ripped the blouse, blurting out, “Oops….sorry I just can’t help myself. I want you so bad.”

Zoya’s response was calm and unsurprised. “I thought you would feel that way, which is why I had backups made just in case.”

Monet huffed in frustration. “You are relentless, which is exactly why I cannot stand you.”

Zoya leaned in closer, her voice low. “The feeling’s mutual.”

Their breaths were heavy, the tension between them heating up. The closeness combined with all the scheming ignited something within Monet. She couldn’t resist clarifying, “You still want to have sex though, right?”

“Oh, absolutely.” Zoya's response was immediate, her desire evident in her eager nod.

With mutual consent reaffirmed, they resumed their passionate encounter.

Chapter Text

A week later, tensions still high, Monet returned home, dressed to the nines and exuding frustration. She entered the apartment to find Zoya still lounging in their room, clad in pajamas, makeup free. The apartment reeked of weed, and Zoya appeared dazed, engrossed in the TV and munching on Monet’s secret stash of hot Cheetos.

Monet stormed over to her. “Why aren’t you ready?? We have that thing with my parents tonight! I put it on the calendar in red!” she snapped, her tone sharp with annoyance.

Zoya glanced up, her expression nonchalant. “Oh, I don’t believe in calendars anymore,” she replied casually, as if it explained everything. Then, she turned her attention back to the TV, ignoring Monet’s presence.

Monet’s eyes widened in disbelief. “You what??” she exclaimed, getting closer and scrutinizing Zoya’s eyes.”Please don’t tell me your high right now…”

Zoya burst into laughter, unable to contain herself. “Yeah, I decided to take up smoking. So, I guess that makes me a stoner now? Wow, it feels so freeing to get that off my chest,” she confessed, knowing it would irk Monet further. In fact, she had purposely checked that calendar for the perfect opportunity.

Sensing Monet's stress, Zoya couldn't resist adding with a mischievous grin, “Hey, maybe you should try it too. No offense, you need to chill out a bit!”

Monet's irritation flared into a fiery glare. "I'm good."

"This doesn’t make you not want to marry me, does it?" Zoya clarified with a mischievous tone.

Monet sighed. "Unfortunately not. Now, go get ready!" she instructed, gesturing towards the closet. Noticing how slow Zoya was moving, she added, “Today, please.”

As Zoya rummaged through her belongings, she discovered her favorite sneakers and a couple of t-shirts ripped up on the floor. "Monet, why are my stuff ripped..?" she questioned, holding them up with a puzzled expression.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she replied dismissively.

Zoya's eyes narrowed. "So, it just so happens to be the stuff you're always calling ugly and threatening to burn?" she retorted, her suspicion growing.

Monet's face remained impassive. "Oh, must have been a rage blackout, it happens," she remarked casually. "But guess you'll have to get used to it. I hope that doesn't make you reconsider marrying me, does it?"

Zoya shook her head, unfazed. “Nope, I can handle a little crazy. Now, will your parents have food at this thing?” she asked.

Monet met her gaze with a sharp glare, cutting through the air like a knife.

**

The event with Monet’s parents was a lavish affair. Servers gracefully weaved through the crowd, carrying trays of delectable hors d’oeuvres. Zoya found herself captivated by the food being passed around.

She moved from server to server, eagerly sampling each item. Her actions drew curious glances from some of the guests, but Zoya paid them no mind.

Meanwhile, Monet kept her parents occupied, skillfully avoiding any prolonged interactions between them and Zoya, diverting their attention when necessary.

As the night wore on, Zoya lost track of time without realizing it. But once the high faded, she suddenly remembered why she was there in the first place.

In the crowd, she immediately spotted Monet engaged in conversation with her parents and some business partners. She expected Monet to be tense, but she seemed surprisingly relaxed. Suddenly, Monet caught her eye and shot her a small, satisfied smile, discreetly guiding her parents away.

Zoya leaned against the nearest wall, realizing how her stoner act had failed miserably. She wasn’t even sure if Greyson or Camille had noticed her all night. With a sigh, she felt the exhaustion from the evening settle in. But, she wasn’t ready to throw in the towel just yet.

With a sense of urgency, she reached for her phone, her fingers hovering over the screen as she contemplated her next move. She had one last card to play - her secret weapon.

"I didn’t want to have to do this, but you’ve left me no choice," Zoya thought to herself, her eyes fixed on Monet from the sidelines.

She pressed call, waiting anxiously as the phone rang. When it finally connected, Zoya took a deep breath.

"Guess who is engaged?" she asked rhetorically, with fake excitement, cringing inwardly at the sound of it.

Julien’s response was immediate, practically bursting with enthusiasm. "You’re engaged!? Wow, Z, that’s incredible! I mean, I’m shocked it happened before Obie and me, but I couldn’t be happier for you both. We have to celebrate!”

"Before we pop the champagne... there's something else," Zoya interjected, her tone serious “It’s about Monet... She wants to ask you to be her maid of honor, but she’s worried you’ll say no.”

“Wait, over Luna!?” Julien exclaimed, her voice rising with disbelief.

Zoya affirmed. “You are her oldest friend after all,” she quickly added. “But you have to keep it a secret. We don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings. You can’t tell anyone I told you, ESPECIALLY not Monet.”

“Of course, Z!”

As Zoya subtly planted the seed, a sense of satisfaction washed over her. She knew her sister meant it, but she wouldn’t be able to help it – she was overbearing and notoriously bad at keeping secrets.

Zoya couldn’t resist giving Monet a subtle wave across the room, knowing full well that she had no idea what was coming.

**

Monet, preparing to kick-start her day, reached for her purse and keys when her phone rang. She glanced at the caller ID revealing Julien’s name, prompting her to let it go to voicemail. But as it rang again, she realized ignoring it would only lead to persistent calls.

With a resigned sigh, she answered, mentally preparing for Julien’s trademark early-morning enthusiasm.

“Hey, future sister-in-law!” Julien’s voice burst through the line with excitement.

Monet, already feeling overwhelmed by the energy on the other line, asked. “What do you want, Julien?” But as the words escaped her lips, she suddenly registered what Julien had called her.

“Wait, what did you just say?” she questioned, caught off guard.

"Zoya told me everything and I couldn’t resist. I mean, how could I say no? Of course I would be your maid of honor," Julien blurted out, unable to contain her excitement.

“She did what now!?” Monet gasped, her voice tinged with horror, her grip tightening around her phone.

“No, it’s okay. I’m glad she told me, and I’m honestly touched you were nervous, but I don’t know where you got the idea I wouldn't be into that because I am!” Julien reassured. With that, she launched into her rapid-fire monologue about wedding planning. She delved into every detail imaginable, from venue options and color schemes to flower arrangements and catering choices.

Monet struggled to keep up with the torrent of words. Eventually, she had to physically remove the phone from ear for a moment to give herself a break. She knew she needed to bring this to an end immediately.

"Jules, thanks for all your input, but it's not necessary. I have everything under control," Monet said firmly, making her way towards the door. With a confident reach for the doorknob, she swung the door open, only to be met with a surprising sight: Julien standing there eagerly, a wide grin on her face.

“Too late! I’m already here, and I have a whole day planned for us,” she declared, lowering her phone.

Monet, feigning disappointment, replied,” How thoughtful, but I already have plans,” trying to push past her.

Julien’s grin widened with mischief. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve cleared your schedule for the day. Trust me, you’ll thank me later! We have a lot to do, starting with venues, music, and oh the caterers...”

Monet’s eyes widened as Julien linked arms with her and began pulling her out the door. She glanced back and caught sight of Zoya in the doorway watching them with a knowing smirk.

“Bye, now you two have fun!" Zoya called out with mischief. “I can’t wait to hear all about it!”

Suppressing her frustration, Monet forced a strained smile, though her clenched jaw betrayed her annoyance as she felt her carefully laid plans of peace and relaxation slip away.

**

As they sat down, with staff bringing them different cake flavors to try, Julien pulled out her dream wedding book she made when they were younger.

“Oh my god. The wedding book? I haven’t seen that since we were 12 and you, for some reason, started dating Obie," Monet remarked, a touch of amusement in her voice.

Ignoring the comment, Julien began walking Monet through the book, showcasing its comprehensive contents.

"It has everything," Julien explained, flipping through the pages. "Locations, organized alphabetically and geographically. Then, your favorite - square footage!" Her excitement was evident as she looked up at Monet.

However, Monet found herself unable to muster much interest. “Just pick the most expensive and let’s move on,” she replied.

"Okay, how about the centerpieces? Which ones do you like?" Julien suggested, holding up two options.

Monet shrugged, feeling detached from the conversation. "Roses?" she answered halfheartedly.

Julien's expression turned dissatisfied, and she shook her head slightly. "Maybe, pick again!" she insisted, pushing towards the other options.

Monet rolled her eyes and replied insincerely, "Cava Lilies!" as if wasn't being forced to go along with Julien’s preference.

Next, as they navigated through the appointments and planning, Monet found herself relying heavily on the offer of complimentary champagne to make it through the overwhelming experience. So, by the time they arrived at the dress fitting, she was already feeling tipsy and somewhat disoriented.

Inside the fitting room, Monet stood, declining each dress brought to her by the staff, while they remained determined to find her the perfect one. Finally, as they helped her into the twelfth dress, Monet’s phone rang.

“Luna, this really isn’t the best time,” Monet attempted to explain, but Luna’s accusatory tone cut through her words.

“You chose Julien to be your maid of honor for a wedding you didn’t even want!?” Luna’s incredulous voice pierced through the phone.

“It wasn’t me! It was all Zoya,” Monet protested. “Do you really think I would choose this willingly?” She sighed, wondering who else Julien had told.

Just then, Julien's voice echoed from outside the dressing room, asking if Monet was ready. With a heavy heart, she knew she had to confront the reality of the situation.

"I have to go," she murmured to Luna, her tone hushed with irritation, before quickly ending the call, letting the staff zip up the back of the dress.

As she stepped out, she heard Julien gasp in awe. She stood in front of the mirror to see for herself, and she couldn’t deny that she looked stunning.

That was the problem.

This was the dress she had always dreamed of. Yet, the moment felt tainted by circumstances. This wasn’t how she had envisioned this experience at all. She didn’t want to be doing this with Julien, and she certainly didn’t want to be doing it right now.

As she stared at her reflection once more, a sense of sadness washed over her. She remained silent, lost in her thoughts, until Julien’s voice broke the silence.

“Monet, what’s wrong?” she asked, confused.

“Everything!” Frustrated and on the verge of tears, Monet stormed towards the door, ready to flee the store. But at the last moment, she paused and grabbed the bottle of champagne first.

Julien let out a nervous laugh and quickly offered to pay for the dress before running after her outside and into the waiting car. The tension was palpable as they drove away.

**

Zoya’s eyes widened in shock as Monet stumbled into the apartment in a Vera Wang dress, clutching a bottle of champagne. Setting aside her book, Zoya quickly went to greet them at the door. But just as she approached, Julien rushed forward, her eyes wide with urgency.

"It's bad luck to see the bride's dress before the wedding!" Julien blurted out nervously, trying to block Zoya's view.

But before Julien could fully shield Zoya's sight, Monet, in her drunken state, pushed her aside. “Move!” she spat out with irritation.

“Somebody had a bit too much complimentary champagne,” Julien warned, tightening her grip on Monet’s arm to help balance her. She exchanged a subtle look of concern with Zoya.

Zoya thanked her sister and said goodbye before gently taking Monet from her. Monet stumbled into Zoya’s arms, giggling as she leaned on her for support.

“Looks like you’ve had quite the day,” Zoya teased, guiding her further into the apartment.

“Thanks to youuu, fiancé,” Monet shot back, waving her finger unsteadily.

Zoya steadied her, offering, “Do you want to get out of this dress? Maybe get more comfortable?” But Monet simply stopped and shook her head.

“I need to lie down,” she murmured before collapsing onto the couch. The room continued to spin around her, her wedding dress cascading around her like a delicate veil.

Feeling a pang of guilt for pushing her to this point, Zoya, who knew her partner’s emotions like an open book, settled beside her with caution. “Too far?” she inquired nervously.

“You think!?” Monet grumbled before lying down, shifting so her head rested on Zoya’s lap.

“I’m sorry. I love you?” Zoya apologized, seeking confirmation they were okay.

Monet sighed. “I love you too,” she replied quietly.

They sat in silence, Zoya’s gentle strokes across Monet’s hair providing a soothing rhythm. Monet felt drained — exhausted from all the scheming and arguing. She had wanted to win so badly, but now she questioned at what cost.

In her intoxicated state, she was forced to acknowledge her fears. What if they actually go through with this and start to resent each other for real. The thought of them actually breaking up before they had a chance to become a real adult couple was weighing heavily on her mind.

“I was thinking…” she started, her voice hesitant.

Zoya's heart skipped a beat, her curiosity instantly piqued. "About?" she prompted, sensing this might be the pivotal moment they desperately needed.

As Monet mumbled about mistakes and something being off with the wedding. Zoya’s anticipation grew. “What do you mean?” she pressed, hoping to coax Monet into directly saying it.

Monet shifted uncomfortably, her eyelids heavy with fatigue. "I... I don't know," she murmured, her voice trailing off as drowsiness crept in. “Do you think, maybe we…”

"Maybe we what?" Zoya interjected eagerly, leaning in closer.

But there was still no response. Zoya's frustration grew as she realized Monet had fallen asleep. “Maybe we what, Monet?” She gently shook her, trying to rouse her from her slumber, but no luck.

Zoya sighed loudly, muttering, “You have to be kidding me,” as she realized the opportunity to uncover Monet’s true feelings had slipped away. They were so close; they could have cleared the air and finally put an end to all of this scheming. But of course, it was never that easy with Monet.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Zoya sat in the kitchen, sipping her coffee, while she noticed Monet walking in, changed and refreshed. “Hey, how’re you feeling?” she asked.

“I’ve been better. But, I’ll survive,” Monet replied, reaching for a glass of water to ease her migraine.

As she turned to go back to bed, Zoya gently stopped her. “So, last night you were saying…” she prodded, waiting for Monet to finish where they left off. However, Monet just shrugged, feigning forgetfulness.

Monet knew exactly what Zoya was referring to, but admitting it would mean losing. Last night was the champagne's fault, and partially Julien's. It was a moment of weakness, and it wasn’t going to happen again.

“If you need a reminder, you mentioned something about making a mistake?” Zoya continued, studying Monet’s reaction, trying to see whether she actually remembered or not.

“Oh, that. The mistake I was referring to was the centerpieces. The arrangements are all wrong. I should have never let Julien sway me into choosing Cava Lilies,” Monet explained, brushing it off with indifference.

Zoya stood up in frustration, her voice rising. “That’s not fair, Monet! Come on, I know you remember.”

“You want to talk about fair? What’s not fair is you trying to win by cheating,” she retorted. “I was extremely vulnerable last night!”

Zoya’s expression softened monetarily. “All is fair in love and war? You know that,” she countered gently.

“We’re far past that point,” she muttered to herself before facing Zoya head-on. “You want to play dirty? Fine. You’re on.”

Zoya paused, then clarified, “You still want me to make you breakfast though, right?”

A small smile tugged at the corners of Monet’s lips. “Yes, very much,” she replied, sinking into her chair.

**

Later that day, Monet approached Zoya, who was still tending to the dogs. She couldn’t help but soften slightly as she saw Coco and Chanel, reaching out to pet them. But, she quickly reverted back to her earlier demeanor. “Zoya,” she addressed.

Zoya looked up with a smile. “Hey, look what I taught them.” She gestured for the dogs to perform a trick, and they obediently offered their paws.

“Wow, impressive!” Monet exclaimed with a sarcastic tone.

“So, are you ready to start working on the guest list, or should we take it easy and rethink those centerpieces?” Zoya deflected, unable to resist being petty.

Monet’s expression grew serious. "Actually, I've changed my mind," she declared, surprising Zoya.

“You have?” Zoya asked, her heart racing with anticipation.

“Yes.”

After hearing those words, Zoya was ready to pull her into a hug, celebrating that this was finally over. She knew Monet would eventually come around.

“I’m not really feeling the whole extravagant wedding vibe anymore,” Monet continued, cutting off Zoya’s celebratory moment with a sense of satisfaction. “I want something smaller.”

Zoya's smile faltered as she tried to wipe the shock off her face. "Great, great," she managed. “So, it will just be our families, really intimate, not at all awkward.”

“Even smaller!” Monet interjected with a mischievous grin. “Me, you, and Elvis! Let’s elope, Vegas-style.”

“Oh, wow, Um, okay,” Zoya stammered. “Maybe you’re onto something, planning a wedding can be stressful and a total waste of money. So, we’ll just have to pick a time that works for you and me…”

“How about now?” Monet asked eagerly, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

"Yeah, now works, too," Zoya replied, her mind racing to catch up with the sudden turn of events. "Let me just see if I can get a flight. You know, they may be all booked up."

"Let's just take the private jet. It will be much faster!" she suggested.
"Awesome. I hate going through airport security anyway." Zoya managed a strained smile at Monet, seemingly having a solution to everything.

Monet smirked. “Zoya, no need to lie. We both know you love being the most organized person in the line. But, hey if you don’t want to…I mean…” She pouted, pretending to be disappointed.

“No, of course I want to go. I really want to go. I just thought you’d want to, I don’t know, fix your makeup, take a shower, maybe buy a new dress?” Zoya trailed off trying to stall as much as she could while she scrambled to come up with a way to get out of it.

“No need.” Monet remained resolute, shaking her head. “I am marrying you as soon as possible and that’s final,” she declared before giving Zoya a quick kiss.

Zoya shot back with an irritated expression, "Not if I marry you first."

**

As they stood on the tarmac, about to board the flight, both Zoya and Monet felt a sense of reluctance. Unable to take it anymore, Zoya reached out to stop Monet, her expression turning serious.

“Look, we clearly both don’t want to do this. So, let’s just both admit it at the same time. That way, neither of us can hold it against the other, and we can go back to being us. On the count of three?” Zoya proposed.

Monet nodded in agreement, and they counted down together.

“3…2…1…”

But when the moment came, neither of them said anything. They just stood there, locked in a silent stand-off, trying to discern the other’s thoughts.

They exchanged a hesitant glance and tried again, but the outcome remained the same – silence.

Growing frustrated, Monet demanded, “Why aren’t you saying it!?”

Zoya let out a sigh. “I’m assuming for the same reason as you? How do I know you weren’t going to take advantage of my niceness and let me take the fall?”

Monet jabbed her finger in the air accusingly. “Me? You’re the one who proposed this. It has scheme written all over it. You wanted to stay silent and let me be the bad guy,” she argued.

"Then after you," Zoya said with a touch of pettiness, gesturing for Monet to go before her.

Then, as they moved towards the entrance of the plane, Zoya suddenly halted her again. “Wait, Monet. I can’t do this,” she admitted.

“You can’t?” Monet asked, her confidence growing. She knew that if she just stuck it out, she would come out victorious in the end. Zoya wasn’t built for this.

“No, I can’t. Because, you know, as much as I love you…It just doesn’t feel right getting married…” Zoya hesitated, letting the words hang in the air.

Monet let out the biggest sigh of relief she probably had ever taken in her life.

Zoya let her have her false sense of security before adding, “You know, without asking your father…for your hand.”

Monet's eyes narrowed, her eyebrow shooting up. “You want to ask my dad for his permission to marry me?” Her expression faltered as she struggled to understand what was happening.

"I do. Yes," Zoya affirmed, surprised by the words leaving her lips.

"Okay, I’m no expert, but I know that is incredibly problematic. Couldn't you at least ask my mom? I mean, I've watched your little documentaries and took a third of a semester of women's studies, and –”

Zoya cut her off with a passionate rant. “Well, I guess I’m just traditional like that. What can I say? Plus, I can’t do that to your dad. I mean, we’ve watched too many basketball games together. I love that man!”

"That was one time, Zoya,” Monet remarked, rolling her eyes.

"Well, that might be true," she proclaimed dramatically, "it was a night that formed an unbreakable bond that will last a lifetime!"

Monet's eyes flickered down briefly before she solemnly reminded, "Okay, well once we ask my dad, there’s no turning back…"

"Oh, yeah, I know," Zoya responded challengingly, as if it was obvious.

They headed back to the driver, and Monet declared, "Let’s go home and make it official." With a sense of surrender, they acknowledged that they were officially doomed.

**

Zoya navigated through the bustling streets of New York as she balanced her phone between her ear and shoulder. On the other end, Shan’s voice crackled with curiosity, “So, you’re really about to ambush Greyson de Haan?”

“First of all, it’s not ambushing, if he agreed to it. Second, you want to marry a girl, you’ve got to do the right thing, which is asking her father’s permission,” Zoya quipped. “It’s the right thing to do.”

“Yeah, except you don’t want to get married, which you could still tell her, you know,” Shan interjected, her tone shifting to a more concerned one.

“Not a chance.”

Shan’s laughter echoed through the phone, mingling with the sounds of the city. “So, you guys are really gonna walk down the aisle because neither of you is willing to back down??” she clarified..

“No. This is where Greyson comes in. He rejects me, this whole game ends, and I don’t have to be the bad guy,” she explained, her voice tinged with desperation.

“But are you positive that he’s gonna say ‘no?’ I thought you said you guys bonded?” Shan inquired skeptically.

Zoya's steps quickened as she approached the imposing glass facade of de Haan Pharmaceuticals. “Okay, there was some basketball watching. But deep down, I know he still sees me as Nick Lott’s daughter, who is unsuitable for his little girl. I just need to remind him of that.”

“Brilliant plan, Z,” Shan remarked.

Zoya paused, in front of the entrance. “Thanks, well I’m here. Wish me luck!” she exclaimed eagerly.

“You mean good luck getting rejected?” Shan said with a chuckle.

“Very funny,” Zoya replied with a grin before hanging up. With a determined nod, she entered the building.

**

Zoya sat across from Greyson, her fingers nervously tapping on the sleek restaurant tabletop. “Thanks again for agreeing to meet with me on such short notice,” she said, offering him a grateful smile.

Greyson nodded, his expression curious. “I must admit, I was surprised when you called. I had to know what this urgent meeting was about? It’s not related to Monet, is it?”

“It is actually. As you know, Monet and I’ve been dating for almost four years now…” Zoya’s heart raced as she took a deep breath, summoning the courage to broach the delicate topic. “I was just thinking about…marrying your daughter.”

He raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. He set his drink down and responded, “I see.”

After Zoya’s admission, an awkward silence settled between them. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her eyes searching Greyson’s inscrutable expression.

“Aren’t you gonna say something??” Zoya finally broke the silence, her voice tinged with nervousness.

Greyson remained composed. “My apologies, I was waiting for you to tell me this was some sort of joke. Monet didn’t put you up to this?” he replied.

“No, this isn’t a joke, I assure you sir,” she insisted.

He leaned in, his gaze piercing. “And what makes you think you’re good enough to marry my daughter?” he asked bluntly.

Zoya stammered, caught off guard by the direct question. This was something she had always struggled with – an insecurity knowing she would never be good enough for Monet.

“I…I….” Her voice faltered as she reached for the right words to respond.

His expression hardened, disappointment evident in his eyes. “If you can't even answer that simple question…” he trailed off, shaking his head. “This was clearly a waste of time. I canceled meetings for this,” he said curtly, pushing his chair back, ready to leave.

"No, wait—" Zoya's plea was cut off as Greyson stood up abruptly.

“And you don’t have to worry because I won't be telling Monet’s mother about this little incident,” he added, his tone softer than before, before leaving her sitting there, her heart sinking with regret.

**

Zoya returned home, but couldn’t shake the interaction with Greyson from her mind. Yes, that was the outcome she desired, but why did it feel so utterly disheartening?

It was no longer about his approval for a marriage they didn’t want; it was about the principle. Greyson had to see that she loved his daughter, and even if she wasn’t good enough in his eyes, she would spend every day proving herself.

Not having it in her to admit she didn’t get Greyson’s approval when Monet returned home, Zoya’s mind began to scheme. She logged into Monet’s iPad, which was left on the coffee table, and retrieved Greyson’s calendar. Finding an opening between meetings from 3:30 to 4:00 pm, she would inform his assistant there was an emergency regarding Monet, granting her access. That’s when she would ambush him for real this time.

At exactly 3:34 pm, Zoya burst into Greyson’s office, catching him off guard as he sat behind his desk. She was determined to make her case, though the words hadn’t quite formed in her mind yet.

Standing before him, she started nervously rambling. “I’m sure you’re wondering why I just barged in your office, or maybe you aren’t. I mean, it's pretty obvious. Oh, and about Monet, she’s totally fine – I lied, but only because I care about your approval, and I hope you can respect that, but if not, then I sincerely apologize, and wow this was incredible rude of me and –”

"Zoya," he interrupted gently, "get to your point."

“Right,” Zoya responded, her shoulder slumping as she let out a nervous laugh. “Look, I get it, you don’t like me. And yeah you’re right, I’m not good enough for Monet, because who could be? She’s extraordinary…and that laugh? It might just be my favorite sound in the entire world. I can’t believe how lucky I’ve been to watch her grow over the last few years. I just wish you could see it for yourself because you would be so proud. I know I am.”

“Yes, I’m aware of all that,” he acknowledged.

“And I know that you’ve had to work for everything you have!” Zoya exclaimed urgently, her voice filled with desperation. "And that’s something you also pride yourself on. So, please, try and see where I’m coming from here. I swear, I will work hard every single day to make her happy, no matter what anyone else thinks."

Greyson paused, studying Zoya for a moment before responding. "Zoya, I..."

Before Greyson could finish, Zoya interrupted, her mind assuming the worst, “No. With all due respect sir, I refuse to leave your office until you see how much I love your daughter.”

"Zoya, I don’t dislike you," Greyson began, his tone measured. “Despite you barging into my office, you are a polite and intelligent girl, and I don’t doubt that you love my daughter. But it’s not about that. Monet is not in a place to get married right now. She’s too goal-driven, work-oriented. She’s just about to start her career….she doesn’t need anymore distractions.”

Zoya's heart sank. She knew he was right, and she should’ve considered all of that before she put Monet in this position and initiated this ridiculous game. But before she could speak, he added, "But I also know, after that impassioned speech, I can see you make Monet very happy. You’re good for her. So, when you’ve both graduated and become established in your careers, you do have my blessing.”

“Thank you, thank you. You have no idea what this means to me,” she expressed, not expecting to hear that part. She fought the urge to throw her arms around him, reminding herself of the formality of the setting.

As she prepared to leave, Greyson called after her, “Oh, and Zoya, it’s been too long since we last watched a game together. I’ll have my assistant contact you to arrange it.”

With a genuine smile spreading across her face, Zoya nodded. “I'd love that,” she replied before turning and walking out, her heart feeling lighter than it had in weeks.

**

Zoya returned home to find Monet waiting anxiously to find out how it went. The apartment seemed quieter than usual, the air thick with anticipation as Monet perched on the edge of their couch, looking up eagerly.

“So, what did my dad say when you asked him??” she inquired, unable to contain her curiosity.

Zoya crossed the room and settled beside Monet, their hands finding each other instinctively, both aware that this conversation could alter their future. Zoya took a moment to collect her thoughts before replying, “Well, he didn't exactly give us permission right now…”

Monet’s face broke into a radiant smile, her eyes lighting up with joy. “Thank god, I swear, I never want to see another ring pop again –” But then a shadow of concern crossed her features as she realized this went beyond the game. “Oh…” she murmured, worried that it might have triggered Zoya’s insecurities.

“But,” Zoya interjected. “He did give us his blessing for the future, when we’re actually ready.”

“Wait, how did you manage that? No offense,” Monet asked in shock. Her father’s approval was hard to get, not as hard as her mother’s but still.

“Well, after he basically accused me of wasting his time and walked out of the restaurant, I might have stormed into his office, poured my heart out, and made my case. And I guess it worked?” she recounted, still processing it herself.

Monet’s expression turned proud and amused as she considered the lengths Zoya went to for her father’s approval. “Wow. I can’t believe you did that. I guess my father finally sees what I’ve been trying to tell him all along,” she remarked.

She had always longed for at least one of her parents to recognize that what she had with Zoya was something special, something real, and now one did. It felt amazing.

Zoya grinned, cutting through her thoughts. “I know, which means…there are no winners or losers, and technically this game is officially over,” she said, a sense of relief and contentment settling over her.

“Except there are…losers,” Monet muttered to herself, feeling a pang of regret. That amazing feeling was short-lived once she realized this is how they opted to spend their last moments together before going long distance – caught up in scheming, trying to provoke each other, both ultimately miserable.

Zoya looked at her, puzzled by the sudden change in demeanor.

“Maybe I should consider an internship here in New York instead?” Monet blurted out, her thoughts facing faster than she could process them.

Zoya sat up straighter, her expression filled with concern. “What? Monet, no that’s crazy. You landed your dream internship on your own, you need to go,” she insisted, Greyson’s words echoing in her head. “Please, don’t let my insecurities get in your way. I should have never asked you to get married in the first place, or let this go on the way it did.”

Monet blinked, as if snapping out of a trance. “Oh, yeah…I guess you’re right,” she said slowly, shaking her head. “I just can’t believe we spent one of our last months together acting like complete crazy people.”

“Really? Cause I can?” Zoya joked with a grin, and Monet playfully hit her arm.

Zoya chuckled, her tone turning more serious. “Well, how about this, starting now, let’s agree to make the most of every moment together. We still have a few more weeks left. And when your big graduation day arrives, I’ll be there, front and center, cheering you on?” she proposed.

“Okay.” Monet's features softened with a gentle smile. “I couldn't imagine going through all this without you by my side.”

Chapter Text

1 month later

On Monet’s departure day, the setting sun painted the sky in hues of orange and pink over the tarmac. The private jet loomed in the background, its staff carrying her bags, serving as a constant reminder of the impending departure.

Monet and Zoya stood face to face, their hands linked tightly, unwilling to let go. It felt like each second was slipping away too quickly.

Zoya was the first to break the silence with a deep exhale. “You know what they say…If you love someone, set them free…”

“You are so dramatic, Zoya,” Monet sighed, shaking her head. “We’re seeing each other in just two weekends, remember? I sent you the calendar with all the dates. Red for when I’ll be in New York, and blue for when you’re coming to L.A.”

Zoya grinned. “Ah, yes, putting my iPad to good use,” she joked, the memory of their earlier schemes brought a nostalgic twinkle to her eyes.

The laughter faded, leaving a bittersweet silence in its wake. “I’m gonna go,” Monet murmured, not wanting the moment to become too emotional.

“Right.” Zoya nodded, her voice steady. “Call me when you land. Oh, and if you get bored on your flight, I put that book in your bag, I even annotated it for you,” she added with a smile.

A soft chuckle escaped Monet’s lips. “Sure," she replied, amused, turning to ascend the stairs to the waiting private jet.

But as she took the first couple of steps, everything hit her all at once. No more scheming, no more distractions – just the reality of being away from Zoya. Memories flood her mind: talks of marriage, her dad’s unexpected approval, and everything that led them to this moment.

Suddenly, she stopped mid-step, turning back to face Zoya. With a sharp exhale, she spoke, her voice filled with vulnerability. “Zoya, wait.”

“Yeah?” Zoya immediately turned around, waiting for Monet's words.

Monet's gaze softened as she looked down at Zoya, feeling a rush of emotions building inside her. With a deep breath, she finally spoke, her voice trembling with vulnerability, “No matter what happens…you’re my destiny.” She winced, feeling the cheesiness of her words – Zoya always had that effect on her.

Zoya’s heart filled with admiration as she rushed, practically running, to join Monet on the stairs. "Oh, now who's being dramatic?" she teased, wrapping an arm around Monet's waist.

“Still you?” Monet’s smile widened as she leaned in to kiss Zoya, whispering, “I love you,” between tender kisses,

“I love you too, de Haan, Now go.” She encouraged Monet with a gentle push, knowing it was time to part ways for now.