Unfortunately Yours: A Novel (Vine Mess Book 2)

The last person August expected to see when he opened his front door the next morning was Corinne Vos. Convinced she was a figment of his imagination, he blinked several times and rubbed his eyes, but there she remained. Arms crossed, features pinched, blocking his path to the outdoor workout area he’d built behind the barn.

He searched her face for similarities to Natalie and found none. Maybe there was a glimmer of Natalie’s live-wire quality deep in the golden depths of the matriarch’s eyes, but it had been smothered in judgment.

“How are you this fine morning, Mr. Cates?”

Good question. The word “stunned” came to mind.

He’d spent a lot of the night pacing, wondering if he’d done the right thing by accepting the two-hundred-thousand-dollar investment from his CO. He didn’t want to deprive the man of the chance to support his late son’s dream. God, no. But August was also painfully aware that accepting the money from his CO meant . . . he no longer needed a small business loan from the bank. Which meant he technically didn’t need to marry Natalie.

When he married her, it would be purely so she could get her trust fund.

How would she feel about that if she knew?

Not thrilled, August’s gut told him. She’d probably rather change Menace’s litter box than be indebted to him. Yeah. If he told her about the investment, she would walk—and he really didn’t want Natalie biting off her nose to spite her face. She needed that trust fund. He wanted to help. And hell, what if she married someone else instead? Someone who would benefit from her family’s influence?

Fire singed the walls of his throat.

Maybe in this case, some things were better left unsaid?

At least until the timing was right.

“I’m doing all right,” he finally answered. “You?”

“I’m as well as can be expected, I suppose,” Corinne clipped, dragging him out of his worry spiral.

“Would you like to come in?”

“No.” She looked past him, briefly. “I’m fine out here, thank you.”

Of course she didn’t want to come inside for coffee. This woman probably never stepped inside anywhere that didn’t have a full staff and—lest we forget—original vintage fixtures. With an exhale into the cold morning air, she gestured to the barn. “Getting an early start on production? We can talk while you work.”

“Actually, no. I won’t get started until later today. I have a makeshift gym behind the barn.” He jerked his chin straight ahead, though it wasn’t visible from their vantage point. “That’s where I start my mornings.”

“An outdoor gym on vineyard grounds. Really.” She blinked approximately six hundred times. “Well, don’t let me keep you from your unorthodox routine.”

He couldn’t exactly hold a conversation while pushing a massive tire end over end, so he shook his head and mimicked her stance, crossing his arms and leaning back against the porch rail. “This is about Natalie.”

“Yes.” She studied him for a long moment. “I know what you must think of me. That I’m stuffy and controlling and . . . well, to put it plainly, I’m sure you think I’m a bitch.”

“I’m not going to pretend I liked the way you spoke to my . . . to Natalie. But I don’t know you well enough to say that, Mrs. Vos.”

“You would think I’m a bitch, let’s be honest. Perhaps I am.” She paused, dropped her crossed arms in favor of folding her hands at her waist. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want what is best for my children. I might have an odd way of showing it, but their happiness is no small thing to me. Especially since they’ve come home, I . . .” She cleared her throat and lifted her chin. “Well. I’ve become slightly more vigilant when it comes to our relationships. Unfortunately, the damage is not always easy to reverse. For instance, it’s very hard to take back years of criticism—what I thought was the constructive kind—instead of just showing . . . support. But I’m trying to do that with Natalie . . . in my own way.”

Discussing Natalie without her there to answer for herself felt disloyal and he didn’t like it. A weight sat heavier on his chest the longer she spoke. “Which way is that?”

A beat passed. “I guess I’m still figuring it out.” She smoothed her shirtsleeve. “I don’t really have an example to pull from.”

August said nothing.

“I always thought she would find her purpose far away from Napa. She did for a while. Then again, this place, my family, became my anchor when I was Natalie’s age. Maybe she needs to be here. Maybe she needs to be shown that roots aren’t always ripped out as easily as they were in New York. Family ones are stronger.”

Damn.

What exactly was the catalyst for her leaving New York?

It took everything inside him not to pry, but he wouldn’t dig up a story that Natalie wasn’t ready to tell. He thought of her in the bathroom, listening to him explain about Sam. How she’d come to him offering comfort. What if he got the chance to do the same for her? He’d give her whatever she needed, emotionally, physically. No questions asked.

Maybe she needs to be shown that roots aren’t always ripped out as easily as they were in New York. Those words occupied every inch of space between him and Corinne.

“I might not be very adept at showing affection, but I am here. She knew she could come home to me. I am permanently planted in her life and my roots run deep. Eventually she’ll realize that not everyone rips out their roots and leaves. But it would seem to me that a fake marriage with no actual commitment value would have the opposite effect.”

August’s pulse galloped. He’d used all of his brain power yesterday trying to get to the bottom of Natalie’s alcohol hang-ups, but he would try mining for more. “If you could tell me exactly what you came to say, Mrs. Vos, it would be much appreciated,” he said finally.

She inclined her head. “I should put a stop to this right now. This out-of-the-blue wedding and inevitable quick split has the potential to embarrass my family and the reputation I’ve worked so hard to carry through bad times and good—and there have been times that reputation is all we had. A farce like this one threatens to make us a punchline.” She tapped a finger against the back of her hand. “I’m supposed to pay the caterers today. But before I spend a fortune on crab rangoon . . . what would you say if I offered you a certain sum of money to leave and never come back?”

“I’d say burn it.” He said it without a thought. Didn’t need one. “And hell yeah on the crab.”

“Somehow I knew you’d tell me what to do with my money.” Her eyes narrowed slightly. “I saw . . . something. In the way you acted toward my daughter the other night on the train. I can’t really put my finger on what it was. Perhaps . . . protecting your investment? After all, being married to a Vos will earn this place a lot of attention.” August started to speak up, not sure exactly what would come out of his mouth, only that he took serious objection to Natalie being referred to as an investment. But Corinne held up a hand before he could speak. “Somehow that theory didn’t stick. So I’ve come here to ask you one thing. If you can give me a satisfying answer, I will pay the caterers and smile my way through your wedding vows.”

“Ask me anything,” August said, looking her dead in the eye. Bring it on. He’d once walked nineteen miles in the pitch-black with a snake bite. His commanding officer might have been cordial during his recent visit to the vineyard, but he’d once asked August if he had a pile of shit for brains. There wasn’t a question on earth that could scare him.

“Do you have genuine feelings for my daughter?”

All right, maybe that one.

Did he have feelings for Natalie?

August almost laughed.

Honestly, he should have just said yes. That would have been more than enough. It would have been true—and there wouldn’t be any mistaking that. But for some reason—and this probably had a lot to do with the fucking feelings themselves—he wanted this woman to approve of him, fake son-in-law or not. God help him, in this moment, he didn’t want the arrangement to be phony. He wanted, maybe needed, someone to tell him he was worthy of Natalie.

“I’ve lost count of the feelings I have for your daughter. Pardon me for saying this, but lust is really high on that list.” She rolled her eyes, so he rushed to continue. “But that’s only the beginning, really. I, uh . . . I worry about her. You know?” That confession ripped a seam open and the rest just came pouring out. “Sometimes she looks sad and I goad her into a fight just to get the kaleidoscope turning in her eyes again. And when it comes back, it’s a lot easier for me to concentrate. I’m not going to lie, sometimes she irritates me, but way more often, I’m just trying not to laugh. She’s really goddamn funny. Like, the girl can verbally cut my balls off and I respect that, even when I’m pissed. Does that make sense?” Corinne’s face remained totally blank, except for an eyebrow that was slowly creeping higher. “I don’t know what else to say except . . . if someone hurt her, I would go ballistic, ma’am. My head aches even thinking about it. I’m actually afraid to find out what happened in New York, because . . .” I’ve managed to hold my cards pretty close to the vest, but if I find out someone wronged her, she’s going to know I’m the furthest thing from casual when it comes to her. “Like I said, I don’t like her being sad. I’d rather have her angry and I’m pretty good at making that happen. I’d also really like her to be happy with me more often than she’s annoyed. I’d . . . love it, actually. Happy Natalie is a mission I want to go on and never come back. Have I gotten off track here?”

For long seconds, there was nothing but the sound of the wind. “I think I got what I came for.”

Jesus, that sounded ominous. “Is that a good or bad thing?”

“That remains to be seen.”

“Are you always this cryptic?” Was that a flash of a smile? Yeah, he thought it was. For that brief little window of time, he could see a resemblance to Natalie and his heart clunked. “You’re not going to try to stop the wedding, right?”

He held his breath after asking that question. “I don’t know,” she said, turning and gliding away. Back toward her silver Lexus. “Am I?”

“I’m starting to see where Natalie gets her venom.”

Corinne paused at the driver’s side, looking startled. And a little pleased? “Thank you.”

August shook his head until his future mother-in-law had driven away.

He pushed the tire a lot longer than usual that morning.

*  *  *

“Welcome to your officially unofficial bachelorette party.”

Natalie stared at Hallie, trying to make sense of the words that were coming out of her mouth. She’d just walked into a bar named Jed’s that was more than a little out of the way—off Grapevine Way and a good three blocks down a side street. Until a moment ago, when she’d stopped in front of the rustic lodge facade and double-checked the address, she wasn’t aware this place existed.

Before she could respond to Hallie, a loud thud echoed through the buzzing establishment, loud enough to make her jump and spin around. “My God. Is that man throwing an axe?”

“Yes.” Hallie clapped her hands together. “It’s an axe-throwing bar. I’ve been dying to come here and this was the perfect excuse.” She looped her arm with Natalie’s and tugged her through the throng of people in jeans, T-shirts, and flip-flops, making Natalie feel utterly ridiculous in her black silk tunic dress and studded gladiator sandals. “My friend Lavinia got us a table in back where it’s semi-quiet so we can go over the details for Saturday, aka the big day!”

“Great,” Natalie said. “I’m not throwing an axe.”

“You’ll change your mind after a drink or two.”

“Yes, lower my inhibitions, then hand me a weapon. What could go wrong?”

Before Hallie could answer, a woman stepped into her path and enfolded her in a hug, the scent of sugar and chocolate wafting off her clothing with such potency that Natalie’s tastebuds tingled. “Well, if it isn’t the future bride ’erself,” crooned the woman in a thick British accent. “I wanted to rent strippers, but it seems we’ll be getting split in half by axes, instead.”

Natalie couldn’t help but laugh at that. “I suppose both would have been too dangerous?”

The woman tossed back her blond hair. “We can’t have wangs getting chopped off, darling. It’s bad luck before a wedding.”

Hallie ushered them both to a table in the corner. “Natalie, I would introduce you to Lavinia, but I think you’ve just been thoroughly acquainted.”

“Speaking of wangs . . . ” Lavinia continued, dropping into her chair across from Natalie, “it’s nice not to have any around for once. Fuck off, lads. It’s ladies night.”

“How did you pry yourself away from my brother?” Natalie asked Hallie, swallowing a smile.

“Actually, he is kidnapping August as we speak.”

“August?” Natalie breathed. She hadn’t seen him in two days. Not since the Shower. He’d texted her once, asking for guidance on his tuxedo rental. “Should I go with purple or powder blue?” he’d asked. To which she’d replied, “Get one with a bib for those inevitable spills at dinnertime,” accompanied by a baby emoji. He’d also sent a meme about shotgun weddings that depicted a man standing beside a woman at the altar with a gun barrel pressed to his back.

A case of wife or death read the caption.

Ridiculous. Still . . .

Why did hearing his name make her feel awake for the first time in days?

Both women were staring at her. “Uh . . .” Natalie crossed her legs hastily. “Is it even possible to kidnap a Navy SEAL?”

“Maybe he’ll go willingly when he finds out it’s his impromptu bachelor . . .” Hallie hedged. “Well, I would say party, but . . .”

“But it’s my brother and they’ll probably just watch Jeopardy! and eat ham sandwiches?”

“Julian is learning to be more adventurous,” Hallie said, flushing clear up to her temples. “He didn’t mention where they were going, but I’m guessing somewhere quiet where Julian can read August the riot act.”

Natalie frowned. “The riot act?”

“You know . . .” Hallie waved at the waitress. “Hurt my sister and I’ll kill you.”

“Right.” Natalie snorted. “That sounds like Julian.”

“Doesn’t it?” Hallie sighed, obviously missing Natalie’s sarcasm.

For the last four years, she’d barely spoken to her brother. Not when she’d gotten engaged to Morrison. Or made partner at the firm. Just the obligatory birthday and Christmas call and nothing more. He didn’t even heart her Instagram posts. As children, he’d been the one to console her, defend her from unwanted male attention at school—in his albeit sharp and emotionless manner. But when she’d emerged from rehab at seventeen, an embarrassment to the Vos name while he was already thriving at Stanford, she’d sort of assumed his lack of contact was his way of showing disapproval. Or worse, that he wasn’t aware of her at all.

No matter what she did, the reverse of that disapproval never came, from Julian or her parents. Not after she’d improved her grades and gotten into Cornell. Not after she’d climbed her way up the ladder in the boy’s club that was New York finance or jointly purchased her condo with Morrison on Central Park South. It had taken them accidentally sharing the guest house together to make her realize Julian had been dealing with his own issues that whole time. It didn’t excuse his silence, but she understood him more now.

I’m glad you’re here.

She could still hear those clipped words coming from her brother as they’d walked up the path toward the main house one night just over a month ago. The night she met August at the Wine Down festival, actually. Until then, she hadn’t realized exactly how starved she’d been for any form of affection from her family. Hearing that Julian had given up his Thursday night in order to get better acquainted with August . . . meant something. It meant a lot.

Even if he’d been bullied into it by his girlfriend.

For the next hour, they went over wedding plans. At Corinne’s behest, Natalie and August would be married in the front yard of the main house, overlooking the vineyard, at sunset. A dream wedding, really, if only it were real. Hallie had outdone herself with the flower arrangements, creating a tasteful color scheme of cream and crimson with pops of black ribbon, somehow grasping Natalie’s style without her having to say a word. Corinne had taken charge of the ceremony arrangements and a tent for the reception was already in the process of being erected and decked out. Natalie’s only request had been “Small, please,” and it had obviously been vetoed.

Hallie shuffled some paperwork around. “If there are any specific songs you’d like the DJ to play—”

“Anything but ‘Brick House.’ Please.”

“An anti-playlist,” Lavinia chimed in, her fourth martini hoisted in the air. “I love it. Can we please add ‘Mambo No. 5’? There isn’t a person alive that looks good dancing to that song. We need fucking Abba—and that’s it, really. Abba.”

“Fucking Abba. Check,” Hallie chirped, making a note. “I also need to know which song you and August would like to dance to.”

For some reason, her whole body flushed hot.

Dancing with August while he held her close.

In front of everyone.

Would she even have to fake her enjoyment of that?

“How about ‘You’re So Vain’?”

Hallie’s nose wrinkled. “By Carly Simon?”

“The very one.” Satisfied with her choice, already picturing the look on his face, Natalie smiled around the rim of her glass on the next sip. But the cold liquid didn’t make it down her throat, because the door opened and August strode in with Julian.

Wow. The whole place went silent. Or maybe the sudden, rapid pounding of her heart was drowning out the shuffling chairs and laughter? Her brother by himself would have caused a stir by walking into any bar. He carried himself like nobility and looked perpetually annoyed—and yeah, she supposed he was pretty darn handsome.

But August.

He entered Jed’s with an air of danger that she’d never quite noticed before. Maybe the first night they met, when she’d clocked the navy tat and deemed him the strong, capable, heroic type. Ever since then, however, he’d more or less become the loudmouth goofball to whom she was nursing a destructive attraction. She should have found it exasperating that he walked into the bar as if trying to establish himself as the alpha. All swaggering and huge and scanning the place for trouble—and the exits. Oh. That’s right. You’re marrying a SEAL.

There had to be two dozen women in the bar, but his gaze didn’t stop on any of them.

Not until it landed on her.

Oh, this was bad.

She was two cocktails deep and the memory of his knowing fingers was too fresh.

Also, dammit. Something akin to joy leapt inside her at his appearance. As if a suppressed part of her was happy to see the jerk.

“I can’t believe he picked the same bar as me. An axe-throwing bar,” Hallie murmured to Natalie’s left. “Next he’ll be getting his septum pierced and vaping.”

“Well, I’m not about to be the fifth wheel.” Lavinia drained her drink and plonked the empty glass on the table. “The husband is due his bimonthly shag anyway.” She saluted them on her way toward the door, calling over the noise, “I will see you at the wedding on Saturday. I’ll be the only one in a fascinator, since you Americans refuse to respect their majesty.”

“Bye, Lavinia,” Hallie called, drawing Julian’s notice.

Julian’s eyes widened slightly and he gravitated toward Hallie, as if entranced, a smile curving his mouth. As much as listening to her brother and his girlfriend slam the headboard into the wall every morning had scarred her for life, Natalie could admit to swooning just a little at the straight-edged professor’s reaction to spotting the troublemaker gardener. But as Julian and Hallie reunited with quiet murmurs to her left, she could see only August. Obviously. His head almost brushed the low pendant light that hung from the ceiling.

One did not miss a being so enormous.

In fact, a lot of women in Jed’s were having the same problem.

Some women really went for the whole muscle-bound hero thing, apparently.

Natalie tried not to care. She really did. But when a young woman fanned herself in Natalie’s periphery, she found herself pushing up out of her chair and planting one on August’s surprised mouth. “Hi,” she said brightly, brushing back her hair. “You’re here.”

“Yeah.” His gaze ping-ponged between her mouth and eyes. “Can we try that again? I wasn’t expecting it. My tongue is ready now.”

“I don’t think this is an appropriate time for tongue.”

“When will it be?”

Natalie dropped her head back so she could groan at the ceiling. “Literally thirty seconds into this conversation and I’m exhausted.”

“You think you’re tired now?” He winked. “Wait until after tongue time.”

“Don’t ever say ‘tongue time’ again. Or I swear to God.”

August chuckled, his hand settling into the curve of her waist naturally, brushing his thumb up and down her rib cage, as if he did it all the time. She wanted to push his hand away, because that light touch was stiffening her nipples. Ironically, that was the same reason she wanted his hand to remain exactly where it was. “Should I be worried that we’re in a bar where weaponry is readily available?”

“Yup.” She chopped the air with her hand. “Watch your wang, Cates.”

He shuddered, glancing over his shoulder long enough to watch someone throw an axe—badly—missing the bull’s-eye by a good two feet. “You’re not the only one I have to worry about, princess. Pretty sure Julian would bury one of those in my back at any sign of premarital discord. Be nice to me for once, huh? I’m too young to die.”

“Say ‘tongue time’ again and we’ll test that theory.” A waitress stopped in front of them and held up her notepad with a smile, prompting August to order a pint of Blue Moon. “What did my brother say to you?”

Natalie tried to be casual about posing the question. She must not have pulled it off entirely, though, because August seemed to look deeper. “Usual brother stuff.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“Why not?”

She shrugged a shoulder. “We haven’t been close. I mean, he didn’t even meet Morrison, let alone threaten him with axe violence.”

“Guess I’m special like that.” August blew out an extra-long breath. “I’m not going to ask about the ex-fiancé. I’m not going to ask about the ex-fiancé.”

“That’s probably for the best. It’s not a pretty story.”

A low rumble reached her ears.

Was he . . . growling? Why?

Natalie had no idea. But a subject change probably wasn’t the worst idea. The last person she wanted to talk about was her ex-fiancé. “So about the wedding—”

“You know, tonight isn’t the only time Julian has threatened to kick my ass. The first night you threw a drink in my face? He told me if I ever spoke to you like that again, he’d break my nose. It’s kind of the reason I like the dude.”

“Really?” She laughed. But her throat was suddenly so tight, the word emerged a little choked. “I didn’t . . . I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah.” Her future husband watched her closely. Like he could see everything going on in her head and it fascinated him. Probably squirreling information away for later so he could pull it out and use it during their next argument, which, at best, would likely take place in the next five minutes. “He cares about you, Natalie. Your mom cares about you, too. But it’s like you’re all trying to keep your love a secret. Why is that?”

“I don’t know,” she said, half defensive, half . . . honest. She didn’t know. “Did your family go around making big professions of love all the time?”

“Not exactly. Not all the time. But it was said. In birthday cards. Or when my mother had too much to drink on New Year’s and got sappy and started sharing memories.” He accepted his beer from the waitress and took a long gulp, staring at an invisible spot over her shoulder. “But I think my parents put more importance on telling me they were proud of me. I worked a summer job so I could afford a beat-up Honda Accord. When I signed the paperwork, my parents said they were proud of me. When I joined the navy, they were proud. Looking back, I think maybe that was more their way of saying ‘I love you’ than the actual words.”

It unnerved Natalie how much she wanted him to continue talking about his family. But wanting to know the background of the person she was fake marrying was healthy and normal, right? “Which is more important to you? Love or pride?”

He studied her face. “You answer first.”

Was it crazy to be having this deep conversation in the middle of a loud bar? Probably. For some reason it didn’t feel strange, though. There were no formalities with this man. Just jumping in with both feet and being pulled along in the current. “I guess . . . pride is more important to me. Pride is something that can be kept. Love is too often squandered when you give it away. People might be careless with your love, but they can’t touch your pride. Or put it on their shelf like a trophy. It’s yours.”

Something about his demeanor changed. Sort of a swelling of his shoulders and lifting of his chest, as if he was preparing for a fight. On her behalf? “Your ex was careless with you.”

Not a question, a statement.

Flustered by her willingness to share so recklessly with this man, she reached for her drink and stared into its depths. She took a sip, cooling her throat, feeling his rapt attention on her the whole time. “Your turn. Love or pride?”

“Love,” he answered without hesitation.

Why did something inside her bloom like a rose over his answer? “Really?” Her voice was more uneven than a middle schooler’s. “You just told me that whole story about Honda Accords and your family valuing pride.”

“I know.” He appeared thoughtful. “But love seems more important now.”

Don’t ask why. “Why?”

“Because I can tell you don’t believe in it. And I want you to.”

She definitely shouldn’t ask why to that question. Or try to read between the lines for something that wasn’t there. “That’s very generous of you,” she said quickly, feeling a rare ramble coming on and too flustered to avoid it. “I mean, the two are very closely related at the end of the day, right? Love means letting go of your pride, after all.”

He looked at her as if she’d just said something really smart. “Holy shit. Does it?”

“I don’t know, August. I’m not an expert.” He continued to stare at her. For so long that she started to fidget. “What?”

“I want to know exactly what happened in New York.”

Natalie shook her head. “No.”

“Who is up for some axe throwing?” Hallie sang, coming along beside them, face flushed, a very cocky looking Julian sauntering up behind her. “We can do teams. Couple versus couple.”

“Screw that.” Natalie set down her drink and hauled Hallie against her side. “Men versus women.”

A smile threatened the corners of August’s mouth. “Who am I to object?”

“Battle of the sexes.” Hallie flexed a biceps. “Let’s do this.”

Julian and Hallie left to secure their foursome a lane, leaving August and Natalie sizing each other up in the middle of the growing crowd. “Care to make it interesting?” he asked. “Not that I haven’t already won just getting to watch you throw an axe in that short-ass dress.”

“I’m going to get you sexual harassment training as a wedding gift.”

His expression brightened. “Are we getting each other gifts?”

Natalie opened her mouth with the intention of calling him a bonehead—again—but the group to her back surged forward without warning and she stumbled, pitching forward. August moved like lightning, catching her around the waist with his free left arm, spilling not a single drop of his beer in the process. She successfully avoided falling, but her nose buried itself in the middle of his chest, smack dab between his pecs, and the smell of grapefruit soap and shaving cream momentarily made her brain fuzzy. And it grew fuzzier still when he pulled her closer. Protectively. Giving the people behind her a dark look. “Okay, princess?”

“Yes, I’m fine.” She inhaled—discreetly—a final time.

Or maybe not so discreetly, because his lips twitched.

Finally, she managed to pull back, smoothing the front of her dress, wincing at the breathlessness in her tone when she said, “You were saying something about a wager?”