Unfortunately Yours: A Novel (Vine Mess Book 2)

Natalie woke up for the second time that day, but now it was midafternoon and she was gritty-eyed and disoriented. Her argument with August in the wee hours of the morning felt like a dream, but the queasiness in her stomach told her no, it had definitely happened. She’d attempted to people before coffee, before her brain fully woke up—and she’d acted like a bozo.

Had she really stormed off in a sheet because he wouldn’t initially explain his phone call? Dear God. This marriage was supposed to be a business arrangement. She’d been the one to propose it. And on day one, she’d acted like some kind of jealous lover.

Furthermore, she’d slept in his bed.

As far from a business agreement as one could get.

Nervous energy—and a dire need for distraction—forced Natalie out of the comfortable mess of sheets where she’d fallen asleep around six A.M. Slowly, she creaked open the guest bedroom door and peered out, finding Menace staring back at her curiously from the middle of the kitchen table. But no August. Thank God. She needed to thoroughly wake up and get ahold of her long-lost faculties before coming face-to-face with her husband again.

Retreating back into the bedroom for clothes and her toiletries bag, she closed herself in their shared bathroom a moment later, sighing as the heavy aroma of grapefruit snuck up and ambushed her. Memories rushed in from the last time she stood in this shower, getting pleasure from August. Scenes, naked ones, bombarded her, making her movements clumsy as she twisted the handle, setting the water temperature to scalding.

She went through the motions of showering—only allowing herself one or two itty-bitty sniffs of August’s homemade soap—while contemplating her new role as a fake wife and employee of Zelnick Cellar. Her title didn’t have to be in name alone. She could help this place run successfully. At the very least, she had a whole month to give August a running start.

Natalie turned off the shower, climbed out, and got dressed in a pair of shorts and a loose, long-sleeved shirt. She went back to her room, dried her hair, and left the house with a purpose: find a way to help. She should just stay locked in the guest room and pray for her trust fund to promptly arrive in her bank account. But she’d spent so much time laughing off August’s attempts at winemaking when the cause was a good one. A worthy one.

And maybe she wanted to be a part of it somehow.

Maybe his happiness meant a little something to her.

Natalie stopped in the entrance to the production barn when she saw August standing before the row of barrels, stirring the settled yeast. The temperature in the barn was slightly warm for this time of year and there was every chance it was affecting his process. Granted, he didn’t have the budget for a more advanced facility, but they could certainly find a way to cool down the barrels by a few degrees. Had he tested the nitrogen content of the grapes?

August turned suddenly, his expression going from surprised to slightly guarded. “Sorry, what was that?”

Voicing her private thoughts out loud without being aware of it was a fun new habit. “I was just wondering if you’d tested the nitrogen content. Of the grapes.”

She wanted to go closer. Wanted to peer into the barrels herself and sort through the tools on the nearby table, just to see what he was working with, but August’s stiff shoulder muscles cast an invisible barrier. Or maybe she was imagining that?

Sure, he’d asked her to stay out of the barn. But that was prewedding and they’d been in the midst of an argument. Had his request been serious?

“Um . . .” She squared her shoulders and tried again. “How soon after the first racking did you remove the layer of gross lees?”

“Gross what?” After what felt like an eternity, August cleared his throat. “Are you talking about that thick layer of shit that appeared on the surface after I pressed the grapes and put them in the barrels?”

She exhaled. “Yes.”

The fact that they were on the same page relaxed his shoulders. “I don’t know. I guess . . . about a week.”

Problem number one detected. The gross lees should be racked off after one or two days. But she didn’t say it out loud. She simply nodded when he looked back at her over his shoulder.

“I’ve got this, Natalie,” he said. “It’s all right if you want to go back to the house. Or . . .”

“Oh,” she said, a little caught off guard. She was no stranger to going toe-to-toe with August, but he’d never outright dismissed her. “I thought we were going to dig into the issues you’re having with production.”

“Yeah. It’s just, uh . . .” He coughed. “It’s just that I feel like I have to do this for Sam alone. It’s my responsibility. I want the responsibility.”

Natalie ignored the wound that formed in the center of her belly. Just like Corinne and Julian, August wanted things done a certain way and it did not include Natalie. She was not welcome. Both vineyards could be sinking into the red and still, her assistance would not be required. Same old story. But why did it hurt more that August wanted to manage on his own? That he didn’t want any help—her help—with the winemaking? She was used to her family being dismissive of her efforts but August . . . again, he wasn’t supposed to push her away. It stung, even if she understood that his grief over Sam caused him to react in ways no one could fully comprehend.

Setting aside the hurt, she took a moment to try to see things from his perspective. He’d gone on this mission for his best friend. August was the only one standing here who knew what Sam wanted. “I haven’t lost anyone close to me, but I think grief can be expressed in a lot of different ways.”

August’s shoulders drooped a little, his eyes casting guarded gratitude in her direction. “I wouldn’t talk to the guys about Sam’s death. I didn’t even tell anyone but my CO that I was coming here, buying the vineyard. I didn’t want any of them to ask to be involved. Isn’t that fucked up?” He rubbed at his throat. “It’s just that I was closer to him than anyone else and . . .”

“You want to carry all the weight yourself.”

“Yeah. If I give anyone else some of the weight, it feels like a cop out. Or like I’m shirking responsibility. So I just have to do it alone.”

Natalie marveled over the fact that she could experience such a piercing sense of sympathy for someone she’d once thought was a bumbling ogre. Occasionally still did. “Do you think he would want it this way? You carrying all the weight?”

August stopped in the middle of nodding. “No.” He let out a gust of breath. “No, he definitely wouldn’t. But that doesn’t change anything.”

“Yeah,” she said softly. “You have to do it your way, August. You’re the only one who knows what that is.” They stared at each other across the barn for several moments, before Natalie realized she was the intruder. Was he waiting for her to leave so he could continue? The possibility made her speak a little too quickly. “Anyway, I’ll let you get back to work. Sorry for acting like a jealous wife this morning.”

“I liked you being a jealous wife—” Immediately, he backpedaled. “No, wait. No. I didn’t mean that. I didn’t like you being jealous, but I loved you expecting more from me.”

A weight slowly traveled from her throat to the center of her chest.

He said the most impactful things sometimes. And he meant them.

But the poor bonehead couldn’t see that simply letting her help would have the biggest impact of all. Explaining that to him would force him into sharing before he was ready.

Maybe he would never be ready.

“Oh well.” The barriers she’d been too tired to engage at the crack of dawn were now up and running, thank God. She stepped backward out of the barn with her chin raised. “I’m going for a walk. I owe Claudia a call back—”

“Wait a few minutes,” he said quickly, fumbling the long wooden spoon a little. “I’ll come with you. Show you around.”

“No, thanks. I’m fine to go alone.” Before she could turn away from his frown, she remembered something and she snapped her fingers. “Oh wait. I’ve been meaning to ask you. Does this property have a wine cave?”

“Uh . . . yeah.” He swiped a wrist across his forehead, but the frown remained. “Yeah, there is an entrance at the rear of the event barn. Or what was going to be the event barn.”

“You had one event.”

“And I sold negative three bottles of wine. I’m not even sure how that math is possible.”

“Half of one ended up on your face.”

“Negative three and a half. I’m coming on your walk.”

She waved him off. “I can find the cave myself.”

“I haven’t been down there in months, but I remember there is no lighting and the stairs are steep—” He started to fan his armpits. “I’m sweating thinking about you in the cave alone. Just give me a second to wrap up here.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I know my way around a cave—and I have my flashlight app.”

“Wait for me,” he growled.

“No.”

This whole argument was beginning to feel like it had a hidden meaning, and she’d woken up this morning—the second time—and decided to uncomplicate their relationship. The more time she spent with August, however, the more convoluted their responsibility to each other seemed to become. And they’d been married less than twenty-four hours.

God save us.

He followed her across the dirt path between the two barns, taking off his gloves and leather apron as he walked and leaving them on the ground in his wake. Ridiculous.

She picked up her pace.

He matched it.

And now they were running, because nothing made sense anymore.

“Goddammit, Natalie.”

She rounded the corner of the event barn and spied the concrete staircase with the rusted metal handrail. “Why can’t you understand that I don’t want company?”

“Too bad. You’re getting it.”

“I like being alone when I’m in the cave.” When that statement sounded confusing to her own ears, she tried to clarify. “The one at Vos, I mean.”

He was right behind her now. Mere steps. “How much time do you spend down there?” They were even now, damn his long legs. “And what the hell for?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Sounds like it does matter.”

“No.” She stopped abruptly at the top of the stairs and turned to face him. “I mean . . . it doesn’t matter. That I’m down there. No one ever notices I’m gone.”

“I’d fucking notice,” he shouted down at her.

She fantasized about punching him in that moment. Hard. She truly did. That he could be so caring and protective, but still not realize how much it burned when he locked her out of his grief, out of his winemaking—it was frustrating. And since when did she let him have that power over her? How did he manage to sneak inside her and rearrange things?

“You don’t notice as much as you think you do,” she said, pushing him back a step, then stomping down the concrete stairs toward the cave entrance. After a moment, his tread followed behind her and without turning around, she could sense his poor man-brain working overtime. She almost felt a trace of pity. Almost.

Natalie opened the door slowly and welcomed the scent of earth and mold. Being that this cave hadn’t been used in a while, there was more dust in the stale air that escaped, but the cold, familiar darkness was welcome nonetheless. She opened her flashlight app and shined it in front of her, noting that August was right. The stairs were treacherous. But they were dry and the handrail wasn’t rusted as it was outside. She felt safe enough to venture inside, descending slowly into the underground.

“Natalie . . . ” August said thickly. “Hold on. I think I should go first.”

“I promise you, it’s okay. I’m not scared of a bat or two.”

“Bats?”

“Sure. They love caves. You could have a whole colony down here—”

“You’re going too fast. Slow down.”

Ignoring his odd tone, Natalie swung the flashlight left and revealed a long, oval-shaped room. Cobweb-covered racks lined the wall, empty, and discarded bottles of wine littered the stone floor. More darkness lay beyond in what looked to be a second, smaller room. “Oh my gosh, this is incredible, August. You could fix this up and have private parties down here. Or you could make it a storage room. There are so many different techniques . . .”

She trailed off when she realized August hadn’t answered her in a while.

Pausing midway down the stairs, she turned, using her flashlight to illuminate his face—and found him white as a ghost. His eyes were closed, sweat clinging to his forehead.

“August,” she breathed, alarm gripping her windpipe.

“I’m sorry. I don’t like this. I don’t . . .” He reached for the center of his chest, almost like he expected something to be there. Then he smacked at his waist, his outer thigh. Searching for a gun, she realized. Obviously coming up empty.

That was when the situation they were in started to register differently. They were in near total darkness, traveling into an unfamiliar space. Did this remind him of being in battle?

Did this remind him of . . . what happened to Sam?

“Natalie, I just need you out of here, okay?” he rasped haltingly.

“Yes. Yes, okay.”

She started to retreat up the stairs as quickly as possible, but August met her halfway and scooped her into his arms, jogging the rest of the distance and into the sunlight. He took the outer concrete steps two at a time, at which point his legs just seemed to give out. Still holding her in his arms, he dropped into a kneel in a shaded patch of grass and instinctively, Natalie curled herself around him. She wrapped every available appendage around this shaking man and clung, moisture pooling in her eyes.

“I’m sorry. Oh my God. I didn’t . . . it never occurred to me the cave might bring back bad memories—”

“Of course it didn’t occur to you. It shouldn’t.” His voice just sort of unraveled into her shoulder. “I don’t want you thinking about terrible shit like that.”

Natalie tightened her arms around his neck and slowly, slowly, he laid them down sideways in the grass and she could feel that his T-shirt was soaked in sweat, his heart still going a million miles an hour. “I shouldn’t have barged my way down there. I was just trying to find a way to help where I wouldn’t be in the way.”

He blew a rocky breath into her hair and pulled her closer. “You’re not in the way, but I appreciate that.”

She stroked his back with her fingertips and he sighed, the tension in his muscles ebbing slightly. “Has this happened before?”

“No.” He cradled the back of her skull in his hand and pressed her face more securely to his neck, as if the position comforted him. “No, I left the team after Sam died. I didn’t see any more combat. I couldn’t. There are dreams occasionally, but no flashbacks or panic attacks. Nothing . . . this fucked up.”

“This isn’t fucked up,” she whispered fervently.

He made a sound like he didn’t believe her. A long minute passed, his pulse beginning to slow. Then he said, “Winemaking was the heart of him. He wanted it so bad. And I already . . . I failed him once, Natalie. I wasn’t supposed to let him die. I was supposed to protect him.” A heavy swallow. “He wouldn’t have let it happen to me.”

Natalie’s tears were soaking into the shoulder of his T-shirt now, a torturous wind in her middle. “I’m not a soldier, August, and I don’t know anything about war, but I know your character. And I know if you’d had the slightest hint of a threat to anyone you love, you’d have done something to stop it. I know that like I know the sun will come up tomorrow.” She kissed his salty skin. “It wasn’t your fault.”

They held on to each other tightly in the afternoon sun, time passing without measure. Natalie pushed the lingering sadness she felt about August refusing her help as far away as possible, weighing it down with sympathy and understanding. And an encroaching, never-experienced-before feeling that was too scary to name.