Unfortunately Yours: A Novel (Vine Mess Book 2)

The morning after they’d returned from New York, the air tasted sweeter, her chest felt lighter, and she was more optimistic than she’d been in a really long time. Not the desperate, edgy kind of optimism that came with trying to climb the finance world ladder, but . . . a calm sense that she was in the right place. That she might just be enough on her own without having to prove herself over and over again.

While waiting to board their flight at JFK, Natalie had called and explained everything to Claudia and offered to compensate her for all the time she’d spent working on their start-up. Of course, she’d accepted, because smart was smart. Natalie’s loyal friend may have even seemed a little happy that her marriage to August was going to stick. Not that she would ever admit it. Natalie had also left a message with Savage’s assistant letting him know they would no longer require the investment. Unless he fancied putting his money behind a winery with a one-star Yelp rating.

No word back yet.

Julian and Corinne had been waiting in August’s driveway when they pulled up, having been alerted of their arrival back in Napa via text from August. Her mother actually apologized—and meant it, unless Natalie was totally mistaken. Her mother genuinely hadn’t wanted to bother Natalie with business on “her honeymoon” but would be including her in all interactions with VineWatch going forward.

“Not only that, I’ll be grateful for your input,” her mother had said.

Yeah. The air felt different today. Easier to inhale.

Natalie stopped short in front of the production barn.

Even after August’s assurance that no part of the winery was off-limits to her anymore, she still couldn’t bring herself to simply walk inside. Her husband stepped into view inside the barn, waving at her from the dusky interior, a leather apron pulled on over his white T-shirt.

“Morning, princess.”

Warmth trickled through her at the husky familiarity in his voice and she had to force a sip of coffee past the lump in her throat. “Morning.”

He cleaned his hands on a rag a lot longer than seemed necessary, all while looking her over. “I was hoping you could help me out in here today.”

Her fingers flexed around the coffee mug, happiness popping like bubbles below her throat. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah,” he said gruffly, his attention falling to the wine barrels briefly, then shooting back to her eyes. “I need you.”

Natalie shook her head. “You can take some time letting me in, August.”

He looked prepared for that response, because his expression didn’t change one iota. His voice remained even, though the latter seemed to require an effort. “You’re in, Natalie. You’re in deep and that’s where I want you. I can’t do this for Sam by myself. I need you with me. I’ve needed you with me all along.” He paused. “That’s probably why I couldn’t hear him the other day. He was giving me the silent treatment until I pulled my head out of my ass. He’s back now.”

Natalie breathed in and out very carefully, positive too big of an inhale would snap her in half. “I’m so glad, August,” she whispered unevenly. “I’m glad he’s back.”

“I was trying to beat back my guilt for not saving Sam by doing this all myself, but the truth is . . . he never would have wanted that.” He looked around at the interior of the barn, as if seeing it for the first time. “He never would have wanted me to succeed at his dream . . . at the cost of you.” His eyes found their way back to her. “Because you’re my dream. He’d want me to have you as much as he wanted this place. And . . . I’m the one who is still here. He’d tell me to cut the shit, quit feeling guilty, and live this dream with my wife.”

It was hard to find words, let alone the right ones in that moment, so she simply spoke from the heart. “You were lucky to have Sam, August. But he was lucky to have you, too.”

“Thanks.” Clearing his throat, he shoved the rag into his pocket hastily. “Jesus, I can’t believe I ever asked you to stay out now that I want you in here with me so fucking bad, Natalie.”

“Okay, I’m coming,” she said breathlessly, desperate to stop his flow of words before he said something, a final thing that would make her crumble. “Okay.” She cradled her mug against her chest and approached him, her pulse ripping into an unruly rhythm the closer she came to August and his big leather apron. “You don’t have to be so dramatic.”

“I’m completely dramatic over you. Deal with it.”

She slipped past him into the production facility, the fronts of their bodies brushing together and making their breath catch. “If I have to deal with your drama, you have to deal with my speech about the intricacies of a grape.”

“Done.” He followed behind Natalie, leaving her almost no room to breathe. “I’m all ears. And muscles, because obviously. Lay your intricacies on me, princess.”

Natalie stopped in front of the racked barrels, noticing immediately that August had spent the morning filtering the ones she hadn’t had time to do on Friday.

She looked at August to find a serious expression on his face, arms crossed.

He wasn’t just paying her lip service, he was actively following her lead.

“Um . . .” She wet her suddenly dry lips. Why was her pulse going so fast? “Well. The character of a grape depends on a lot of factors. Climate, soil, whether the vines were stressed or understressed, the temperature at which they were picked and stored. I’m sure you’re aware by now of tannins. They provide texture. They give the wine structure.” She glanced back at the equipment behind her that was no longer in use. “You appear to have given the wine a short maceration time at a warmer temperature. That’s a good practice for extracting those tannins. Where you’re going wrong is the fermentation period.”

“The filtration helped,” August said without shifting his attention from her face. “I tasted some and didn’t want to curl up and die. But it still needs a lot of work.”

“Yes. We’ve removed the bacteria and excess yeast. But we need to continue to blend our wine. It hasn’t been given enough oxygen.”

“Sort of symbolic, isn’t it?” He swooped in and kissed the side of her neck, lingering there for a second, wetter one. “The blending of two lives . . .”

“Are you going to be this romantic all the time?” She gasped as his lips moved hotly over her ear. “Or is it all the bacteria talk getting you worked up?”

“I’m going to give you all the romance you can stand, Natalie queen princess Cates.” His smile was flirtatious against her mouth. “But mainly, it’s all the ‘our wine’ and ‘we need to continue to blend’ talk. It makes us sound like a team.”

“That’s what we are,” she whispered, her emotions vibrating like a tuning fork. “Isn’t it?”

“No, Natalie. Like I told you . . .” His forehead dropped to hers. “We’re the dream team.”

She smiled on the heels of their kiss. “I think you just named our first vintage.”

“First of many.”

*  *  *

A handful of days later, on the way home from buying August socks without holes—seriously, he didn’t own a single intact pair—Natalie had the craziest urge to pull over and buy flowers, too. The shopping trip was quite a departure from her usual routine of popping into one of St. Helena’s many wine stores around four P.M. for a bottle—and backup bottle—of Cabernet. Who was this person she was slowly turning into? She hadn’t even blow-dried her hair this morning, she’d just showered and let it dry in haphazard waves, because she couldn’t wait to meet August in the facility, where he was already up and working.

Each morning, while she drank her coffee, she watched him from the window of the house, smiling into every sip as he continually glanced over his shoulder, waiting for her to come join him. Visibly eager to have his partner in crime out in the barn at his side. She’d gladly given up her blow-drying time in the mornings just to watch it. Observe how much he wanted her company. How much he wanted her around, all the time.

Now, Natalie pulled onto the dusty shoulder, parked, and got out. She had groceries in the back of the car so August could make them dinner tonight, because some things would never change. She wasn’t going to become a chef, in addition to becoming a vintner. There was only one cook in the family, as evidenced by her pitiful attempt at eggs yesterday. Genius move, marrying a man who was accustomed to surviving on field rations—he’d choked them down without blinking and appeared only mildly seasick afterward.

On her way to the flower stand, her heart swelled so much that her entire chest felt like a struck funny bone. The gooey sensation melted down into her fingertips and tingled there. And she walked faster, wanting to get home.

Something inside her was healing at a rapid rate, not only because of this love stampede that had totally trampled her beneath its hooves. But because she’d pushed for exactly what she needed and deserved. She’d accepted nothing less and the reward . . .

It reminded her of the wild blooms that burst from all corners of the road-side stand. Colorful. Beautiful. Every time she looked at one of the bouquets, she saw something new, something different. She’d spent a long time on one side of a wall, with her fear of rejection, and August had been behind a different one. They couldn’t see each other until they’d both climbed over and met in the middle. In a sea of flowers.

Or grapes, as it were.

“What’ll it be? The roses or the lilies?”

Natalie’s head came up, a puzzled expression on her face. She hadn’t narrowed it down to two options yet. Was the flower vendor speaking to her?

A gentleman she hadn’t noticed before had approached from the opposite end of the shoulder. Wait . . . she recognized the man. It was August’s CO. Commander Zelnick. What was he doing back in St. Helena?

The commander glanced at Natalie from the corner of his eye and nodded politely, but he obviously didn’t recognize her—and no wonder. Last time she met the man, she’d been in a skirt and blouse with perfectly coiffed hair and makeup. Currently, she was in a loose pair of boyfriend jeans, a tank top, and no bra, with sunburned cheeks, and she looked like she’d just been through a wind tunnel.

She approached the CO slowly, intending to reintroduce herself and ask what had brought him back to St. Helena, but he spoke to the vendor first. “I’m not sure. I met her only once, but I think she’s more the roses type.”

Was it possible . . . he was here to visit August and those flowers were for her? More than possible. It was likely. Who else could this man know in a town where he didn’t reside?

As the flower salesman went about wrapping the roses in paper, Natalie approached, clearing her throat softly. “Excuse me, Commander Zelnick. It’s me. Natalie. August’s wife.” There was no way to stop the smile that spread across her mouth after saying those words, so she simply let it grow and held out her hand for a shake. “I think you’re buying me flowers?”

After a moment of clear confusion, he merely looked chagrined. “I’m sorry.” He shook her hand once, firmly. “I didn’t recognize you.”

I don’t recognize myself these days.

At least all the new, good parts.

Natalie nodded. “I thought as much.” She gestured to her dusty jeans. “We’ve spent some time out working in the vineyard today, cultivating the soil. I ran to the store to grab some ingredients for dinner—more than enough for three. I assume you’re on your way to see August?”

“I am. Have to keep a soldier on his toes.” He accepted the bouquet from the vendor, hesitated, then handed them to her with a slight blush, making her laugh.

“They’re beautiful. Thank you. And you’re right, I’m definitely the roses type.”

“Excellent.” He handed the man behind the counter a twenty and told him to keep the change. “I suppose I’ll see you in a few minutes at Zelnick Cellar. I’m interested to see how August has taken advantage of my investment. Maybe some new equipment, or . . .”

He trailed off, expecting Natalie to jump in with an answer. She didn’t have one.

Investment?

Obviously not picking up on the fact that she was stunned, the man continued on while unearthing his car keys from the pocket of his slacks. “I know it has been only a few weeks, but I’m eager to see what improvements have been made.”

A few weeks.

The commander had given August money? For the vineyard?

They’d been in such a happiness haze since returning from New York, they hadn’t really spoken about the missed appointment with Ingram at the bank. They’d made no move to reschedule. August hadn’t even brought it up. If his commanding officer had given August an investment weeks ago, had he ever needed a bank loan in the first place?

Had he been keeping a secret, too?

Had he even needed to marry her?

“What investment?” she croaked.

*  *  *

August took the rag out of his back pocket and swiped it across his sweaty brow, a smile curving his lips when he heard a car pull up in front of the house. Honey, I’m home. He’d been begging Natalie to utter that phrase just once and she’d refused, but he’d get it out of her eventually. Maybe tonight. Maybe now.

He stripped off his shirt.

Went to the back door and did a few pull-ups on the doorframe, hoping it would make his muscles pop. His wife was a sucker for these pecs, which was only fair, because he was a sucker for her. The week since returning from New York was not just the happiest of his life, it was the happiest of anyone’s life, and he’d fight whoever disagreed.

As if he could even locate enough irritation inside himself to throw a punch. He was all sunshine and doves below the neck these days. His wife was really his wife. She was happy with him. She actually fucking loved him back, this human work of art. With every passing day, he discovered more about her, too. Her ticklish spots, her very precise routine in the shower that involved around nine different products, all of which smelled like goddamn heaven, the silly voice she used to speak to the cat when she thought he couldn’t hear.

The hopeful way she talked about her family as they continued to reconnect, the intent way she listened, like she couldn’t wait to be his confidant, the way she sometimes just needed a rubber band for her hair. Seriously, he’d started keeping a collection of the little black bands on his wrist, because she could never seem to find one, despite the fact that they were everywhere in the house. Sometimes all he had to do to make her smile was hand her a rubber band so she could put her hair up in one of those crazy knots. The first time it happened, she’d looked at him like he’d just turned his chair around for her on The Voice.

They fought over control of the television remote.

They fought over a lot of things.

She couldn’t cook for shit.

And he loved her with the fire of a thousand suns.

Which made those fights end pretty damn quickly, because his chest started to sting and all he wanted was to make her happy again. It helped that she didn’t like fighting with him anymore, either. She’d grumped at him this morning before her coffee and two minutes later, she’d been crawling onto his lap at the dining room table with apology kisses. Leading to apology sex. His nuts were back in a knot right now, just thinking about how she’d pouted the word sorry against his mouth, straddling him.

Rocking just once on his lap and liquefying his brain.

Was it possible to marry her again? Or did he have to wait a certain number of years to renew their vows?

This phenomenal woman had snuck over barriers he didn’t even know existed inside him. She’d started helping him bring Sam’s dream to life . . . and slowly it was becoming their dream, too. Yeah, it was becoming theirs, and that was more than okay. It was his life now and he desperately wanted to go on living it forever.

August dropped down from the doorframe after a few more pull-ups, his brow knitting over the arrival of a second car. Who was that?

When he walked out of the barn, the person he needed to see was Natalie—and he did. Briefly. She glanced at him with a strange look on her face as she slipped into the house with a bunch of roses in her arms, shutting the door behind her. What the hell was that?

He started after her, stopping short when his CO climbed out of the second car.

“Cates.”

As always, his spine snapped straight at the sound of his commanding officer’s voice, but his mind didn’t follow. Not this time. Something was up with his wife. Why was his neck tingling like danger was imminent?

Commander Zelnick approached with his hands clasped behind his back. “I don’t mean to keep surprising you like this, Cates, but I never know when I’m going to get enough free time to drive up from Coronado.” He nodded at the barn. “I trust things are on their way to improving.”

“Yes, sir,” he said automatically—and it was the truth—but a hundred-pound weight had dropped in his stomach and something was prodding the edges of his consciousness. “Sir, would you mind waiting here a moment while I figure out my wife?”

He didn’t mean it to sound ridiculous, but his mouth wasn’t connecting with his brain. She’d stopped to buy flowers? For their house? Why did that make him feel like there was a potato sack race happening inside his chest? And why hadn’t she smiled at him?

Was something wrong?

Yes. Something is wrong.

He’d been avoiding thinking about it during their week of bliss, but with the appearance of his commanding officer, the monumental thing he’d been keeping from Natalie jumped up and dug its teeth into his jugular. Every time he thought he had gathered enough courage to tell her about the investment, he recalled the way her father and ex-fiancé had manipulated her with the contents of their bank accounts. Or her trust fund. Not to mention, the investor she’d met with in New York. How she resented their refusal to be straightforward about money.

A little longer, he kept thinking. I’ll tell her about the investment once some time has passed since my last fuckup. Really, it had been just over a week since he’d sent her running to the other side of the country. They were so happy. He’d just wanted more things about their marriage in the pro column before he added deceptive about money to the con side.

“Of course, go greet your wife,” the CO answered, laughing. “Didn’t recognize her at the flower stand. She looks different. Good different. Happier.”

“Thank you,” August managed, pulse rollicking. “Did you . . . you didn’t mention the investment, did you? I haven’t told her yet.”

The man only looked confused. “Why not?”

“It’s complicated.” August sort of just doubled over, catching himself with hands on his knees, releasing an unsteady exhale. “You did tell her. She knows.”

“It came up, yes.”

“Oh fuck.”

“Cates?”

“Sorry. Oh fuck, sir.”

This was bad. This was very bad.

His spleen was seconds from erupting, and he didn’t even know where his spleen was located. Or its function.

Fix it. Fix it now.

“I need some time with Natalie, sir,” he said, winded. “If you hear glass breaking or doors slamming, don’t worry, that’s normal around here.”

“Should I come back later?”

August took a deep breath on his journey toward the house. “That’s probably a good idea, sir.”

With a brisk nod, the commanding officer strode to his car, as if a battle awaited.

And it did. The big one.

Why the hell had August kept this from her for so long? Didn’t he know better by now?

August paused with his hand on the doorknob, then opened the door carefully, waiting a beat, just in case a plate or frying pan came flying at his head. “Princess?”

No answer.

Shit. I’m screwed.

Silent treatment from Natalie was so much worse than arguing, because he didn’t get to hear her voice and it meant her feelings were injured. Utter torture.

“Natalie,” he said, easing himself inside the house, “I’m sorry. I was going to . . .”

August stopped short just inside the door, because a sight greeted him that he wasn’t expecting. Natalie was standing in the middle of the kitchen, wringing her hands. She appeared to be . . . nervous? Why?

Did people get nervous before they asked for a divorce?

Probably.

Acid flooded his organs, so thick he could taste it in his mouth.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, his voice in tatters. “I was going to tell you, but we’re so happy and I didn’t want you to lump me in with your father and Morrison and Savage. Listen to me, it’s not what you think. Yes, I accepted an investment from Sam’s father. But it wasn’t because I didn’t want your help with the bank loan. I wasn’t rejecting you, the way I did with making our wine. That wasn’t it at all, Natalie. I just wanted . . .” He strode forward and took her shoulders, stooping down enough to put them at eye level, alarmed beyond words to find hers full of tears. Christ oh Christ. I swore I would never make her cry again. “I wanted you to get your trust fund. Because you needed it and I love you. I wasn’t sure you would marry me if the deal was one-sided. I married you because the first time we met, you took my heart home with you in a doggy bag and never gave it back. I never want it back.” He was talking in circles. Get it together. “Keeping this secret wasn’t about pride. Or about making the winery a success on my own. I just wanted to do something important for the woman who is my reason for getting out of bed in the morning. It was all out of love. Nothing else.”

Several seconds passed in silence.

Then, to his surprise, she nodded.

“I have to tell you something, too,” she whispered, trembling in his hands in a way that was causing him acute distress. “Oh God, August . . .”

“What is it? We can handle anything.”

She sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. “The day of the wedding, my father called and offered to release my trust fund.” She searched his eyes as the tears began to drip from her own. “I said no. Not because of my pride, either, but . . . because I wanted to marry you. I couldn’t put a name to how I felt about you at the time, but . . .” She swiped at her eyes, a sob sneaking out. “I loved you—I know that now. I know it so deeply.”

A rush of unimaginable happiness blew in and knocked him off his feet.

“Sorry, hold on.” August fell sideways into one of the dining room chairs, the piece of furniture skidding loudly under the sudden influx of weight. “I can’t breathe.”

Natalie knelt down in front of him, fingers rushing over him, as if to check for an injury. When she didn’t find one, she clasped his face in her hands. “August.”

“I’m here. I just can’t tell if I want to cry or throw up.”

“Don’t do either of those things.”

“Gotcha.” He took her face in his hands, too, marveling. Fucking marveling over this woman. He probably would still be reeling from the unexpected gift of her confession a hundred years from now. And as long as she was there to hold him, that would be quite all right.

Appearing dazed, she shook her head. “So, technically, we didn’t have to get married. We just . . . wanted to?”

“Incorrect. I had to marry you.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I know that I love you,” he rasped, kissing her hard, memorizing his wife’s tear-stained face and the affection radiating from her. “I know that no matter how it happened, it was right. I can’t breathe for loving you and loving you is the only way I can breathe.”

She shot off the floor into his lap, where she belonged, planting kisses all over his face, which he was all too happy to sit back and receive, his mind still struggling to play catch-up. God, if you’re listening, please, please give me a century just like this. “I love you just as much, August Cates,” she said, finally, against his lips. “Despite the fights. Maybe even because of them. Because there is no one more worthy of battling for.”

His wife, the love of his life, kissed him with tears in her eyes.

And at last the world made sense.