Unfortunately Yours: A Novel (Vine Mess Book 2)
Unfortunately Yours: Chapter 8

August swiped a hand across his sweaty brow and tossed down a wrench.

One of the best parts of leaving this winery behind would have been never seeing this horizontal press ever again in his lifetime. After he sold the property, the antiquated equipment would become somebody else’s problem. Now here he was, fixing the temperamental piece of garbage for the eight hundredth time.

Giving winemaking another pointless try.

Maybe this time his Cabernet would actually kill somebody.

August took a few steps toward the worktable that ran along the right side of the barn and plucked up his water bottle, draining most of the contents in one gulp and dumping the remnants over the top of his head. Sighing, he leaned back against the table and scanned the barn, his gaze lingering on the row of oak barrels that contained fermenting grapes and their juice, which, in theory, should age into wine.

Truth be told, he’d been a little anxious about leaving those barrels in his rearview. He’d grown their contents from the soil, picked the grapes with his bare hands, and if he could just replace the right manipulation of yeast, something would click. Right?

August snorted, remembering how many people he’d watched spit his wine up like babies after a full bottle of formula. He’d had such high hopes the first time he walked in. The place would be packed full of people drinking wine with his best friend’s name on the label. Somewhere, somehow, Sam would see that and do that clap and laugh combination that August could hear in his sleep.

Although his attempts to sleep had been interrupted by someone else entirely last night. Natalie. Memories of them sharing that Lovers’ Nest on the wine train.

Vivid memories that were making his cock a very unhappy camper.

God, her ass fit so perfectly into his lap.

August’s head fell back on a groan. Why couldn’t he just beat off and get it over with? He wanted to. Badly. The mouth of hell opening up in his front yard normally wouldn’t even stop him from stroking one out, if necessary—and Christ, it was necessary now. Weirdly, his upstairs brain seemed intent on bombarding him with nonsexy thoughts, though, interrupting the whole self-hand-job process in its infancy.

Mainly, he didn’t like the memory of Natalie deflating at her mother’s criticism.

He’d definitely enjoyed the way she’d curled into him for comfort—couldn’t help it—but he didn’t like the cause. Not one bit. Natalie being sad made his dick soft before he could get a good rhythm going. What the fuck.

When the source of his discomfort appeared in the doorway of the barn holding a notebook, looking like a young professional on her way into the board room, August could only stare. Was she still upset about last night or feeling better?

Because his dick had no idea how to act.

He got his answer when she wrinkled her nose. “God, I can smell you from here.”

Definitely feeling better.

With a humorless laugh, he swiped up the wrench from the ground. “This is what manual labor looks like, Natalie. Have you ever seen it in real life or just in movies?”

Her withering sigh filled the barn. “I grew up on a winery, moron. I know what manual labor looks like.”

“Nope. You know what it looks like when other people are doing it.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but snapped it shut just as quickly, avoiding his gaze. Immediately he wished to have it back. Why did he continue to fall into this trap with her? Why did they fight every time they were in the same room? Did she steer them into disagreements or did he continually put his foot in his mouth where she was concerned? “I came to discuss the . . . exchange of vows,” she said, presenting him with an unconcerned smile, even though her eyes were vulnerable in a way that made his gullet pinch together. God save him from his kaleidoscopic woman. “Unless you slept on it last night and decided to back out.”

“I’m not backing out.” That long breath she let out made him want to shake her. Or kiss her. Or something. “So we’re doing notebook-level planning, huh?”

“Guess you have to put a shirt on. Unless you’ve ripped them all down the middle pretending to be the Hulk in the mirror.”

“As opposed to asking my mirror if I’m the fairest one of all like you do, oh evil one?”

“Beware of poison apples once we’re married. I could inherit this place and actually make some decent wine.”

“You mean you could hire other people to do it?”

“Better than stubbornly trying to do it alone without any expertise whatsoever.”

“Do you think you can do better, princess? Because as far as I can tell, you have nothing to do with the actual producing or bottling of your family’s wine. Only the drinking of it.”

The shutters went down.

She went from animated to robotic in one second flat.

And his brain, the upstairs one, started to recall the other times he’d poked fun at Natalie for her penchant to get tipsy on a frequent basis. Had she reacted the same way those other times? Yeah . . . August suspected maybe she had, but it was hard to tell when they were swinging from one barb to the next like monkeys on vines.

“Do you want me to stop needling you about the drinking?” he asked, approaching her from the other side of the barn. “I can.”

She flipped open the notebook to the first page and pretended to make a note, even though he could see the cap was still on her pen. “It hardly matters. Everything you say to me goes in one ear and out the other.”

“No, the drinking thing bothers you.”

“You’re making a big deal out of nothing.”

“Because I’ll stop.”

“We’re setting parameters now for insulting each other?”

“Yeah. Looks like it. The goal isn’t to hurt your feelings.”

That surprised her. And got her attention. Good. “What is the goal?”

“You’re so determined to put me in my place on the peg below you. Maybe I’m just trying to get you down to the same level so we can . . .”

“Have sex? God, you’re so predictable.”

“I was going to say, so we can see eye to eye again.”

“In bed.”

“Among other places.”

Like cuddling on trains. Not that he could say that out loud without her crucifying him.

He could, however, get this one problem solved, couldn’t he? This woman shouldn’t have to put up her guard around him. It bothered him a great deal that she did. He liked her sitting in his lap and trusting him a hell of a lot more. “Your mother said something last night about . . . an incident when you were in high school?”

Her muscles braced, as if she didn’t expect him to bring that up and was now preparing to layer on even more armor. Not happening.

“Natalie, I burped ‘Wanted Dead or Alive’ by Bon Jovi into a microphone at my high school talent show when I was seventeen. In a wig and tasseled knee socks. I’m not here to pass judgment.”

A gasping laugh snuck out of her. “Last place, I’m assuming?”

“They didn’t really grasp my artistic vision.”

She ran her eyes over him, as if trying to picture the scene, and pressed her lips together to smother a smile. Hesitating. Then with a jerky shoulder roll, she confessed, “I do tend to use alcohol as a coping mechanism. Of course I do. I’m an adult living in this world.” She chewed the inside of her cheek, her expression running the gamut of emotions so quickly, he had to concentrate on keeping up. Damn, she was something. “Back in high school, though, it was more . . . the impetus to act out and get the attention I needed. Julian came by it so easily. Attention for his achievements and his wise way of reasoning through a problem. I didn’t have any of his attributes and I panicked, I guess. I’d started to feel invisible. When I drank a lot and acted reckless, people at least paid attention. They thought I was funny. The party girl.”

August was dying to shout that everyone who didn’t pay attention to her must have been utter morons, but he was afraid to interrupt with the wrong sentiment and cause her to shut down. God knew they were already at odds due to his penchant for saying the wrong shit.

Didn’t stop him from wanting to verbally defend her. Maybe cuddle some more.

“My parents checked me into rehab for two weeks, to scare me, more than anything. I’d pulled one too many stunts—I think the straw that broke the camel’s back was me bleaching a giant number sixty-nine into the football field the night before homecoming—”

“Nice.”

They fist-bumped.

Then looked shocked that they’d done it.

“. . . and my reputation was beginning to cast the winery in a negative light. Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?” Her smile was tight, but she was looking down at her fist curiously, as if still absorbing the fact that it had bumped into his. “It worked. I was really scared.”

Those words, delivered in such a matter-of-fact tone, caused denial to rip through August. “Who scared you?” he barked.

“Me.” A wrinkle formed in her brow. “Me. Once I didn’t have the party magic to hide behind, all I had was me. I needed to figure out what I was good at. Besides throwing keggers.”

August really wished he was in a position to pick Natalie up and bear-hug her—and make her swear to God no one had scared her at rehab—but this was important information. He needed to listen instead of just reacting. “So when I make fun of you for drinking too much wine, you feel unhappy,” he said very slowly, piecing it all together. “Because you want to be acknowledged for the other things you’re good at? Like Wall Street shit?”

She didn’t quite hide her amusement. “Way to work through it, big guy.”

He let out the breath he’d been holding in a heavy rush. “Is my nose bleeding?”

“No. It’s still ugly, but you’re good.” Her lips twitched, then stilled. “I guess . . . yeah. I’m not so good at the Wall Street shit right now, so when you constantly joke about the drinking—”

“It reminds you of being seventeen. When drinking and partying was all you had.”

“And I feel not great.” The color of her cheeks deepened. “About it.”

A wheel of fire spun in his stomach. “I don’t like you feeling less than great. That I made you. I’m sorry.” He took a step toward Natalie and tilted up her chin, marveling over the smooth lines of her neck, the way her eyelids drooped slightly at his touch. How could he continually be at odds with someone so delicate? “No more jokes about the wine.”

“Everything else is fair game?”

“I mean, I have to pay you back for that ugly nose comment, right?”

For the barest of seconds, Natalie leaned her face into his palm and sighed, before shaking her head and stepping back. “Do you think we can avoid fighting for half an hour while we figure out how to put the ‘civil’ in civil ceremony? Because Corinne has been busy—”

“Yes, ma’am,” he drawled, following her with a wink. “But I’m leaving my shirt off. You’re welcome.”

“My God.” She waved her hand frantically. “The stench of you.”

“Hard work comes with a price. You’d know that if you ever tried it.”

“You mean, like, digging a hole big enough for your grave? Because I’d be willing to try that.”

“Bury me with a six-pack of—” August halted mid-stride on his way out of the barn, cold washing down his insides and hardening into ice. Simultaneously, his eyes started to burn and his body snapped to attention, hand whipping to his forehead in a salute. It wasn’t necessary. Not in this setting. He wasn’t even in uniform. But muscle memory performed the action at the sight of his commanding officer walking toward him across the lawn. “Sir.”

“At ease, Cates.”

His arm dropped. He forced himself to look the man in the eye, even though a hole was being torn straight down his middle. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

The barest flash of amusement. “You know I like to have the element of surprise on my side.”

August forced a laugh but it came out rusted. Nearly three years had passed since the last time he’d seen his commanding officer, and it had been under the worst circumstances possible. The funeral of his son and August’s best friend, Sam. Though looking Commander Zelnick in the eye was extremely difficult, August didn’t allow his gaze to falter as the man tread closer, his attention drifting out over the vineyard with open curiosity.

August became acutely aware of Natalie behind him. Having her present for this reunion was the equivalent of making an incision from throat to belly and letting her see everything on the inside. Totally exposed, utterly vulnerable, nowhere to hide.

He turned slightly, meeting Natalie’s interested gaze and holding out his hand to her. He wasn’t sure why. Only that it seemed natural to reassure her that the unexpected appearance of a stranger wasn’t a threat of any kind. Or maybe he needed to feel the warmth of her against his suddenly clammy palm. She didn’t hesitate for a single second before taking his hand and squeezing it. Skirmish forgotten. Interesting how they could flip that switch so quickly. What did that mean?

“So this is the place you’ve built for my son.” Commander Zelnick stopped, clasped his hands behind his back. His tone was brisk as ever, but warmth seeped through. “Had a week off and finally decided to come see it for myself.”

Christ. He’d almost left it behind two days earlier. Out of necessity, sure, but this man would have arrived and found an abandoned vineyard. If it weren’t for Natalie.

He pulled her closer without thinking. “Yes. For Sam. It’s a work in progress,” he managed around the object in his throat. “Sir, I would like you to meet Natalie Vos. My fiancée.” Perpetuating the phony relationship to his CO didn’t exactly feel great, but the words were out in the open before he could think better of them. Just hanging there, feeling like the truth. “Natalie, this is Commander Brian Zelnick.”

Zelnick nodded, visibly impressed—and a little surprised. “Good to meet you, Natalie.”

Of course he would be surprised. Not only was Natalie beautiful in a polished way, she had an air of sophistication and success that she wore like an aura. In other words, not the kind of girl who ended up with a loud asshole who liked to trade battle wound stories and had long ago earned the nickname Bullhorn among his fellow SEALs.

“It’s very nice to meet you,” she said, going back to scrutinizing August. He could feel that she wanted to ask about Sam and he pressed a thumb to the small of her wrist, hoping she would know what it meant. That he’d explain later. And somehow she did. She interpreted the action with a nod. “I’ll let you two talk.” To August, she said, “I’ll be inside.”

Natalie tugged on her hand three times before August realized he was still holding it in his grip. Finally, he released her and they watched her walk toward the house, go inside, and close the door. August and the commander turned together like a single unit and walked side by side toward the edge of the vines, the earthy, sun-heated aroma of greenery and grapes carrying in their direction on a light breeze.

A bead of sweat rolled down August’s temple as he waited for his CO to speak.

This man had assured him once that he didn’t blame August for what happened to Sam—and the CO never repeated himself. Nonetheless, August had to swallow the deep urge to ask for those words one more time. God, he needed to hear them and yet, they made no difference. He’d let his friend get killed fifteen yards away from him.

Fifteen fucking yards.

“I appreciate what you’ve done here, son,” said Zelnick, his voice more gravelly than before. “Sam would have, too.”

August cleared his throat hard. “To tell you the truth, I’m a shit winemaker, sir. I think he’d probably be laughing his ass off.”

A low chuckle from his CO. “I did my homework. I know it hasn’t been an ideal experience for you. That’s the other reason I’m here.” He remained silent a moment. “You’ve always been a battering ram. Kick down the door, ask questions later. But there are certain things in life that require patience and diligence. You must have learned some of that lesson already, if you’ve convinced that woman to marry you.”

Patience and diligence.

Is that what he’d been needing with Natalie?

He memorized those two words and tucked them away for later.

“You’re saying I can’t expect perfection right away,” August said. “That it takes time.”

“Yes.” Zelnick crossed his arms and braced his legs apart in a stance that was so familiar to August, reminded him so much of Sam, that he had to look away. “That being said, I know that spending time on a project like this equals money. A lot of it. That’s why I’m here to invest.”