Unfortunately Yours (A Vine Mess, #2)

“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?