Unfortunately Yours (A Vine Mess, #2)

“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.”