Unfortunately Yours (A Vine Mess, #2)

Not a chance.

“And I’m sorry to disappoint you, Dalton, but it is a real marriage. August Cates is an incredible person, actually. Did you know he moved to St. Helena to open a winery in his friend’s name? His friend had this dream, but he died before he could fulfill it, so August is doing it for him. Yes, even though he’s awful at winemaking. I don’t expect you to understand integrity like that. You made wine because you wanted to be the best. He makes it to honor a friend. August . . . he listens to me and tries to understand me when I can barely understand myself most of the time. He wants me to believe in love. He said that. Out loud.”

She stood up and started to pace.

“He’s reliable. And funny. He’s one of the only people I’ve ever met who genuinely makes me laugh. I don’t have to fake it. And I care about him.” Oh God, was she really doing this? Marrying August for some indefinable reason when her ticket back to the East Coast was within her grasp? Yes. Yes, she was. “I’m not calling off the wedding in exchange for getting the money now. Your rules are bullshit, but apparently . . . I’m following them anyway. I’m marrying him.”

“My rules might be bullshit, but you’re going to wish you didn’t have to follow them. Turn down my offer and you’ll be obligated to convince Ingram Meyer that you’re not a couple of brazen cons—and believe me, it won’t be easy.”

“Good. I welcome the opportunity. Arrivederci, Father.”

*

August’s palms started to sweat at the very moment the wedding march started.

All right, this was really happening.

This was his wedding day. August had never imagined his own wedding, per se. But he’d always assumed his parents would be there. Sam, too. He’d figured on a lot more people in naval uniforms and fewer people in statement scarves. He didn’t know anyone in attendance very well. Julian stood to his right, giving him a steady professor look that caused August a beat of panic. Did he forget to turn in his homework? No, this was his wedding day and he . . . needed some reassurance. Someone to smack him in the head and remind him he was marrying a ten.

Because he was. That was what he really needed. To see Natalie. She knew him. They knew each other. She was his closest friend in the tent, for better or for worse.

I’ll make it for better. Won’t I?

Yeah, you will, said Sam’s voice in his head. You’re more than stubborn enough.

August’s hand automatically rose to his pocket, his pulse calming when he felt the outline of the laminated picture—

Oh shit.

Oh . . . shit.

August’s emotions were raw to begin with, but when Natalie appeared at the top of the aisle, the breath quite literally fled from his lungs. He thought she’d looked incredible in the robe. But now? Why was he getting emotional over a fucking dress? It had no significance to him. It was expensive looking, with long, flowing, sort of see-through material on the bottom and a sparkly . . . boob booster on top? It didn’t have straps, just a tight section of sparkling beads that pushed up her tits.

How was he just supposed to act normal when she looked this way? The combination of the dress and her hair and makeup . . . this was a bride.

His bride.

She was walking toward him on a satin runner, all by herself, no man to guide her there. Was she all right coming down the aisle alone? He wished they’d discussed that. Julian could have done it, right? So maybe she wanted to do it alone? Natalie’s brother stood across from Hallie, who held a bouquet of roses and baby’s breath in her hands. A lot like Natalie’s, but much smaller.

His future wife was halfway down the aisle now. Getting more and more beautiful with every step she took. Damn, even her shoes were sparkly.

The music swelled along with August’s throat.

How did he get here? How? He had no earthly clue, but he knew one thing. The richest man in the world couldn’t pay him to be anywhere else.

Especially when Natalie’s eyes found his and held on, as if gathering strength. She was nervous. Sweat was slipping down his spine, so yeah, he could relate. They shared an exaggerated breath while staring at each other and . . .

Jesus Christ, was he crying?

Yeah. Actual moisture flooded his eyes. Too much to blink away.

Natalie paused ever so slightly, looking dumbfounded.

“Sorry.” He laughed, swiping his sleeve across his eyes. “Who’s cutting onions?”

The tent full of strangers laughed. Except for Julian, who August could feel staring at him, speculating. Corinne sat in the front row, Menace curled at her feet, looking back and forth between August and Natalie and for some reason, her shoulders seemed to relax over whatever she saw. August would have given a million dollars to find out what it was, because he had no idea what was happening in his chest. A fucking racket, that’s what.

She’d brought him a picture of Sam.

She’d printed it out, found the hymn. Had it all laminated.

Until she handed over the card, he’d had no idea how badly he needed it. Again, he felt the slight weight of it behind his pocket square and it calmed him. Someone had his back. The person he’d grown to trust the most out of anyone in his life . . . was present. In his thoughts, if not physically. And he had the woman in front of him to thank.

The woman clutching her flowers with white knuckles.

Calm her down.

“Your tits look insane.”

She looked like she wanted to clock him over the head with her bouquet.

But at least the blood was back in her fingers.

Damn. He had it so bad.





Chapter Fourteen




Natalie watched in horror as August unfolded the piece of paper that he’d removed from the pocket of his tuxedo. Yellow legal-pad paper, to be exact, on which lines had been crossed out and arrows had been drawn.

It looked like the first draft of a football playbook.

What in God’s actual name was he going to say?

More importantly, had she actually passed on an offer to get her trust fund and remain single? With her money in hand, she probably could have even afforded to reimburse Corinne for the catering. Sure, the last-minute flake out wouldn’t have been good for her relationship with Corinne or the Vos family reputation, but neither of those things were stellar at the moment to begin with!

Although, wow. If she’d taken the money and skedaddled, she would have missed the sight of August in front of an altar—a portable one, sure—looking at her in a wedding dress with total, unabashed awe. It wasn’t every day a girl was privy to that compelling of a moment.

My goodness, he’s beautiful, too. A big, beautiful, battle-worn presence.

She’d meant every word she’d said to her father. God help her. What now?

Follow through on her word to the man. She owed him that. He deserved that much.

But that was all she could offer. All he could expect.

They were halfway through the traditional vows when August cleared his throat and flattened the wrinkled paper on his thigh. Out of the corner of her eye, Natalie noticed her mother shifting nervously in her seat. She knew August was a loose cannon who never tried to hide his disdain for St. Helena’s elite and every guest at this wedding fit that profile, including Ingram Meyer.

August reached for the microphone and the pastor handed it over with a glance toward the wedding planner. He shrugged. August cleared his throat directly into the mic, sending a trill of feedback through the tent and a smattering of murmurs. “Natalie Vos. Wow. Here we are. Getting married.” He turned the paper toward her so she could see he’d written those exact words, before going back to reading. “I promise to take your side in every argument—unless it’s the one you’re having with me, then it’s fair game. But the point I’m trying to make is that we might fight . . .” He scanned the room with a pointed look. “But God help anyone else who tries to fight with you. They will answer to me.”

Oh . . . my God. Why were her eyes burning?

This wasn’t even real. Why did his speech feel . . . important?

Why did the whole day feel significant?

“I also promise to protect you from this day forward. From cat claws to fires to drunk people with axes. You’re always going to be safe. I’ll make sure of it. You can call me no matter where you are, and I’ll come.”

There was more.

A whole second half of a page. He couldn’t seem to continue, though. Maybe because the guests were so silent. Maybe he got self-conscious. Whatever the reason, August coughed into his fist, folded up the paper hastily, and shoved the vows back into his pocket. “We can keep going now,” he said with a brief smile, handing the microphone back to the pastor.

Instead, Natalie just dropped her bouquet of flowers, took a lunging step, and kissed him. Smack on the mouth, right there in front of everyone, her hands smoothing up the lapels of his black dress jacket. “Are you kissing me because of what I said about your tits, princess? Because I meant it. They are hot as sh—”

“For the love of God. Shut up.”