Unfortunately Yours (A Vine Mess, #2)

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.





Epilogue





Eight years later



Over the course of eight years of marriage, Natalie had seen August mad plenty of times. They’d always been, and continued to be, hot-tempered individuals and they ran a successful winery together. Of course they argued. The beauty was in the forgiveness—and they did forgiveness really well. Whether they fought over temperature management of the wine or planting strategy, they didn’t stay mad long. One of them usually caved after five minutes of silent treatment. And she meant “caved” in the literal sense, because the wine cave was usually where they ended up engaging in frenzied apologies out of earshot of their employees.