“I’m o-okay.”
He relaxed only a little as every protective instinct rose to the surface, ready to beat the shit out of Jessica’s fiancé, and Cameron’s good friend, Alex English, if he had anything to do with the reason Jessica was in tears.
“What happened? Is it Alex?”
Please tell me it’s Alex. I’m in the mood to fuck someone up.
“A-Alex? No! Alex is f-fine.”
“Then Christ, Jess! Tell me why you’re crying. You’re scaring me to death! What the fuck is going on?”
“C-Cameron,” she hiccupped, “you’re not very nice when you’re w-worried.”
Cameron took a deep breath and counted to five in his head. And this was yet another reason he should stay away from Margaret Story. When he cared for someone, he couldn’t bear to see them upset or in pain or unhappy in any way. And his drama queen of a youngest sibling kept him busy enough. He didn’t need to add another woman to the pile.
“Jessica Fairchild Winslow, you are taxing my patience . . . but I am calm now. So, tell me, why are you crying?” he asked in a tightly controlled voice.
“W-W-Winterhaven c-canceled the w-w-w . . .,” she wailed, her voice almost unrecognizable.
It took him a moment to decipher her words. Winterhaven. The place she was having her. . . Oh, shit.
“Wait. Winterhaven canceled your wedding? What do you mean they canceled it? We paid the deposit months ago. You’ve been there fifty times to plan things out. What the fuck are you talking about?”
She blew her nose loudly into the phone, a reminder that Jessica, for all her charm and grace, had been raised alongside four older brothers.
“They c-canceled it. The s-secretary of state wants it for an international gala.”
“Fuck that! We paid our deposit. It’s ours.”
“Apparently it was in the contract. If the Office of the P-President wants to use Winterhaven, they have the right to cancel p-private events.”
“This is fucking nonsense!” yelled Cameron, grabbing a beer out of the fridge and stalking into the den.
“Now what am I going to do? How can I get m-married now? We’re having the engagement p-party at Westerly—I can’t get married there too. And B-Brooks won’t do my auction, and P-Preston is still being a moody jerk.” She sobbed softly. “This family is a m-mess.”
He’d sort out the mystery auction and Preston’s moodiness in a moment. For now, they needed a solution for Jessica’s wedding. Their father was dead, she was clearly at odds with their two older brothers, and she’d come to him for help. And damn it, he was going to help her.
“First things first. The wedding.”
“W-what wedding?” she wailed. “It’s c-canceled.”
“Stop being an idiot, Jess. It’s still four months away. We’ll figure it out.”
“How? We already printed the invitations!” She blew her nose again. “And you stop being an idiot, Cam! It t-takes a year to plan a g-good wedding! F-Four months is a j-j-joke!”
Her voice was a cross between a wail and a screech. Cameron took a deep breath. He was frustrated and worried, which was making her more upset. Picturing his oldest brother, Brooks, he channeled a sense of confident composure and lowered his voice.
“We’ll reprint the invitations,” he said gently.
“And what v-venue are we going to find on this short notice, Cam? T-tell me that!”
When it’s ready, I want to have events there too: weddings, parties, tastings. I want it to be a destination, you know? A fully functional vineyard and winery.
“Jess,” he said, “are you listening?”
“Mm-hm,” she sniffled pathetically.
“How about a vineyard?”
She sniffled again, a breathy, sobby sound. “What do you mean?”
“A vineyard. A winery. For your wedding.”
“A vineyard?” she squeaked.
“Yeah,” he said, warming to the idea. “A vineyard in the Pennsylvania countryside. Somewhere really picturesque.”
“Well,” she said, her voice still pathetic, but slightly more thoughtful, “Martha Stewart Weddings had some amazing vineyard ideas last month.”
“Uh-huh,” he encouraged her. “And it would be different, right? Everyone gets married at a country club or hotel or Winterhaven. This would be memorable. Unique.”
She sniffled again, but her voice was stronger, interrupted only by little gaspy sobs she couldn’t help. “And ch-charming. A country wedding with long tables and Mason jars bursting with w-wildflowers.”
“And great wines,” said Cameron.
“Maybe a hayride,” said Jessica. “And th-thousands of twinkle lights.”
“We’ll rent a tent.”
“It could be amazing,” she said. “But, Cameron . . .” Her voice broke again, and the tears came back. “We don’t have a v-vineyard.”
“I do,” he said quickly, hoping that he wasn’t promising something he couldn’t deliver. “I mean, I don’t, but Margaret Story does.”
“Margaret? She has a vineyard?”
“She does. About an hour outside of town.”