Unfortunately Yours: Chapter 12

“I’m sorry. Did you say you’ve got us a potential investor?”

Natalie skidded to a halt on her way across the grounds of Vos Vineyard. Her former colleague and future partner, Claudia, had dropped that good-news bombshell on her, then proceeded to shriek at someone for stealing her cab while Natalie held her breath three thousand miles away.

“Claudia?”

“Yes, I’m here. Hold on, though, let me order an Uber.” Precisely twenty-six seconds later, she was back. “William Banes Savage. Made his money in tech in the nineties. Something about Pentium processors, like anyone knows what the fuck that is. But he’s old and bored, with money to burn, and wants to get his feet wet with the young scamps. If you can get here by next Friday, I can arrange a dinner meeting.”

“Next Friday? As in a week from today?” With the sounds of New York City in her ear, the vineyard around her felt almost like an alien planet. “I’m getting married tomorrow.”

“

” Claudia made a gagging sound on the other end. “What the hell for?”

“Rent money for our new office space. Equipment. Funds to take Pentium processor man out to dinner—”

“I’ve got the gist. Damn. So he’s loaded?”

Why did she even reveal the marriage to Claudia? Now they were discussing August the same way they’d been discussing William Banes Savage—as though he were a means to an end—and she didn’t like that at all. He was a lot more than that. Last night, after she’d returned from axe throwing, she’d lain awake in bed, replaying what he’d told her about Sam. About his own family. How he held these people so close to his heart. Treasured them. What would it be like to mean so much to August? “Never mind,” she croaked. “Set up the meeting for next Friday and I’ll do my best to be there. Worst case scenario, we cancel and tell Savage I’m meeting with someone more important. He’ll be blowing up my phone.”

“Go off, Anna Delvey. There’s the bitch I used to know.”

Natalie’s smile felt stiff. “I never left.”

Claudia snort-laughed. “My Uber is here. I’ll let you know when I’ve got details. Bye.”

“Bye.”

For several seconds after she ended the call, Natalie stared down at the device in her hand trying to calm the weirdly unsettled sensation in her middle. A couple of weeks ago, she would have sold her soul for a chance to get back on a plane to New York and meet with a potential investor. Her trust fund would establish the new firm, but they would quickly need clout. They would need someone to come on board and send a signal to other investors that Natalie and Claudia were not only a safe play, but a shiny new endeavor.

But leaving only six days after the wedding?

Of course, she wouldn’t be leaving for . Just long enough to meet with William Banes Savage. Could she sneak out of St. Helena for a couple of days without the masses taking note? Would it hurt their chances of appearing legitimate if she left on a solo trip less than a week after tying the knot?

How would August feel about it?

Natalie swallowed hard and kept walking toward her destination—the Vos wine cave.

It’s not like they were going on a honeymoon or anything, right? Business was business.

Eventually, she’d be leaving permanently and August was well aware of that. This was what they’d both signed up for. Temporary.

She took a hasty turn into the production facility, smiling at the employees who glanced over. After they got over the surprise of seeing her there, they nodded back, returning to their tasks. Harvest had taken place toward the end of the summer, followed by the pressing of the grapes. Now, firmly into fall, they were in the fermentation phase, which was a very careful science that could take months. Row after row of barrels were racked on their sides, employees carefully stirring the natural yeast to keep it from settling at the bottom of the wooden vessels, giving the wine oxygen, cultivating the flavor.

Natalie journeyed past them to the rear of the facility, opened the metal door, and started the long trek down four flights of stone stairs. When she reached the bottom, the scent of wet mushrooms tickled her nose and the sight of thousands of aging wine bottles greeted her, along with even more barrels. Tables were arranged throughout the cave for guests who toured the winery and wanted to explore the grounds beyond getting tipsy at the welcome center.

Did Zelnick Cellar have a wine cave? She needed to ask August about that. A lot of wineries in Napa had one, though they ranged in size. Maybe he could bring her on a tour of his underground cellar. Not that she wanted to be alone in the dark with him, it was purely out of professional , since she was now, technically, an employee of his vineyard—

Her heart jumped into her throat when she heard voices approaching from deep in the cave. Corinne and . . . was that Julian?

“It’s an imaging service that takes high-resolution aerial photographs of the vineyard,” Julian explained briskly. “That way, we can see which vines are overstressed, understressed. It can teach us a lot about why the taste is inconsistent and how to irrigate—”

“I don’t even want to ask how expensive aerial photographs run,” Corinne cut in.

“It’s becoming a built-in expense for a lot of wineries,” Julian returned in his usual calm and concise manner. “Over time, it actually helps reduce costs because resources are being directed to the right places, rather than wasted.”

“Sounds like a winner,” Natalie piped up, stepping into view from behind a rack of barrels. “When did you two start meeting in an underground cave like supervillains?”

Corinne looked startled at her daughter’s sudden appearance, but Julian only seemed curious to find her there. “Shouldn’t you be at your final fitting?” Corinne demanded to know. “It’s not easy to find a tailor willing to make alterations on a wedding dress practically overnight.”

“Don’t worry. I just came from playing pin cushion,” Natalie said, transferring her attention to Julian. Trying her absolute best not to let it show on her face how it felt being left out of the family meetings. All the time, now that Julian had gotten involved in operations. She might as well be a ghost. “What was the imaging service you were talking about? That sounds interesting.”

Before Julian could answer, Corinne spoke again. “You never explained what you were doing down here.”

Natalie jerked a shoulder. “I don’t know. I just came for the quiet.”

That was partially true. As a kid, she liked to sneak down to the wine cave and sit with her back pressed up against the chilly stone wall. She’d sit there for hours imagining a search party being formed to find her up above on the surface. She’d fantasize about how relieved everyone would be if and when they actually found her. They’d snatch her up in a big hug and make her promise never to hide away again without telling anyone where she’d gone.

That fantasy never came true, but pretending made her feel better.

This afternoon, she hadn’t come down to the cave to fantasize about a worried posse of loved ones searching for her with flaming torches through swamps and valleys. No, she’d come to do a little soul searching. She’d stopped in town today to buy a couple of bottles of wine . . . but drove away empty-handed. Drinking wine had become a coping mechanism rather than a tool of enjoyment. If she really thought about it, she hadn’t enjoyed wine in weeks. Soon, her trust fund would be released and she would need a clear head to take advantage of the opportunity. Her only one.

“Hmm,” Corinne said, observing her the way a scientist ex amines a glass slide. “Do you want to come by later and do a quick rundown of the wedding arrangements?” The barest glimmer of a smile teased her mouth before it fled. “You’re getting married tomorrow afternoon, you know.”

Natalie wondered if she’d imagined that tiny smile. Heaven knew Corinne wasn’t about Natalie getting hitched to August. “Yes, I’m aware. And . . . sure. I’ll stop by after dinner.”

Her mother inclined her head. “Ingram Meyer was the first to RSVP. He holds your trust fund in his hands, lest you need reminding. It won’t reflect well if you appear to have no idea what’s going on tomorrow.”

This was why she drank. “Understood.” Before Corinne could remind her of any more pressing responsibilities, Natalie continued, “I’m packed and ready to vacate the guest house. Hallie offered to drop my things off at August’s place this morning while I attended the fitting, so I’m sure that mission was completed promptly and on time.”

Julian snorted. In an affectionate way. His girlfriend didn’t operate under the constraints of time and clocks and calendars. As a result, his inclination to schedule every second of the day had begun to wane. Drastically. And he appeared to be quite happier for the change. Why, he wasn’t even wearing a tie and were those . . . flip-flops adorning his feet?

Before she could comment on her brother’s startling choice in footwear, Corinne cleared her throat. “We’re discussing business right now, Natalie.”

Natalie plastered a smile on her face, refusing to let the hurt of dismissal show. “Julian, when you have a chance, shoot me the name of that imaging service you were speaking about. I’m just curious.”

“Stay and talk about it with us,” he said, splitting a thoughtful frown between Corinne and Natalie. “I haven’t even gotten started on their methods of disease detection.”

“Whoa. I’m too young to die of excitement.” Natalie laughed, holding up her hands and backing away. “It’s fine. I’ll see you guys back on the surface.”

“Natalie,” Julian called when she reached the stairs, but her smile was beginning to wane, so she kept going, as if she didn’t hear him.

Next Friday night was right around the corner. That was when she would prove herself.

That was when she would shine.

God knew she was never meant to do that here.

*  *  *

August propped a picture of Sam against the gravestone, sat back, and cracked open a cold one. “Cheers, buddy.”

He’d woken up even earlier than usual this morning to make the drive down to San Joaquin Valley National Cemetery, where Sam was buried. Calling his parents and informing them of the news about his wedding had been fun. Fun like a root canal. His ears were still ringing from his mother’s outraged screech. They were on a cruise to Alaska—which he didn’t even know was a thing—and obviously couldn’t make it to St. Helena by tomorrow. He’d managed to escape with what remained of his hearing by promising to bring Natalie to Kansas to meet them soon.

Maybe he should just crawl into one of these graves right now, because he didn’t know when or even he’d be pulling that off.

But it sure was nice to think about. Considering they were both tough as nails, Natalie and his mother would probably square off across the dinner table, refusing to blink. August was for it.

Propping himself up from behind with his left fist, he lifted the beer to his lips with his right hand, tracing the name on the gravestone with his eyes. “I came here to ask you something important, man. Will you walk me down the aisle?”

Sam stared back at him from the glossy photograph, half smiling. August had snapped the shot with his phone at the end of day one of BUD/S training, where they’d met. Sam looked dog-tired in the photo, but there was a touch of exhilaration there, too, like he was relieved to get through the first twenty-four hours.

“Wait, you’re telling me only the bride gets to walk down the aisle?” August reared back a touch. “That doesn’t seem fair. I’ve been working on my runway strut for nothing.”

He listened for a minute, trying to imagine what Sam would say.

“Natalie? Yeah, she’s . . .” He let go of a breath. “Way out of my league. Remember how I used to tell you no woman would ever get me under her spell? Well, this one could. She could have me whipped in the time it takes to crack an egg.”

The wind drifted through the sunny cemetery, rustling the trees.

“I’m already whipped, you say?” August smiled into his next sip of beer. “I don’t recall asking for an opinion.” He cleared his throat. “But seriously, you know, I have no idea what I’m doing these days. I’m trying to open your stupid winery and I suck at it. Out of nowhere, I’ve got a fucking . Stop laughing.” The beer was sour in his mouth now. “You were really good at the things I wasn’t. I taught you how to fish, you reminded me when it was time to buy new socks. I told you the mustache made you look like a serial killer, you talked me out of mining for Bitcoin. The balance is off now. But, uh . . .”

He swiped at his eyes and shifted into a different position.

“I don’t feel off-balance when she’s around. I mean, I do. She definitely makes me feel like I’m juggling dinner plates. There’s also this feeling like . . .” He thought about it for a few seconds. “You know the feeling you had when I took this picture? Like the hard shit is over? I feel that with her. Or that it’s possible with her, I guess. I don’t know. Like if we just get through the difficult shit, all the strain we went through to reach the other side . . . I’ll remember it like it was a joy, instead of being hard.”

August listened to the wind.

“Yes, she’s hot, too, you dog. The hottest. Don’t get any ideas.”

Beer empty, he let the bottle tip sideways in the grass, then decided to do the same himself, lying with his cheek pressed to the ground.

“I knew you’d ask about the wine sooner or later. Like I said, it’s going terribly. Harvest is the easy part. Pick the grapes at night, keep them cold. Crush the grapes—yes, I left the stems and skin on during fermentation to bring the tannins to life. We’re making a Cabernet. I know much, dick.” He exhaled. “Now the red stuff is in the barrels and that’s where I got tripped up last year. Did you know people add egg whites and clay and sulfur and all kinds of shit to bring out the flavor of the grape? There is no recipe. It’s all . . . trial and error science. And that was your deal. I’m the one who gives to the scientists.”

He rolled over onto his back and looked up into the clouds, sighing a little when one of them took the shape of Natalie’s lips.

“If you were here, I know what you’d be saying. Ask for help, August.” His throat tightened up unexpectedly. “It’s weird, though. I know I should, but I can’t. I was supposed to do this for you. I was supposed to . . . have your back at all times. I failed. I’m sorry.”

When his voice cracked, he knew it was time to go.

With one more hard clearing of his throat, August rolled back up into a sitting position, collected the picture, folded it on the crease, and carefully tucked it into his pocket. “I’ll be back soon, if you’re lucky.” He fist-bumped the gravestone. “Love you, man. Wish me luck.”