Unfortunately Yours: A Novel (Vine Mess Book 2)

Familiar faces smiled back at Natalie from the surface of her laptop screen. Every time she logged in to social media to check on her New York colleagues, their expressions and even their names became less and less recognizable. The pictures of her former coworkers on a private rooftop had been taken only yesterday, maybe even while she’d been making out with her archnemesis aboard the wine train, but it was like looking at photographs from the past.

The longer Natalie was away from New York, the more these people and their glitzy activities grew unfamiliar. The bounce of euphoria after a successful swap, the adrenaline that surged when the opening bell rang—her memories of those things were starting to fade along with the scent of victory cigars. Those pieces of her life were growing muffled and she wanted them back. Sharper. She wanted to experience it all again, in person.

When she’d first arrived in St. Helena, there had been an almost desperate sense of FOMO. Must get back as soon as possible. Must not let them forget about me. It was still there, beating like an extra pulse in her bloodstream, but the urgency had started to lose its grip on her—and that simply wouldn’t do. She needed it back. Five minutes in New York equated to five years anywhere else. People forgot. Business moved on. The road paved right over yesterday’s star and called them a speed bump.

She belonged on that roof, making the toast. Celebrating a breakneck trade that added value to the fund’s coffers. Zeroes on the screen. When she’d been adding those zeroes, she’d been embraced. She’d been a member of the winning team.

Here in St. Helena?

She was the bumbling, cartoonish mascot.

Although yesterday, for a very brief window, she’d been on a two-person team. With the most unexpected of allies. August. Maybe that’s why she was awake so early—again—trying to sear images from her desired timeline into her brain. Because it had been a little too easy to call a truce with August and let herself just . . . be. Be okay with that big arm slung around her hip and his prickly chin resting on top of her head, nuzzling her hair every so often.

Was it a show for the crowd?

Natalie sighed and stroked a few keys on her Mac, going to a location on the internet she absolutely should be avoiding like the pork special at an all-night diner.

Her ex-fiancé’s Instagram.

She hesitated briefly before tapping enter—and then there he was in all his suited, boyish charm. Her stomach turned sour at the memory of him calmly asking for her engagement ring back. He’d been even calmer while explaining that while he might love her, he couldn’t let their relationship cost him a career he’d worked so hard for.

Calmer still while he asked her to leave.

August wouldn’t break up with her that way—that is, if they were actually together, instead of merely pretending. There would be shouting and door slamming and insults from both of them. They would bring the house down. Why was she even thinking about this? Moreover, why was she suddenly taking note of Morrison’s shoulders and musing that they could fit into her fake fiancé’s shoulders three times? It wasn’t a competition—

Natalie drew in a breath as a new image popped up on the screen. Just posted. A picture of Morrison on the balcony where she used to have her coffee overlooking Central Park South. Beside him was a familiar blonde in a white bathrobe sipping green juice from a glass, rolling her eyes over having the photo taken. That blonde . . . Krista, right? Natalie knew her.

One of their board member’s daughters.

He’d traded up.

Feeling out of breath, Natalie smacked the laptop shut. She stood up and walked a half circle around the bed. Her heart wasn’t breaking. That damage had already been done and, if she was being honest, it had been the easiest part to mend. But her confidence? That was a different story—and it took another pounding now, an invisible mallet flattening her like a chicken cutlet between two sheets of wax paper.

“Deep breath,” she murmured to herself, stretching her arms up over her head and letting them float down slowly. Back up, back down. She could spin this jarring discovery that her fiancé was already moving on into something positive. What didn’t kill her would make her stronger. The fact that her ex was sleeping with a billionaire’s beautiful daughter would only make her comeback more satisfying. She’d belong again. Not exactly as before, but with a similar life. She’d get back that sense of . . . being wanted. Being seen.

Deciding to grab a cup of coffee before getting in the shower, Natalie opened the guest room door as quietly as possible and crept out, not wanting to disturb Julian and Hallie, who were sleeping on the other side of the kitchen. God forbid she wake them up. The bed would be creaking in ten seconds flat and honestly, bearing witness to someone else’s orgasm quest was the last thing she needed this morning.

She stuck a pod in the coffee maker, placed a mug under the spout, and pulled the lever down, selecting the strongest setting. And waited.

Why was August’s face the first image to pop into her head literally five minutes after finding out her ex was dating someone new? She didn’t know. But it was definitely a sign to redraw the battle lines today. They might be working together for a greater cause in public. In private, his favorite pastime was scorning her for being born into privilege while he’d done life the hard way.

Although . . . she didn’t know a lot about the path he’d taken.

Maybe she should find out. Just in case anyone asked.

She should probably know at least the basics about her fake fiancé.

“Psst,” came a hiss from the darkness.

Natalie lurched for the knife block, pausing only when Hallie stepped into the dim kitchen wearing a Stanford shirt that went well past her knees.

“Jesus,” Natalie breathed, slapping a hand to the middle of her chest, positive her heart was about to explode straight out of her rib cage. “What are you doing sneaking up on me like an old Victorian ghost or something? I almost hurled a butcher knife at you.”

Hallie pressed a finger to her lips. “Shhh.”

Natalie tilted her head. “Now you’re really freaking me out.”

“Sorry,” Hallie whispered, creeping forward barefoot, each of her toes painted a different color, an ankle bracelet jangling softly. “I don’t want to wake up Julian.”

“Really? You seem to love waking him up. Along with the dead.”

Her brother’s girlfriend pinkened slightly, but she wasn’t thwarted by the innuendo. No, she appeared to be extremely focused for six A.M. “Can we chat?”

“Um . . .” What was going on here? Natalie picked up her freshly brewed coffee and sipped it black for an initial kick before heading to the fridge for milk. “Sure. What’s on your mind?”

Whatever the reason for this predawn rendezvous, Hallie was deadly serious about it. “I’m here to offer my services.”

Natalie did a double take while adding a splash of milk to her coffee. “In what way?”

Hallie frowned as if the answer should be obvious. “Why, for your fake wedding, of course. I’m here to help.”

“Don’t get comfortable calling it that. There are eyes and ears everywhere in St. Helena, you know.” Natalie mock shivered. “We’re just going to exchange vows at the courthouse, but I suppose if you want to make me a bouquet—?”

Hallie’s giggle stopped her short. “The courthouse. That’s adorable. Didn’t you hear your mother demand a proper wedding?”

Natalie’s smile vanished, dread curling in her stomach. “Yes, but there’s no way she could plan a wedding within the time frame we need. Right? What do you know?”

“Your mother told Julian to have a tuxedo rented by this Saturday.” Hallie took her time continuing. “And then she had to get off the phone because the caterer was calling on the other line.”

“Caterer?” Natalie choked out.

She should have seen this coming. No way Corinne could get down with a courthouse ceremony. Not with the pageantry and tradition of the Vos name to uphold.

What was August going to say about this?

And why did his very name transport her back to the wine train, where he’d wrapped her in warmth and slowed the rate of her heart down to a normal pace with soft words in her ear, his strong arms giving her the sensation of weightlessness? He’d made her feel almost . . . peaceful. Protected. How could the same man who made her want to screech like a banshee get that reaction out of her? No way to know. But the effect of him . . . lingered. Hard.

“There was also some talk of giant tent rentals. Giant.” The corkscrew blonde tilted her head, but it was hard to discern whether she was sympathetic or excited. “You’re getting the full Napa wedding treatment whether you like it or not. Corinne is taking the flash-and-awe approach to fooling the local flavor and I want in, too. I’m an agent of chaos, Natalie. I can’t help it, I crave the danger.”

“How do I know you’re not on an undercover mission?” Natalie narrowed her eyes over the rim of her mug. “Are you wearing a wire, Welch?”

Without a moment’s hesitation, her brother’s girlfriend lifted the Stanford T-shirt to reveal a pair of rainbow panties and two very impressive tatas. She dropped the shirt again after a moment and Natalie hummed into a sip. “What kind of services are you offering?”

“Floral arrangements, obviously. But also . . .” Hallie stepped forward, coming farther into the light. “Literally anything nefarious. Namely bachelorette party planning. I got you.”

“You’re a little nuts, aren’t you, Hallie?”

“I wrote your brother secret admirer letters and got jealous when he wrote me back.”

“Good point.” Natalie tapped a finger against the side of her mug. “Aren’t you going to ask why I’m entering into this phony union with someone I once called diseased foreskin? Or are you not asking because you already know?”

“Julian and I have been talking about . . . you know.” Hallie flushed so rapidly, it was a wonder her legs had enough blood in them to keep her upright. “Marriage. To each other. And he might have mentioned something about a trust fund that will be released once that happens. He’s, um . . . well, he asked if I’d be opposed to him putting that money back into the winery. When the time comes.”

A pang caught Natalie in the throat. “Well, he’s a lot more selfless than I am.”

“No.” Hallie shook her head. “He’s just in a better position to help at this moment.”

“I would help if they asked. If I thought they wanted my help—” She cut herself off with a wave of her hand, forcing a smile. “I appreciate your offer to help, crazy pants. I accept. I will feed your need for chaos as long as you keep my secret among family.”

Hallie closed her eyes slowly, hands pressing together between her breasts. “Thank you. I hereby declare myself your secret minion.”

“Just don’t ask me to call you that.” Natalie switched off the coffee maker and sauntered toward the hallway, half a cup in hand. Before exiting, she stopped in front of Hallie, who was all but quivering in excitement. “My brother has no idea what he’s gotten into, does he?”

“Actually, he does.” The gardener’s eyes sparkled. “He’s fully aware that I’m capable of destruction and he loves me anyway. Maybe he’s the crazy one.”

“Maybe so,” Natalie muttered, shaking her head. “I’ve mentioned I like you, haven’t I?”

“I like you, too.” Hallie winked and melted back into the darkness, whispering, “Let’s fuck shit up,” as she vanished into the black.

Natalie stared into the dark for long moments, guilt beginning to tickle her throat. Now she’d dragged her entire family and Hallie into her scheme? Was this going to be the lie that multiplied into a thousand more, when the whole charade could potentially be avoided with one humbling phone call to her father in Italy?

Yeah.

Her head fell back on her shoulders, a silent groan issued at the ceiling. One phone call. She could do it. Preferably before she did any more damage—or implicated any more loved ones. But man, was it going to suck.

*  *  *

Natalie doodled furiously on a notepad, dragging the tip of the ballpoint pen back and forth in a blue trench that slowly turned black. In her ear, the sound of a call connecting to Europe buzz-buzzed. She broke out in a cold sweat, glanced at the clock, and did the time-difference math again. Eight hours ahead in Italy. It would be early evening. She had no idea what her father’s schedule was like, no idea if this was still his phone number, even. But she didn’t want to look back in ten years and wish she’d made this attempt to avert catastrophe.

“Hello.”

Brisk. Gave nothing away. That was her father.

God, there was no one on earth more intimidating, and she’d come across some giants while in finance. Dalton Vos had judgmental eyes and no time. Always rushing, on to the next best thing, as if he had a fear of leaving the world without putting his mark on it. He’d been frantic in his desire for his to be the most lucrative winery in Napa. As soon as that was accomplished, he’d gotten . . . bored. With St. Helena. His family.

The fire four years ago seemed almost unacceptable, like he couldn’t admit a natural disaster had gotten the better of him. After ending his fraught marriage to Corinne and signing over Vos Vineyard, he’d shifted his obsessive focus to a Formula One team, no doubt investing a giant chunk of money that the winery could desperately use.

It was the reminder of what Dalton had done to her mother that made Natalie throw down the pen and sit up straight. “Hello, Father, it’s Natalie.”

“Yes. Your number came up,” he said, almost distractedly. “How are you?”

“Fine. I’m in St. Helena, actually.”

“Ah.” A short pause. “How is Corinne? Exhausted, I’m guessing. It’s not easy operating a vineyard, as I’m sure she’s realized by now.”

“She’s thriving, actually,” Natalie said without hesitation. Sure, there might be tension between her and Corinne, but there wasn’t a chance in hell she’d let this man think he’d been the strongest thing about her mother. Or that she was worse off without him. Any woman worth her salt would have done the same. “Better than ever.”

No response. In fact, she could hear him typing something on the other end.

Aloof and dismissive as always.

She needed to make the request before she started shrieking. “I’m calling because I have the opportunity to start my own investment firm in New York. My colleague, Claudia, and I are branching out—”

“I know you were fired, Natalie. The bad trade that almost tanked your entire firm earlier this year.” He cleared his throat. A chair creaked. “I’m still an avid investor. Your company might have kept it quiet, but my broker was able to track down the behind-the-scenes details.”

Nausea rolled into her belly like fog over a lake, a stabbing ache forming in the dead center of her forehead. He’d known about her getting fired and he’d just carried on with life as usual. Why would she expect anything different? Recover. Keep it together. “Yes, well. I’m down, but not out. I’m already on my way to recovering from that, actually, which is why—”

“Which is why you’re calling about money.”

“Yes.” She took a deep, silent breath, willing herself to keep down the coffee she’d drunk. “I am. Calling about my trust fund. I think you will agree that in this day and age, the language is wildly outdated.”

“I made the money, Natalie. It is up to me how to distribute it. If you’d made smarter decisions, you wouldn’t be having this issue.”

“What do you want me to say? I screwed up? I know I did.” Leave it at that. He just needed to hear he was right. Letting him score points would burn, but she had to keep the goal in mind.

But then he went there. He went there.

“Maybe the idea of getting married is not so wildly outdated after all. Perhaps you’re more suited to family life than business, Natalie.”

In other words, get back in the kitchen.

Every hair on her body stood straight up. “Frankly, Father, I don’t think a man who abandoned his own wife is in a position to extol the virtues of marriage.”

A snort from Dalton. Then the line went dead.

She closed her eyes and let the phone drop to her lap.

The wedding was definitely on.