Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 107710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 539(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 539(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
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.”
Chapter Thirteen
It was the antithesis of how Natalie had pictured her wedding.
The theme of her thwarted nuptials had been modern. Chic, black-tie, smoky jazz, and chandeliers. A rooftop ceremony at dusk, followed by champagne and mingling with colleagues. Making professional inroads at her own wedding had been a given. Although, in a manner of speaking, she was doing the same here. Marrying in the name of returning to the world of finance. The fast-paced, often ugly, no-time-to-cry business of investing.
But she never, not once, envisioned herself getting married in St. Helena in the front yard where she had once woken up beneath an overturned unicycle and Ludacris blaring from her Bluetooth speaker. Don’t get her wrong, the setting was unmatched. Mount St. Helena was clear as a bell in the distance, smothered in sunshine. The vineyard seemed to be putting its best foot forward today, rows of lush greens and rich browns rolled out like shiny ribbons in the flattering afternoon light.
Natalie walked around the perimeter of the tent where the reception would take place into the evening. It was smaller than she’d expected, based on her mother’s description, thank God. She’d convinced her mother to keep the guest list on the intimate side and for once, they hadn’t argued about it, though only one man on the list seemed to matter today—Ingram Meyer. At least to Natalie and August. For Corinne, the wedding was as much about image as it was about helping them succeed. Wasn’t it?
A hundred yards ahead, Natalie could see Hallie bustling around in ripped jean shorts and a sky-blue halter top, securing big, bright boughs of crimson roses to the aisle chairs where the ceremony itself would start in about an hour.
Natalie didn’t even have her dress on yet.
Hair and makeup was done—she’d taken care of that herself.
Everything was being handled. All she needed to do was get fake married.
Just get through today, stay married for one month to make the union believable and not blemish the Vos name with a scandal. Then she’d be on her way.
It took Natalie several moments to realize she was scanning the yard for August.
Shouldn’t he be here, with only an hour to go before the ceremony?
Had he changed his mind?
When they’d parted ways two nights ago after axe throwing, everything had seemed fine. Meaning she’d called him a lumbering twat and he’d made kissing noises at her until she’d slammed the door of her Uber on him. All perfectly normal.
Funny, while pondering the possibility that August had gone AWOL, she didn’t immediately think of her trust fund. She was kind of . . . worried? That maybe he was having a hard time going through with the wedding without Sam?
She reached into the pocket of her robe and took out her phone, smoothing her thumb over the glass screen. Should she call him? See if he needed to chat? As little as a week ago, the very idea of holding a conversation of any length with the world’s worst winemaker would have been laughable. And hey, they weren’t best friends now or anything. Ha! That would be the day. But talking to him didn’t quite suck as much as it had before? It was kind of nice how she could be as mean and sarcastic as she wanted and he simply rose to the occasion. She didn’t have to pretend. She’d even been honest with him about her family woes and afterward, she’d been just a little bit lighter.
Maybe pretending to be married to him wouldn’t end in World War III.
It wouldn’t be a walk in the park, either. But they might not kill each other.
Right as Natalie was preparing to call her missing fiancé, his truck roared into the parking lot and skidded to a halt, kicking up a dust cloud. Everyone on the lawn stopped and turned to watch the giant groom climb out of his truck—carefully cradling a marmalade-colored cat to his chest, patting its head soothingly.
Menace was here. Wearing a cat tuxedo.