Natalie watched in horror as August unfolded the piece of paper that he’d removed from the pocket of his tuxedo. Yellow legal-pad paper, to be exact, on which lines had been crossed out and arrows had been drawn.
It looked like the first draft of a football playbook.
What in God’s actual name was he going to say?
More importantly, had she actually passed on an offer to get her trust fund and remain single? With her money in hand, she probably could have even afforded to reimburse Corinne for the catering. Sure, the last-minute flake out wouldn’t have been good for her relationship with Corinne or the Vos family reputation, but neither of those things were stellar at the moment to begin with!
Although, wow. If she’d taken the money and skedaddled, she would have missed the sight of August in front of an altar—a portable one, sure—looking at her in a wedding dress with total, unabashed awe. It wasn’t every day a girl was privy to that compelling of a moment.
My goodness, he’s beautiful, too. A big, beautiful, battle-worn presence.
She’d meant every word she’d said to her father. God help her. What now?
Follow through on her word to the man. She owed him that. He deserved that much.
But that was all she could offer. All he could expect.
They were halfway through the traditional vows when August cleared his throat and flattened the wrinkled paper on his thigh. Out of the corner of her eye, Natalie noticed her mother shifting nervously in her seat. She knew August was a loose cannon who never tried to hide his disdain for St. Helena’s elite and every guest at this wedding fit that profile, including Ingram Meyer.
August reached for the microphone and the pastor handed it over with a glance toward the wedding planner. He shrugged. August cleared his throat directly into the mic, sending a trill of feedback through the tent and a smattering of murmurs. “Natalie Vos. Wow. Here we are. Getting married.” He turned the paper toward her so she could see he’d written those exact words, before going back to reading. “I promise to take your side in every argument—unless it’s the one you’re having with me, then it’s fair game. But the point I’m trying to make is that we might fight . . .” He scanned the room with a pointed look. “But God help anyone else who tries to fight with you. They will answer to me.”
Oh . . . my God. Why were her eyes burning?
This wasn’t even real. Why did his speech feel . . . important?
Why did the whole day feel significant?
“I also promise to protect you from this day forward. From cat claws to fires to drunk people with axes. You’re always going to be safe. I’ll make sure of it. You can call me no matter where you are, and I’ll come.”
There was more.
A whole second half of a page. He couldn’t seem to continue, though. Maybe because the guests were so silent. Maybe he got self-conscious. Whatever the reason, August coughed into his fist, folded up the paper hastily, and shoved the vows back into his pocket. “We can keep going now,” he said with a brief smile, handing the microphone back to the pastor.
Instead, Natalie just dropped her bouquet of flowers, took a lunging step, and kissed him. Smack on the mouth, right there in front of everyone, her hands smoothing up the lapels of his black dress jacket. “Are you kissing me because of what I said about your tits, princess? Because I meant it. They are hot as sh—”
“For the love of God. Shut up.”
“Done.”
She kissed him again, ignoring the dangerous stinging behind her eyes. The kiss threatened to grow more intense until August squeezed her waist and broke away with a low whistle, his eyelids at half-mast.
They finished reciting the words that officially made them husband and wife, but she stumbled over every single sentence, thanks to the way August was looking at her.
* * *
Apparently, the bride and groom didn’t get to spend a whole lot of time together at the wedding. File that under information August hadn’t been unaware of until today.
At least, they never got to be alone.
Everyone else under the tent seemed to be getting tons of face time with Natalie and he wasn’t even going to pretend not to be jealous. Whenever he got her attention, someone came by and struck up a conversation with her. Men. Women. Children. Even the cat was in her lap for a while, rolled over on its back like a lazy queen.
Obviously everyone wanted to talk to his wife, she looked like a fucking angel.
In sixty years, when he thought back on his wedding, he was going to remember this—chasing her around the candlelit tent just trying to get her alone. So he could . . . what?
He wasn’t even positive this wedding meant anything to Natalie. Not the way it meant something to him. If her motives went beyond unlocking her trust fund, they remained unclear. And he wanted to know where he stood with this woman every time he looked at her. Starting today, he’d do everything in his power to make it happen.
August-style, of course.
“It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Cates. Under better circumstances, of course,” said a voice to his right. August turned to find none other than Ingram Meyer standing at his elbow, holding a plate of cake. Who wore a straw hat to a wedding? Was it the guy’s signature fashion piece or something? “I’m Ingram Meyer.”
August shook the man’s free hand. “Yes, I believe the last time we met, you told me not to let the door hit me in the tuchus on my way out of the bank.”
“You weren’t so polite, either, as I recall, but that’s all water under the bridge now.” The man was regarding him a little too closely to be polite, but August said nothing. Making a good impression on this man was important to Natalie. Ingram held the purse strings and August wouldn’t mess up Natalie’s chance to untie them.
“Enjoying the party?”
“I am. Corinne always outdoes herself.” Ingram paused. “Although not usually on such short notice.”
A prickle rode up the back of August’s neck. “Natalie and I are grateful to her.”
“Yes.” Ingram canted his head to the left. “How did you and Natalie Vos meet?”
“Natalie Cates,” August corrected, forcing an affable smile. “We met at Wine Down Napa.” God, she’d been beautiful that night. And every night since. Back then, though, there wasn’t a speck of vitriol between them. Just that weightless excitement. “She was there to represent the vineyard—”
“And she’d had a little too much wine, like we all do at those events,” Julian said, approaching unexpectedly on August’s left. Giving him a quick nod. “An online wine blogger was trying to snap Nat’s picture in a tipsy state, but August blocked their shot.”
Did I?
Yeah, he guessed he had. The whole night was a blur of anything but . . . her.
The way she’d smiled. Her smoke-and-flowers scent.
How he’d lost his balance the moment he saw her and never got it back.
“I was positive in that moment we’d be seeing a lot more of him,” Julian finished, raising his glass and sharing a fleeting smile with August. “And I was right.”
Ingram considered both of them in turn. “What a nice story.” He took his time taking a bite of cake, chewing it while looking over the crowd. “Corinne invited me to dinner at the vineyard on Monday night. I’m looking forward to hearing more about how this union came to be.” He tipped his straw hat to Julian and August. “Enjoy your night.”
“Same to you,” August said, smiling with teeth.
“Bastard,” Julian muttered near his ear.
“Yeah. Someone find a princess to kiss that guy and turn him back into a frog,” August agreed, rubbing at the nape of his neck. “Thanks for having my back, man. I forgot about the whole thing with the photographer.”
“I didn’t.” Julian swirled his wine. “I also remember when she threw wine in your face and you only looked angry at yourself for arguing with her in the first place.”
“Yeah, that sounds like me.”
Julian shook his head. Sighed. “You’re in love with her.”
Suddenly, August couldn’t swallow.
The music swelled in his ears.
Was he in love with Natalie? No idea. If the key to her happiness was at the bottom of the ocean, he’d strap on some flippers and goggles to dive down and get it. If she showed any signs of illness, even a common cold, he would consider bringing her to the ER. If she asked him to dress like Zack Morris at Halloween so she could dress like Kelly Kapowski . . . he’d already have suggested it first. Did all of that equal love?
To him? Yes.
He loved her. Really, really bad.
It couldn’t have seemed less natural for Julian to lay his arm across August’s shoulders, but he did. Briefly. “I have faith in you.” He stepped back. “I also have faith that she wouldn’t have gone through with this unless something was there.”
“Thanks, Julian,” he managed through his parched throat.
“And if you hurt her, I’ll break your nose.”
“Heard you the first two times.”
When Julian returned to his girlfriend’s side, August picked up an uneaten plate of food from one of the tables and dug into it with a tiny fork. Cold sea bass was not the most appetizing of choices, but God knew he’d eaten worse.
How to get Natalie’s attention. How to get . . .
The DJ booth released a slow plume of fog out onto the dance floor.
August smiled mid-chew, finally landing on a plan.
A few minutes later, the opening strains of “Brick House” filled the tent and Natalie’s shoulder blades twitched, then she was turning around and sending daggers at him with her eyes. He only winked back. When the lyrics kicked in, August strutted out onto the dance floor and pointed directly at his new wife with an open challenge. At first, he was positive she was going to throw the closest heavy object at his head, but to his everlasting happiness, she joined him in the center of the floor, causing the drunk guests in attendance to applaud.
“Are you serious?” Natalie mouthed at him over the music.
August unbuttoned his tuxedo jacket with a flourish and dropped it on the dance floor, moving on to the cuff links next. Rolling up his sleeves. And then he started to dance—although even he could admit that that term should be used loosely when applied to his series of exaggerated disco moves and jump spins. Not to mention a lot of finger guns. He’d developed this routine years ago as a way to shake the malaise that often overcame his team when they’d been away from their families too long and, frankly, it was ridiculous. But it was him, whereas this wedding was definitely not.
Not unless he counted Natalie.
This woman was . . . him. She was why he’d come.
“I’m not dancing to this,” she shouted over the music.
“Are you serious? This song was written about you,” August called back, grooving closer.
“I wasn’t even born when this song was written.”
“The Commodores must have seen you coming.” He snagged her wrist and spun her around, noticing the beginnings of a smile creeping in. “On the other hand, I did not,” he said, leaning down to speak into her neck. “See you coming, that is.”
Her eyes shot to his, a furrow appearing in her brow. As if trying to decipher whether or not he was putting her on. “The only reason I’m going to dance with you right now is this. My mother picked ‘(I’ve Had) The Time of My Life’ from Dirty Dancing as our first dance song. I don’t know what in the hell she was thinking. Everyone expects a lift at the end of that song. Or a dancing flash mob. She clearly didn’t think it through.”
“Her oversight is my gain. Which song did you pick?” He rubbed his chin, as if he hadn’t already spent hours pondering this. “Let me guess. ‘You’re So Vain’?”
Natalie’s mouth dropped open.
“Knew it. Get moving.” He performed a pretty stilted version of the hustle. Not because he wasn’t amazing at it, but because Natalie was on the verge of giving up the fight. She was starting to bump her shoulders to the music and Lord, when Natalie allowed herself to enjoy him, even for just a few minutes, it was like holding a puppy in one hand and a foot-long hoagie in the other. Bliss. “For the record, though, I could have lifted you Johnny Castle style.”
Natalie was already shaking her head. “This dress has about forty pounds of crystals sewn into it. I would have knocked you out.”
“I’m known for absorbing blows to the head without losing a step.”
“Should we test that theory?”
“No, but we should definitely test the lift theory when we get home.”
They were in the middle of the dance floor having this conversation, and August was pretty damn sure Natalie had no idea she was dancing. As if he didn’t already find this woman attractive beyond human comprehension, she had to go and look good cutting a rug, too. Just effortless and fluid and sexy. In rhythm. How was it even fair?
“You’re proposing that, after we’ve both consumed our fair share of champagne, we go home and try the Dirty Dancing lift?”
He winked at her. “You’re damn right, princess.”
She pitched toward him, laughing. “Do you think they’ll give us lollipops if we’re brave enough in the emergency room?”
“Maybe we’ll get lucky and end up on Sex Sent Me to the ER.”
“In your wildest dreams, Cates.”
“In your wildest dreams, Cates.”
Natalie jolted slightly. “Oh my God, I’m Natalie Cates now.”
His bow tie was suddenly way too tight. “It has a certain ring to it.”
The shake it down, shake it down now portion of the song started and he hit the running man while she effortlessly worked the Batusi. Shit, he was falling deeper for her the longer this song went on. His team would love her. They’d worship the ground she walked on for not putting up with his crap but occasionally giving in, wouldn’t they? “We’re doing the lift.”
“We’re so not doing the lift.”
“What are you afraid of?”
“A concussion, for one.”
He scoffed. “You seriously think I would ever drop you? My beloved wife?”
This time when she laughed, her eyes were sparkling, the sound piercing him right in the middle of his chest. Although he wondered if she would be laughing if she knew he wasn’t laying it on all that thick. She danced for another few seconds, then rolled her eyes up at the ceiling. “Fine, we’ll try it. But if I end up with an injury, you’ll be waiting on me hand and foot until I’ve healed.”
“I’d do that anyway, if you asked me to.”
If the music wasn’t blasting, August was pretty sure he’d have heard Natalie gulp. “You’d wait on me hand and foot?”
“Yes. At least until I annoyed you enough to be banned from entering your room. Even on my best behavior, that could happen pretty quickly.” She was biting her bottom lip to keep her full smile from blooming again. They were close enough now that he could see the indentation of her teeth and the light sheen in the hollow of her throat that was proof of a good dance session. His hands were on her hips before he realized they were moving and, praise Jesus, her eyelids drooped on contact, followed by a measured intake of her breath. “We fail at the lift, I become your servant. We succeed . . .”
He pressed and dragged his thumbs along the curve of her hip bones, tugging her close by the skirt of the wedding dress.
“What?” she said, though he could only read her lips as he looked down at them from above. She must have been whispering.
“I give you a proper wedding night,” he said.
She huffed an incredulous laugh. “Pretty sure that’s a prize for you.”
He brought his mouth to her ear and felt his own eyelids grow heavy at the waft of her scent. “No lies detected. I’m gonna love going down on you, princess.”
Her quick release of breath bathed his throat, making his stones feel weighty, the nape of his neck beginning to sweat. “That’s . . . your prize?” she asked, finally, her tone threadbare.
“Uh-huh.” He slid his palms around to the small of her back and crushed her closer, letting her feel the resulting rumble in his chest. “It’s kind of a two-part prize, to be fair. First, I finally, finally get to fucking taste it, Natalie.” They both shuddered. “Second, every time you look at me in the future, you’ll have this knowledge in your eyes. That I know exactly where your clit is located and what the hell to do with it.”
The song ended.
She shoved away from him with a flushed face.
Applause broke out from the perimeter of the dance floor, startling her. And it gratified August to no end that when she was alarmed, she reached for him instinctively, fingers curling in the starched white material of his shirt. Before she could recover and step away from him again, August wrapped an arm around her waist and tugged her closer, leaning over to plant a kiss on the crown of her head, the wedding photographer snapping away with pops of light.
Oh yeah. His heart boomed. They were in this.
The applause and whistles died and Natalie eased away, leaving the dance floor with a wary backward glance in August’s direction. Correction: he was in this.
In order to get his heart off the chopping block, he needed to bring her along.
Starting with an overhead lift. Jesus.
On the way off the floor, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and started googling.
