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)
Did people get nervous before they asked for a divorce?
Probably.
Acid flooded his organs, so thick he could taste it in his mouth.
“I’m sorry,” he said again, his voice in tatters. “I was going to tell you, but we’re so happy and I didn’t want you to lump me in with your father and Morrison and Savage. Listen to me, it’s not what you think. Yes, I accepted an investment from Sam’s father. But it wasn’t because I didn’t want your help with the bank loan. I wasn’t rejecting you, the way I did with making our wine. That wasn’t it at all, Natalie. I just wanted . . .” He strode forward and took her shoulders, stooping down enough to put them at eye level, alarmed beyond words to find hers full of tears. Christ oh Christ. I swore I would never make her cry again. “I wanted you to get your trust fund. Because you needed it and I love you. I wasn’t sure you would marry me if the deal was one-sided. I married you because the first time we met, you took my heart home with you in a doggy bag and never gave it back. I never want it back.” He was talking in circles. Get it together. “Keeping this secret wasn’t about pride. Or about making the winery a success on my own. I just wanted to do something important for the woman who is my reason for getting out of bed in the morning. It was all out of love. Nothing else.”
Several seconds passed in silence.
Then, to his surprise, she nodded.
“I have to tell you something, too,” she whispered, trembling in his hands in a way that was causing him acute distress. “Oh God, August . . .”
“What is it? We can handle anything.”
She sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. “The day of the wedding, my father called and offered to release my trust fund.” She searched his eyes as the tears began to drip from her own. “I said no. Not because of my pride, either, but . . . because I wanted to marry you. I couldn’t put a name to how I felt about you at the time, but . . .” She swiped at her eyes, a sob sneaking out. “I loved you—I know that now. I know it so deeply.”
A rush of unimaginable happiness blew in and knocked him off his feet.
“Sorry, hold on.” August fell sideways into one of the dining room chairs, the piece of furniture skidding loudly under the sudden influx of weight. “I can’t breathe.”
Natalie knelt down in front of him, fingers rushing over him, as if to check for an injury. When she didn’t find one, she clasped his face in her hands. “August.”
“I’m here. I just can’t tell if I want to cry or throw up.”
“Don’t do either of those things.”
“Gotcha.” He took her face in his hands, too, marveling. Fucking marveling over this woman. He probably would still be reeling from the unexpected gift of her confession a hundred years from now. And as long as she was there to hold him, that would be quite all right.
Appearing dazed, she shook her head. “So, technically, we didn’t have to get married. We just . . . wanted to?”
“Incorrect. I had to marry you.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I know that I love you,” he rasped, kissing her hard, memorizing his wife’s tear-stained face and the affection radiating from her. “I know that no matter how it happened, it was right. I can’t breathe for loving you and loving you is the only way I can breathe.”
She shot off the floor into his lap, where she belonged, planting kisses all over his face, which he was all too happy to sit back and receive, his mind still struggling to play catch-up. God, if you’re listening, please, please give me a century just like this. “I love you just as much, August Cates,” she said, finally, against his lips. “Despite the fights. Maybe even because of them. Because there is no one more worthy of battling for.”
His wife, the love of his life, kissed him with tears in her eyes.
And at last the world made sense.
Epilogue
Eight years later
Over the course of eight years of marriage, Natalie had seen August mad plenty of times. They’d always been, and continued to be, hot-tempered individuals and they ran a successful winery together. Of course they argued. The beauty was in the forgiveness—and they did forgiveness really well. Whether they fought over temperature management of the wine or planting strategy, they didn’t stay mad long. One of them usually caved after five minutes of silent treatment. And she meant “caved” in the literal sense, because the wine cave was usually where they ended up engaging in frenzied apologies out of earshot of their employees.