Mr. Pink

by Tessa Layne

  I snort. But his words don’t offer the intended comfort. And what about Macey? How do you go about prying nails out of coffins?

  I must have mumbled that aloud, because Jason chuckles. “Groveling’s usually a good place to start.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  It takes a few days before I’m ready to grovel. I have unfinished business at home that needs to be addressed first. It’s weird pulling back onto the long drive that leads up to our estate. I have zero attachment to the place I grew up, no love for the ripening vines or the gently rolling hills. I don’t think I ever have, but it took falling in love to figure it out. I still don’t know where home is, but that decision is no longer up to just me.

  I skid to a stop, because, why the hell not? I grab the briefcase full of spreadsheets from the passenger seat and step into the late August heat. It’s blazing hot for nine a.m., and I fleetingly wonder if we’re in danger of more fires this fall. We were lucky last year, but with the heat and ongoing drought, anything is possible. I don’t remove my aviators when I step inside, and I don’t wait for permission to enter Dad’s office. He looks up, startled, then glowers disapprovingly. “Son?”

  “Father.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to be at your brother’s?” he snaps. “And what the hell happened? You look like you’ve been in a bar fight. This is exactly why your trust fund has been frozen.”

  “About that, Dad. I’ve been doing a little digging while learning to make wine from my dear old brother. And I think you’ll be surprised at what I’ve discovered.” I make short work of the spreadsheets, outlining specifically how his board of ass-kissers has been fleecing him for years. He’s ashen when I’m finished. “So here’s how this is going to play out. You’re going to release our trust funds. You’re going to fire the board, then resign as CEO. You can remain chairman of the board, and I suggest you replace your outgoing board members with these people here.” I add a folder to the pile of spreadsheets. “They’ve been thoroughly vetted.” And include our former head grower Morrie, Marcel, and a number of the young winemakers I recently hired, including Isaiah. “Nico’s agreed to be CEO, I will take over as CFO, and Dec will be in charge of acquisitions.” Real estate’s his thing anyway.

  Dad’s aged twenty years in as many minutes. He shakes his head slowly. “I don’t know how this could have happened. This isn’t what I wanted.”

  “What you don’t tend, grows weeds. Just like in the vineyard.” I pat myself on the back. That might be the wisest thing I’ve ever said.

  At nine-thirty-six, I hit the road. I don’t push it the way I did last time. This is my last drive in my baby, and I want to savor how she handles. I’ve lined up a buyer in Kansas City, and I’ll be kissing her goodbye. I’m a family man now, or at least I hope to be. I’ll miss the way she handles, but it’s time. And I’m leaving her in good hands - turns out my old college rowing buddy Harrison Steele, the tech billionaire, collects cars. My Pagani will be right at home in her new garage.

  This time, I slow long before the speed-limit signs tell me to. My heart beats more erratically with each mile I draw closer. By the time I reach Prairie I’m going twenty-five in a car meant to go ten times that. I pull to a stop in front of the bungalow that holds my heart. My hands are sweaty on the leather steering wheel. She could say no. She could totally fucking say no. And then what would I do?

  Move on, I guess. I feel sick even thinking about it. My stomach churns in agreement. I glance down at the black velvet boxes on the console. She wouldn’t say no, would she? Not when I’m offering her the moon? I let out a slow breath. I need to get my mojo back, fast. I can’t show up on her porch and act… weak. I’m Austin fucking Case for crying out loud. I’m king of the goddamned wine world. I grab the boxes and jam them in my coat pocket as I step out of the car. It’s got to be at least 103, but I don’t care. Suit jacket stays on.

  My throat tightens as I cross the street. By the time I reach the shade of the porch, I can barely breathe. The door flies open just as I’m about to knock. Our eyes lock, and the words pile up at the back of my throat. I want to say everything, yet can’t say anything for the stark beauty of her. Her hair is piled up in a messy bun, tendrils that beg to be wound around fingers frame her face. She’s pale - her freckles stand out across her nose, but it’s her eyes I watch most closely. Relief mixed with horror. Maybe there’s hope for me here?

  She reaches up, gingerly touching the bruises which have faded to a hideous color of purple and green. “You look like Mr. Blonde got hold of you.”

  I huff out a laugh at her reference. “You should see the other guy.”

  She gives me a withering glance. “I did.”

  I touch my jaw. “I look better than Nash, don’t I?”

  She pulls off my aviators, eyes going wide when she sees my matching shiners. “At least you have both ears.”

  We stare at each other, each drinking the other in. I clear my throat. “I’m sorry. I said horrible things.”

  “You weren’t wrong,” she rushes to assure me.

  “I was out of line.”

  “Jason told me everything.”

  She nods, looking ready to cry. “Everything. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

  I take her hands in mine. “You have nothing to be sorry about. Please don’t cry, Gorgeous. We can figure things out. If you want,” I amend, because I’m still unsure.

  A tear slips out of the corner of one eye. “I want,” she says on a hiccup and hurls herself into my arms with surprising force, burying her head in my chest.

  “Look at me, Macey.” She raises her head. I’m dead. Shot through the heart by the soft, hopeful look on her face. “I don’t deserve you,” I start.

  “Shh,” she interrupts with a shake of her head. “Don’t say that.”

  “I mean it. I’ll work the rest of my life to deserve you, to… not be an asshole.”

  “I like some of your assholish tendencies.” She gives me a watery smile. “Maybe don’t lose all of them?”

  “I’ll lose whatever you tell me to. You call the shots.”

  “How about we call the shots?”

  It will always be a push and pull with her, but I think we both thrive on that. I cup her face, and drop my mouth to hers. Something in me settles like a key fitting into the right lock. I feel her smile against me as she opens her mouth with a sweet sigh of satisfaction. This is home. She is home. I taste her greedily, like a man starved. And I am, for her. We part breathlessly.

  “Well?” She asks, tongue slicking her lower lip.

  That’s my cue. The words I’ve been rehearsing for days now, that have jammed up in my throat, tumble out. And I’m not afraid. “I love you Macey. I think I fell in love with you the first night we were together. You never stop surprising me or challenging me, and I love it. I love you. And I love your crazy, wild daughter, and if you’ll both have me, I want to be your champion, your lover, your partner, for the rest of our lives.”

  Her smile melts me. It’s brighter than the reflection of the sun off my Pagani when it’s freshly waxed. “I love you too, you overbearing, oversexed beast.”

  “Just so we’re clear.” I take her mouth again. And when we part, I confess something that’s been on my mind since my brawl with Jason. “I don’t know how to be a father. At least, not a good one. I mean, I’ve set up a trust for you, Sophie, and the baby, but I don’t know-”

  “Stop.” She places her fingers against my lips. “Nobody knows how to do it. You just… do.”

  I slip my hand inside my suit jacket and pull out the ring box. “Marry me?”

  Her eyes go round when I open the box. “That’s… enormous.” She looks from the ring, to me, and back to the ring again. “I mean, it’s huge. Do you expect me to-”

  “Tell me that the next time we’re in bed? Yes. I do.”

  “I can’t wear that while I’m working in the fields.”

  “As long as you wear it in bed while I’m devouring you
r sweet pussy, I’m okay.”

  “Perv.” She lets me slip on the ring, and rewards me with a kiss.

  “Just the way you like it.”

  “I have something for Sophie, too. Is she at school?”

  Macey’s face clouds. “I…” she takes a big breath. “I decided to homeschool Sophie.”

  “Why is that?”

  “After… after you left, I got to thinking. I grew up running around a vineyard, and it was the best thing ever. And I realized after helping with the harvest, that as much as I like being a somm, I like winemaking more. And I wanted the freedom to help my parents, or help Jason and Millie, or-or-or…” She takes a deeper breath and pins me with a look that arrows straight to my heart. “Or maybe start my own venture. With Marcel.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah,” she says, eyes daring me to disagree. “So even if you’re done with wine after this fall. I’m not.” Her tone says I better get used to it.

  I pull her into my arms, kissing her senseless all over again. “We have a lot to talk about. But first, Sophie.”

  We walk to the park, and I spy Sophie way up in her favorite tree, wearing her favorite glitter tutu and a crown. Jason is standing below arms crossed scowling up at her. “Soph, I told you not to climb so high.”

  I clap him on the shoulder. “She’ll be fine.”

  He glances sideways at me. “You let her down, either of them, and I will chop your balls off.”

  “Noted.”

  Sophie sees me and waves. “Hi, Austin.”

  “Why don’t you climb down? I have something for you.”

  “Is it a pony?”

  “Better.”

  “Is it a unicorn?”

  “Better.”

  Soph shakes her head emphatically. “Nothing’s better than a unicorn.”

  She is a hell-child, headstrong and stubborn, but it bothers me less, now that I know I have a role to play in shaping her. And while she knows how to push my buttons, I want her to grow up and not take any shit. I cross my arms. “I’m going to take your mom back home now. You can see it when you get home from the park.” It only takes two steps before she calls down. “Wait.” She scrambles down in record time, jumping the last three feet.

  I pull out the other box and squat, suddenly nervous. Like puke on your leather shoes nervous. Talking to Macey was easier, by far. I swallow, mouth dry as sand. “So remember when we talked about your dad?”

  “And you said bad words?”

  Behind me, Macey makes a disapproving noise. I glance back at her with a sheepish smile, and she rolls her eyes, motioning for me to continue. “Yes.” I nod. “And I said bad words. But do you remember what else I said?”

  Her face pinches, and my heart turns to liquid. She nods, biting her lower lip.

  “That no one can ever take your daddy away? And that your daddy will always be in heaven?”

  She nods again, perfect bow lips pulling into a frown.

  “Would you like to have a second daddy? One on earth?” I might have a cardiac arrest my heart is beating so fast. My stomach flips upside down.

  Her eyes dart to Macey, then to Jason, then back to me.

  “What I’m trying to say, is… if you’ll let me. I’d like to be your stand-in daddy. Your second dad. Here on earth.” I give that a moment to sink in. I’m so dizzy I have to blink hard just to stay focused on her purple sparkly shoes. I raise my eyes, heart in my throat. “What do you think? Would you like that?”

  I hear Macey hiccup.

  A crow caws from the tree.

  The cicadas start singing, drowning out the buzzing in my ears.

  It feels like eons before she nods with a tentative smile. Relief floods my body in a rush of heat. “Here. I brought you something.” I open the box. It’s a freshwater pearl necklace studded with blue Swarovski crystals, the same color as her eyes. “I thought when you wear it, you could think of your dad in heaven, and me.”

  “Can I wear it?” she asks, shyly, looking to her mother for approval.

  Macey joins us, misty-eyed. “Of course, sweetie. Let me help you.”

  “Did Austin give you that?” she points to the ring on Macey’s left hand.

  “He did. He asked me to marry him. Just like Uncle Jason and Millie, and Sterling and Emma got married.”

  Sophie bounces so excitedly, Macey can hardly secure the necklace. “Do I get to be the flower girl?”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  One year later…

  * * *

  The SUV limo slowly winds its way up the dirt road, turning at the gate, now open, wrapped in garlands and tulle. I can’t help but smile at the difference a year makes. Marcel’s home has been razed and replaced with a Frank Lloyd Wright inspired architectural wonder of wood and glass, an extension of its surroundings. It took all winter, and double overtime, but the buildings were ready before fruit set. Macey and I still disagree about money, but she can’t deny that my money makes shit happen.

  Beyond the main house - our home - is a series of outbuildings. One for Marcel, another, slightly larger, for visitors, of which there’ve been many since we welcomed a son in April. Drexel Arthur Case, four months old today, a chubby, gurgling, laughing, curly-haired redhead, just like his big sister and mother. But I think he’s inherited my chiseled jaw.

  I wait for the driver to open the door, and step out. “Holy shit,” I mutter. I hardly recognize the yard. Macey banned me from the house yesterday, kicking me out before the decorators and caterers arrived. An enormous tent has been erected where the tractors usually park. Inside, I can see parquet flooring, flowers and crystal. White jacketed attendants are hurrying back and forth from the guest house, where they’ve set up shop.

  A floral arch has been set up at the edge of the vineyard, overlooking the steep hills dropping into Sonoma. White chairs are beginning to fill up with guests. I slowly make my way across the lawn to where Jason and Millie, who’s holding my niece, Audrey stand next Dec and Nico and their wives. I raise a hand in greeting. It hasn’t been easy, this last year, setting things to rights, letting go of the past. But we’re getting there. And the women we love seem to have made it a priority amongst themselves to see us fully reconciled.

  Jason grabs a glass of bubbly - Dec’s creation - from a passing server and offers it to me. “Congratulations.”

  I salute him and take a sip. I feel… content. I’m still not used to it, but every day the feeling of disbelief, the feeling I don’t deserve this level of happiness, fades a little more.

  “Are you ready?” asks Dec.

  “Absofuckinglutely.” Today is a celebration of more than just our marriage. The wine Macey and I created in consultation with Marcel, will be unveiled at dinner. We couldn’t settle on a name for it, so we didn’t enter it in a tasting this spring. We also had other, more important events going on. I want to name the wine after the estate - Mt. Veeder Estate Rosé. Macey thinks we should call it Mr. Pink. I disagree. Not everyone appreciates Reservoir Dogs, or finds it as funny as we do.

  A short distance from the arch, a string quartet begins to play. Across the way, the wedding consultant holds up five fingers. Five minutes and my ladies walk down the aisle to where I wait. I check again for the vows I wrote. They’re still there, secure in my inside pocket. I slip my hand into the outside pocket checking for Sophie’s bracelet and Macey’s wedding ring. She was serious about only wearing her engagement ring in the bedroom, and so I’ve designed a platinum and diamond wedding band that won’t catch on anything while she’s at work. I really don’t care what she wears, but I do like to see the flash of ice on her finger when I’m going down on her. Or when her left hand strokes my cock.

  The wedding planner holds up two fingers. I drain my glass and head to the arch as the quartet plays the opening strains to Vivaldi’s Spring. It may be coming up on harvest time, but we’re still in the spring of our love, and I don’t plan for winter to come anytime soon. Sophie comes skipping down the aisle, tossi
ng rose petals as she goes. The guests sigh collectively when she stops to kiss her brother, cooing happily on Macey’s mother’s lap. She comes to stand next to me and takes my hand. “Is today the day you become my daddy?” she whispers.

  I almost lose my shit, but I’m determined not to choke up in front of this crew. I’ll never hear the end of it. I sweep her up into my arms and kiss her forehead. “You can call me daddy whenever you like,” I whisper back, nearly choking on my words when I catch sight of Macey standing at the back of the aisle, a vision in white sleeveless satin designed by Declan’s wife. Her hair is caught up in a low loose bun, and I’m already planning how to unpin it when I slip her out of her dress. All I can say is there better not be any buttons running up the back, or the dress is toast.

  Macey laces her fingers through mine as soon as she reaches me, and together we stand before the judge. The judge starts talking, but I don’t hear. My entire universe has collapsed into Macey and Soph.

  “Daddy.” Sophie nudges me. “It’s time to give me my bracelet. Just like we practiced.”

  “Right, right.” I put her down and reach into my pocket, then drop to my knees. I take her hand and slip on the bracelet that matches the necklace I gave her a year ago. “Sophie, I promise to always be your dad. To help you remember your dad in heaven, and to be your dad here on earth. For as long as I live.” My throat catches on the last part, because what if I die too soon? What if I get hit by a car tomorrow? Or get cancer? The weight of my promise punches me in the guts. “I love you, Sophie,” I choke. I take a big breath and swallow hard. “I promise to do my best every day to be your best dad, okay?”

  “I love you too, daddy,” she says as she gives me a hug. I think my heart might explode.

  Macey brushes away tears as I rise. “Damn you.” She lightly smacks me with her bouquet. “We practiced.”

  “I love you too, Gorgeous.” I step in, wrapping my arms around her and pulling her flush. I catch her eye just before I bend to give her a kiss. I don’t care that we haven’t spoken our vows yet. We’ll get to them. We’ve done everything else backward to this point, why not this too? What matters is that we’re together, doing life our way, with our family at our home. And what could be more right than that?