Crazy about Cameron: The Winslow Brothers #3(18)

“W-W-Winterhaven c-canceled the w-w-w . . .,” she wailed, her voice almost unrecognizable.

It took him a moment to decipher her words. Winterhaven. The place she was having her. . . Oh, shit.

“Wait. Winterhaven canceled your wedding? What do you mean they canceled it? We paid the deposit months ago. You’ve been there fifty times to plan things out. What the f*ck are you talking about?”

She blew her nose loudly into the phone, a reminder that Jessica, for all her charm and grace, had been raised alongside four older brothers.

“They c-canceled it. The s-secretary of state wants it for an international gala.”

“Fuck that! We paid our deposit. It’s ours.”

“Apparently it was in the contract. If the Office of the P-President wants to use Winterhaven, they have the right to cancel p-private events.”

“This is f*cking nonsense!” yelled Cameron, grabbing a beer out of the fridge and stalking into the den.

“Now what am I going to do? How can I get m-married now? We’re having the engagement p-party at Westerly—I can’t get married there too. And B-Brooks won’t do my auction, and P-Preston is still being a moody jerk.” She sobbed softly. “This family is a m-mess.”

He’d sort out the mystery auction and Preston’s moodiness in a moment. For now, they needed a solution for Jessica’s wedding. Their father was dead, she was clearly at odds with their two older brothers, and she’d come to him for help. And damn it, he was going to help her.

“First things first. The wedding.”

“W-what wedding?” she wailed. “It’s c-canceled.”

“Stop being an idiot, Jess. It’s still four months away. We’ll figure it out.”

“How? We already printed the invitations!” She blew her nose again. “And you stop being an idiot, Cam! It t-takes a year to plan a g-good wedding! F-Four months is a j-j-joke!”

Her voice was a cross between a wail and a screech. Cameron took a deep breath. He was frustrated and worried, which was making her more upset. Picturing his oldest brother, Brooks, he channeled a sense of confident composure and lowered his voice.

“We’ll reprint the invitations,” he said gently.

“And what v-venue are we going to find on this short notice, Cam? T-tell me that!”

When it’s ready, I want to have events there too: weddings, parties, tastings. I want it to be a destination, you know? A fully functional vineyard and winery.

“Jess,” he said, “are you listening?”

“Mm-hm,” she sniffled pathetically.

“How about a vineyard?”

She sniffled again, a breathy, sobby sound. “What do you mean?”

“A vineyard. A winery. For your wedding.”

“A vineyard?” she squeaked.

“Yeah,” he said, warming to the idea. “A vineyard in the Pennsylvania countryside. Somewhere really picturesque.”

“Well,” she said, her voice still pathetic, but slightly more thoughtful, “Martha Stewart Weddings had some amazing vineyard ideas last month.”

“Uh-huh,” he encouraged her. “And it would be different, right? Everyone gets married at a country club or hotel or Winterhaven. This would be memorable. Unique.”

She sniffled again, but her voice was stronger, interrupted only by little gaspy sobs she couldn’t help. “And ch-charming. A country wedding with long tables and Mason jars bursting with w-wildflowers.”

“And great wines,” said Cameron.

“Maybe a hayride,” said Jessica. “And th-thousands of twinkle lights.”

“We’ll rent a tent.”

“It could be amazing,” she said. “But, Cameron . . .” Her voice broke again, and the tears came back. “We don’t have a v-vineyard.”

“I do,” he said quickly, hoping that he wasn’t promising something he couldn’t deliver. “I mean, I don’t, but Margaret Story does.”

“Margaret? She has a vineyard?”

“She does. About an hour outside of town.”

“Oh, Cam!” she exclaimed. “Do you think—”

“I’ll make it happen,” he said. “No matter what.”

“You will?” she wailed.

But Cameron smiled to himself because he knew that her tears were coming from a place of hope and relief now. “I promise you, Jess. You have my word.”

“We’d need to see it soon. And you’ll come with me, Cam? I barely know Margaret. You’ll help me?”

“Whatever you need, Jess.” He sat on his couch and crossed his legs as he tipped the beer back and took a satisfying gulp. “Now tell me about this auction Brooks won’t help you with . . . and when you want me to kick Preston’s ass.”

***

Margaret blinked, opening her eyes to the morning sunlight streaming through the diamond-shaped cut-glass window just over her head. For just a moment she reveled in the plush softness of her country bed, covered with a thick down comforter and smelling of fresh-cut grass and her own lilac perfume. But all too soon the memories of last night invaded her peaceful good morning, and she cringed, turning to her side and picking up her phone to check the time. Ten o’clock. She’d overslept by hours.