by Kenzie Reed
Jamie looks at my father. “You’ll never take me seriously because I lack certain equipment.”
He slaps his hand on the table. “Don’t say it!”
“And by equipment, I mean a penis. I lack a penis. And testicles.” She raises her voice so loudly that the workers at the tank turn, startled, then quickly scurry back to their jobs. My father, a very old-fashioned man, turns tomato red.
“Dear! Your blood pressure!” my mother cries again, flapping her hands in dismay.
“You’re making it worse!” he bellows at her. “Stop talking about it!”
“Penis, penis, penis!” Jamie yells. “Testicles!”
My mother bursts into tears. “You’re trying to kill your father!” Then she turns her wrath on Dad. “You’re going to drive our daughter right out the door!”
Jamie spins on her heel and storms out.
“She’s right,” I tell him as I shake my head. “She’s the one who’s taken an interest in managing the entire operation. She’s smart, she’s capable – someday she’ll probably be in charge. She should have been here. That’s on all of us, myself included. I expect her to be here when my people do the equipment training.”
I leave my parents snarling and snapping at each other like stray dogs in an alley. So, the meeting went pretty much as I would’ve expected, with the exception of the approximately thirty seconds of warm fuzzies.
Out in the parking lot, I make some business calls and spend some time on my laptop answering emails, since they have Wi-Fi. I was supposed to have a video meeting with Graham, but he had to reschedule, so I head back to Sienna’s house. I mean, our house.
When I walk in, Jamie is sitting on one of the folding chairs. Her eyes are red as if she’s been crying, and she’s hiding something behind her back.
“You’re back early! I mean, hooray, my husband’s home,” Sienna says.
“Uh, hey.” Jamie stands up, her hand still behind her back. “I’ll be running along now. I just came to make sure this basic bitch wasn’t abusing my brother too much.”
“And I was telling this bleach blanket bimbo that I’m dedicated to making your life a living heck.” Sienna glares fiercely at Jamie. “I’d make it a living hell, but that just sounds like too much work.”
“Natural blonde here, thanks,” Jamie drawls. Aceto walks up and rubs up against Jamie’s ankles, purring, then looks at me. If he had a middle finger, he’d flip me off. In cat language, he just did.
I mean, really, cat?
“What is that behind your back?” I demand.
“Nothing.” Jamie starts backing towards the door.
“I do know that you guys are secretly friends and have been friends for years. Probably since grade school. All that public insult stuff is for show, for our families. And you’ve got a glass of wine behind your back, because you came over here to drink and bitch about our parents.” I nod at the empty bottle of Riesling on the counter.
Jamie stops dead in her tracks. “You knew?” Her arm falls to her side. The wine glass is in her hand, empty.
“Well, I suspected. And now I know. How ridiculous is it that we all have to pretend to hate each other?” My voice is thick with exasperation.
“Pretty damn.” Sienna shakes her head.
The door flies open, and Pamela comes flying in, holding a bottle of non-alcoholic wine.
“Woo-hoo! Let’s get this ‘Screw the Witlockes’ party started!’” she yells, then she spots me. “Oops.”
I walk over and survey the wine rack, then glance at Jamie and Sienna.
“White or red?” I say.
Chapter Thirteen
SIENNA
Monday is a cool, mildly foggy day. Last night, Donovan slept on the roll-up mattress in the loft, which makes perfect sense but stings more than it should.
We leave at quarter to eight in the morning. The electrician is there to do the inspection. Aceto and Ducktape, who’s been hanging around the house a lot, are on the back porch in crates, so they can’t escape and get murdered by coyotes or, more likely, wreak havoc across the land. Those two always look like they’re plotting something.
Donovan bought me not one, but two pairs of fancy running shoes, and a dozen pairs of fancy socks. I accepted them under protest, but I have to admit that my feet feel like they’re wrapped in little clouds.
You’d think that on a Monday there would be fewer people at the jogging track, but the relay race is a big deal in Greenvale.
Fraser and Brooke are at the grassy warm-up area, and they flash us self-satisfied smirks and then return to their stretches. They’re wearing matching blue and white outfits. They’ve twinned from head to toe. They’ve matched their T-shirts, shorts, socks and running shoes. They’ve even got matching sweatbands.
“Tell me we don’t have to do that,” I groan.
“We are never, ever doing that.” His tone is fervent, his expression appalled.
I look at him with newfound affection. Nothing brings a couple together like finding out you loathe the same things. Loving the same things is nice, but shared hatred is like relationship superglue.
“I sort of don’t despise you as much as I should. Oh, wait, I’m about to go running. Die a thousand deaths, you massive hose-beast.”
“Running’s not so bad. It’ll grow on you.” He flashes me a roguish grin, his green eyes sparkling with mischief.
“Like mold,” I say sourly. “Or moss.”
“A rolling stone gathers no moss. So, running would help that little problem.”
I just stare at him, willing my eyes to turn into laser beams.
“Hey, you know what runners do when they forget something? They jog their memory.” Donovan smirks, looking appallingly proud of himself.
“You are not qualified to tell dad jokes until you actually spawn a child.”
I sniff and turn away from him, readjusting the strap on my fanny pack. Yes, thanks to Donovan and this jogging madness, I had to buy a fanny pack for my phone, wallet and keys. He’s made me into a fanny-pack wearer. Before I can gripe any more, I spot a familiar car rolling up.
“Oh look, there’s my mother!” I say in surprise.
“She’s really pushing this ‘After twenty-nine years, I just remembered I have a child’ thing, isn’t she?” Dominic says sourly.
I glance at him in surprise.
“Sorry,” he sighs. “She’s your mother.”
“No, I mean, fair enough. She was around for maybe like ten percent of my childhood. She missed just about every major milestone in my life.” Birthdays, holidays, school events… “I just… It’s exhausting being resentful all the time.”
His eyes gleam with unexpected sympathy. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt. But I get it.”
His sympathy wraps around me like a blanket fresh from the dryer, all warm and huggy. My heart swells in my chest. I can’t get used to this. It’s Donovan. We have a business arrangement. I still don’t trust him. I still don’t know what his endgame is here, but I put great stock in the phrase “Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me, fool me three times, just push me off a cliff already because I’m clearly too stupid to live.”
I wave at my mother, spin around, and walk over to the fence posts so I can start my calf stretches.
Linda strolls up. “Hey, sweetheart, how’s my girl?”
“Oh, you know.” I lower my voice. “Hitched to a Witlocke, forced to jog. Somehow, things could be worse. I could be in a Siberian gulag. So, you’re not working today?”
“Oh, I’m working the dinner shift. I’m going to start training for the relay too,” she says. “I might pair up with one of the other girls from the restaurant. That’s all right, isn’t it?”
“Of course.” I look at her in puzzlement. “You’re into jogging?”
She pats her flat stomach. “I’m into anything that lets me pretend I have the body of a twenty-year-old.”
“Is he hidden in your basement?” Donovan’s mad
e his way over to us, and he flashes my mother a cool, unwelcoming look.
My mother throws back her head and laughs. “Oh, what a wit. He’s a keeper, this one!” she says much louder than necessary. She flashes a warning look off to our left.
Carrie and Tonya are there, in their coordinated jogging gear. They’re staring at us, but as soon as I catch their eye they turn away from me. I turn my back on them.
“They’re here. Did you look in a mirror and whisper their name three times?” I mutter to Donovan.
He leans down and kisses my forehead, and makes a big show of stroking a lock of hair from my forehead then caressing my cheek with his thumb. He’s laying it on pretty thick. I should stop him, but everywhere he touches turns all warm and tingly.
“Yes. There was also a pentagram and a goat sacrifice involved.”
At my look of alarm, he adds, “And I’m not telling you which one. You’ll just have to take count when we get home.”
I take a step back and scowl at him. “For the sake of your cojones, I will assume you’re joking.”
And I resume my stretching exercises.
“Can I talk to you just a minute?” my mother says. She glances at Donovan. “Alone?”
“Fine,” Donovan growls, and stalks off.
“What’s up?” God, I hope she doesn’t need to borrow money. My bank account is crying the blues.
“I just wanted you to know, I’m happy we’re both in the same place this summer, and I’m not going to waste the opportunity to get to know you better. Did you know I signed a year lease for my apartment? I’m not going to run from my problems this time. I’ve started therapy, and the therapist and I agreed that I am swearing off dating entirely for six months.”
“Mom! Seriously?” My eyes fly open wide with shock. “I mean, sorry. Linda.”
“No, call me Mom.” She smiles and pats my cheek. “You know how proud of you I am, right?”
“I guess?”
“You’re being hesitant, and that’s all right. I understand. I’ve let too much distance grow between us, and one of the main reasons I’m going to therapy is to understand why I’ve done that. Now, I’m going to leave you and Donovan to your jogging. I’ll call you later, okay?”
She walks off, leaving me stunned and hopeful and suspicious all at once. This is the first time she’s ever admitted responsibility for anything. That feels huge to me, but Donovan’s right to urge me to be cautious. I think? God, I don’t even know what a normal relationship should look like or feel like.
Donovan walks up with a frown wrinkling his forehead, but he refrains from making any snide comments. “Let’s hit the road,” he says.
I’d like to say I’m learning to love jogging, but my muscles are still sore from Saturday. I follow Donovan’s routine, and this morning’s run is even more sweaty and tiring. And I’ve got the entire summer’s worth of training to look forward to. Fun!
Still, I finish the run with a minimal amount of grumbling. Afterwards, I hang out with Pamela and Angus while Donovan goes on his real run, then he and I go over to Tonya’s office to look over the paperwork. We got a text from the electrician giving us the all clear, so Donovan’s in an excellent mood. Apparently he’s already arranged for the delivery of a stainless steel refrigerator, microwave, blender, mixer, and heaven knows what else.
Tonya’s office is tastefully decorated in a vineyard theme, which makes sense since that’s what Greenvale is known for. It looks a lot like the Wine Knot chapel. Grape swags drape her mantelpiece and over the doorway, and the furniture is hand carved with grape and wine motifs. The walls are adorned with blown-up photographs of vineyard scenes, maps of the county, and some historical photos. She has a stack of brochures ready for us, with both farmhouse and industrial style furniture and accessories. Donovan grabs the stack and hands it to me.
“Here’s how it’s going to go,” Donovan says. Tonya starts to speak, and he talks right over her. “We do need furniture, and we will go through the brochures and send you a list of the items that we choose to purchase from your suppliers. You will have them delivered in a timely fashion. I’m not signing your contract. My attorney is drawing a contract up as we speak, and he’ll have it emailed to you by the end of the day. We will pay for your services, but you’re not coming over to our house again, and neither is your sister. You’re still getting a fat commission. Take it or leave it. But either way, come bursting into our house again, and you’ll be hearing from my attorney in a different capacity.”
And I’m reminded how he got his “wrecking ball” nickname. Ruthless businessman who’ll do anything to get his way…it makes me wonder, yet again, why he’s choosing to be married to me. And what I can possibly do to save myself and my family when I figure out what he really wants.
“Well.” All warmth has vanished from Tonya’s face. “I never.”
“I imagine you haven’t.” He smiles a shark’s smile, his eyes the color of a stormy sea. “I also imagine you’ve never repeatedly burst into a newlywed couple’s house before.”
She starts to say something, then subsides. I don’t know if this is the best approach, really, but what’s done is done. I just hope that it doesn’t get us in even worse with Carrie, if that’s possible.
We leave with a stack of brochures, Tonya’s icy stare freezing our backsides as we exit.
When we get to the car, I point at the brochures. “Whatever furniture we choose, I’ll pay you for, of course.” I’m not sure with what – as soon as I get to the winery’s office, I’m going to start the process of liquidating my 401k and scraping together every spare cent I’ve ever had.
He shakes his head. “Not necessary. And I know you’re tight on cash. You’re not personally going to get a big chunk of cash from the property sale, are you?”
I sigh. I can’t see how it’ll hurt to tell him. It’s not like he married me for my money, that’s for damn sure.
“Not right away, no. There’s a family trust that was set up a long time ago. The majority of the money from the sale will benefit the farm itself, paying off debt and buying new equipment and hiring new employees. I don’t get to manage my portion of the funds until I’m thirty-five. My mother manages a monthly trust fund for me, when there’s any money to be distributed, and she gets a percentage of the distribution as payment for managing it. And yes, I’m aware that gives her incentive to arrange this whole deal,” I add, a little defensively. “I don’t think that’s the only reason she’s decided to stay in town and spend more time with me.”
“I didn’t say it was.”
“But you think it is, don’t you?”
He doesn’t answer, just looks out the window, which is answer enough.
“She’s actually signed a year lease for her apartment. And she’s seeing a therapist and she says she’s not going to date for the next six months.”
“I hope things turn out well.” His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Anyway. I’m paying for the furniture. I mean, who even knows what your aunt will want to keep at the end of the summer when she comes home? She’ll probably want to get rid of everything, because she’s going to be mad as hell when she finds out about our deal, so I’ll be moving everything out and donating it.”
Our deal. Yes. There’s always that. “Either way, at the end of the summer, after the sale goes through, I’ll get a small chunk of money and I will pay you for half,” I insist.
He looks annoyed. “We’ll see. Also, I’m treating you to lunch. Don’t argue.”
“But I–”
“Silence!” he says in a ringing, commanding voice. Then he looks at me in surprise. “Whoa. It worked! I’ll have to remember that.”
“Don’t get too excited.” But I can’t suppress a small smile. “I just had nothing to say at that particular moment.”
He drives us over to Le Gourmand, and our waiter seats us at a table with a view of the Wine Knot chapel and vineyard.
While Donovan jogs over to the restroom, I o
rder a bottle of Witlocke chardonnay to go with the salmon I plan to order. It’s a little gesture of thanks for him covering the cost of the furniture and appliances – for now.
A shrill voice rings out. “My goodness. That can’t be good for the baby, can it?” Carrie. Of course. She’s sitting at a table near the window, by herself. The tables all around us fall silent.
“I’m not pregnant,” I say, raising the volume on my voice to match hers. “That was a false alarm.”
She skewers me with a skeptical gaze. “Did you claim you were pregnant just to trap him into a fake marriage?”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Carrie!” I’m just about reaching the limit of my patience. “First you’re claiming that the marriage is fake, and now apparently I lied to trap him into marriage.”
Donovan, returned from the restroom, sits down in the chair across from me.
“You did?” he says mildly. “Color me shocked.”
The waiter appears by our side, with the bottle and two glasses. I gesture at him to open it.
“I guess I’m busted.” I smirk at Donovan. “Sorry, sucker. This must come as a terrible shock to you. I know you only married me because I claimed to be pregnant with triplets, at least one of whom, possibly even two, were yours.”
The waiter, his eyes as wide as saucers, stands transfixed.
“Hmm. You’ll have to explain the science of that to me.” Donovan picks up the menu and gives it a quick glance, then returns his attention to me.
“Well, it starts when a mommy and daddy love each other very very much. So they get married. And then the daddy and mommy have some private time together and they take off all their clothes. Then there’s some kissing and stuff. Then he puts his– Hey, where are you going?”
Carrie leaps from her seat and shoots out the restaurant door like a seed squirting from a watermelon.
I grin at Donovan. “And that’s how it’s done!” We high-five each other.
“Aw, man,” the waiter says. “I never got to hear the ending.” He opens the wine bottle, pours a glass, and offers it to me.
“I don’t need to taste it. I’m sure it’s delicious, since everything Witlocke is of the highest quality.” I layer in just enough dry sarcasm in my tone to keep it from being ridiculous.