At Wits' End: An Enemies To Lovers Romantic Comedy

by Kenzie Reed

  I run my fingers through my hair, exasperated. “No, I’m not going to say that, because you’d have been better off if your husband wasn’t a sad, insecure, cheating cliché. But that’s not the point. You’re letting him take over your entire life. You’re hurting yourself, and lots of other people too, with this obsession. What does your therapist think about all of this?’

  “Therapist?” she snorts, looking offended.

  “Counselor. Whatever. You mean you actually went through all of this without even talking to anyone about it?” My eyes widen in shock. “If I hadn’t had a counselor when I went through my breakup with Slimon, I think I would have crawled into bed and never gotten out again.”

  “I talk to my sister all the time,” she huffs.

  “That’s great, but you need more than that. She’s got her role, which is to be your cheerleader and best friend. That just means she’s going to sit there and agree with you that he’s a tiny-dicked hairy-eared fuckwad and you should put dog poop on the seat of his Porsche, or whatever.”

  “Who told you that? Nobody saw anything!” Her perfectly plucked eyebrows shoot up in alarm.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake. You’ve had your fun with getting back at him. You’ve also gone to jail and are at risk of tanking your career. You need someone to help you come up with healthy coping mechanisms to get past this.”

  I don’t wait for an answer. I turn and walk back to the building, so I can reassure everyone that the story won’t be in tomorrow’s paper, and also rip everyone a new one for acting like a bunch of kindergarteners. I hope Carrie seeks help, but that’s up to her.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  SIENNA

  "Let us declare June 19 as a national day of mourning,” I say loudly as Pamela and I stride through the front doors of Le Gourmand. “Businesses shall shutter their windows. Flags shall be flown at half-mast. All I ask is that you remember me as I was. Farewell, my youth, gone too soon.”

  “Oh my God, over-dramatic much?” she scoffs.

  “Merely tragically realistic. I saw several crows’ feet this morning.” I tap the corners of my eyes. “I mean, they were there yesterday too, but today they’re noticeably deeper. They know it’s my thirtieth birthday, and I can’t hold them back any longer.”

  “Sentient crows’ feet? Yes, I’d worry.” We pause by the hostess station. “What did Donovan send you?”

  I hope I’m not blushing, but my cheeks feel hot. “Oh, the usual. Flowers, some lovely hardcover photography books of vineyards around the world, several bottles of wine from some of the most coveted vintages in Italy, boxes of chocolate…”

  “Sexy lingerie for you to model in front of the computer…”

  “Pamela! Do you have a spy-cam in my house?”

  I can feel the blush now. My cheeks are practically on fire. God, I hope she doesn’t have a spy-cam. Donovan and I have been having daily video sex sessions. He’s been gone for two whole weeks now, because apparently things in L.A. were worse than he thought. He flew to Greece to make a surprise visit to meet with Constantine – and Constantine wasn’t there, because he was in San Francisco meeting with Donovan’s competitor. That was a bad day for Donovan.

  She replies with an evil grin.

  “No, I just know you’re still in that honeymoon phase where you’re doing it like rabbits.”

  “Shut up!” I hiss.

  “If rabbits wore sexy lingerie, that is,” she taunts me.

  I try to pinch her arm, but she dodges me nimbly.

  “Do you send him pictures of you all nakey?” She grins.

  “I send him pictures of me jogging, because he still won’t let up on this stupid couples’ relay thing.” I’m changing the subject, but I’m also telling the truth.

  “What a tyrant.”

  “Well, it’s just as well that I start paying attention to my figure, now that I’m officially past my sell-by-date.” I sigh as we stand in the foyer waiting for the hostess. “I’ve left my twenties behind, Pamela. I’m an old maid. What if he stays in Los Angeles and runs off with a twenty-year-old starlet?”

  “That’s definitely what’s going to happen.” Pamela rolls her eyes at me. “Wait, do people even say ‘starlet’ anymore? Oh wait. Yes. Old people say that.”

  “I swear to God, woman, I will take all thirty of my birthday candles, light them, and shove them right up–”

  I never get to tell her which orifice I’d violate.

  “Hey, guys!” A chipper voice sings out. To my surprise, it’s Mia the wedding-wrecker. She’s got her waitress apron on, and she’s striding towards us with a tentative smile. “It’s the birthday girl! Happy birthday, Sienna. You totally don’t look old at all. Oh my God, I can’t believe I just said that. Listen, I’m sorry about the wedding thing. if you don’t want me to be your waitress, I understand. I can find someone else.”

  “Oh, my mother’s actually going to be my waitress. But really, like I told Jonathon, I have no problem with you, Mia.” I lower my voice, since the fake-marriage thing, that turned into an extended bonkfest / possible-real-marriage thing, is technically a secret. “You know what the deal was with me and Jonathon, so you weren’t exactly busting up a star-crossed romance.”

  She smiles shyly, hugging herself. “We’re, like, really into each other. I’m glad you’re okay with it. He told his mother about me, and she’s really mad, but he totally stood up for me. We’ve been travelling all over together. I just came home because it’s crazy busy here and Dad needed me. At the end of the summer, when the busy season’s over, I might move to California. He’s asked me to move in with him.”

  I beam at her, genuinely happy. All the world loves a lover. “That’s so great!”

  Mia grabs two menus from the hostess station. “Most of your family’s already waiting for you. Your mom’s not here, though. That’s why they have me as your waitress. She didn’t show up for her shift.”

  That can’t be right. “But…we’ve been planning this for weeks. I mean, it’s my birthday, there’s no way she forgot. I should go to her apartment and make sure she’s okay.”

  Mia clears her throat, looking pained. “My dad went there when she didn’t show, and he didn’t see anything wrong. He didn’t see her purse, and there were some clothes in the closet. Dirty dishes in the sink. Looks like maybe she went out for the day, or maybe the weekend.”

  I stand there, the breath squeezing from my lungs. “Okay. I’ll, uh… I’ll go to my table in a minute. Can you just wait while I give her a call?”

  “I need to seat these people. I’ll be right back.” Mia goes to greet an older couple, and I snatch my phone from my purse, my stomach clenching with worry.

  The phone rings several times, then goes to voicemail. Then I call the winery, even though I just came from there a little while ago, in case she somehow forgot about today and went there to help out. She isn’t there either.

  “She wouldn’t do this to me,” I say to Pamela.

  I love Pamela, and I hate the pity shining from her eyes. She replies with a solemn nod. “Okay.”

  When we get to my family’s table, none of them have seen or heard from her either. I describe what Mia’s father reported.

  “Do you think something’s happened to her? She couldn’t possibly have forgotten. Should I call the police?” I ask Uncle Vito.

  His mouth purses dismissively. “I’d wait.”

  Pamela sighs. “Order me a ribeye steak, medium. I’ll go call my brother, although I’m pretty sure if he knew of her being in an accident, he’d have called me. Or you.” Pamela leaves the room.

  When she comes back, she’s shaking her head. “He hasn’t heard anything. So she hasn’t been in an accident. That’s good news, right?”

  I can see from the looks on all of my family’s faces that they think she’s done it again. They’re wrong, though. My mother has changed in every way possible. She’s stopped dressing like a twenty-year-old on her way to a nightclub, she’s shot down every gu
y who’s hit on her, and she’s probably spent more time with me this summer than she’s spent collectively throughout my entire life.

  After we finish my birthday lunch and birthday cake, I insist on going to her apartment, which is only a few blocks from the restaurant. Rocco and Pamela walk with me. Everyone else heads back to the farm.

  Her car’s not in its assigned spot.

  “It was just a rental anyway,” Rocco says. “Maybe she returned it.”

  “It was?” I turn to stare at him, startled. “I didn’t know that. How did she afford a rental car all summer?”

  He just shrugs.

  “You’re not worried about her?”

  He shakes his head. Of course he isn’t. She’s not even really family, she’s just related to him by marriage.

  I try calling her again. I get her voicemail again.

  So I say goodbye to Pamela and my uncle, go back home, and reschedule a couple of appointments I had for later in the afternoon.

  I start calling local hospitals. I call everyone I can think of in town to see if they’ve seen her anywhere. At the end of the day, Pamela accompanies me to the police station. I need the moral support, because my nerves are shot.

  When we walk into Chief Shaughnessy’s office, he doesn’t bother trying to keep the skepticism from his face.

  “I’m sorry, Sienna,” he says. “I already have her information. If she hasn’t turned up by tomorrow morning, you can fill out a missing person’s report.”

  “No, you are not waiting until tomorrow. She’s missing, and you need to take this seriously,” I snap. “People need to be out looking for her! Can you please do your damn job?”

  “Sienna.” Pamela shakes her head at me. “Be fair.”

  “I am doing my job. And that’s my decision.” Chief Shaughnessy’s tone hardens, and he shifts impatiently in his chair.

  “She could be lying dead in a ditch somewhere!” Tears fill my eyes.

  “I hope that isn’t the case. As I already told you, nobody’s reported any accidents. I talked to Mia’s father, and from his description, there are no signs of a struggle in her apartment. Right now, she’s an adult woman who failed to show up for an appointment, which is something she’s known for doing. I’m sorry, Sienna.”

  I leap to my feet and shove my chair back so fast that the feet scrape on the floor. “Don’t say things you don’t mean. And thanks for nothing.” I know I’m being ridiculous, but I’m too upset to care. I storm out of the office and head home for a miserable evening.

  The hours drag on, and I wrestle with the idea of telling Donovan. He’s got another presentation with Constantine tomorrow, his last attempt to get him to commit, and I don’t want to ruin it for him. He’d get all upset, he’d insist on flying home, and there wouldn’t really be anything he could do here.

  I desperately wish he was here with me. I didn’t realize how comfortable and safe he made me feel until he left. I wake up in bed and reach for him in the morning before I remember he’s gone. It scares me a little, honestly. But I try not to think about it.

  I barely sleep that night. In the morning, I go to the police station and apologize for being a crabby bitch. Chief Shaughnessy shrugs it off and says he’s heard worse, usually from his mother at Sunday dinner. But he still has no news. He’ll circulate a missing person’s report, check the airports, buses and train stations, and he says if nobody’s heard from her by tomorrow, he’ll run a trace on her cell phone.

  I know he’s just doing his job, so I try not to be too offended by him checking places like the airports. He thinks she just up and left. Just walked away from her life here. But why would she?

  As I walk out of the police station, I see Carrie walking towards me. She comes by the police station every day so she can write up the paper’s police blotter.

  “Hey, Carrie,” I say wearily. “How’s it going?”

  “I took your advice and started seeing a therapist. I’ve only been a few times, but we’ve established that I have some unresolved anger issues.” She manages a wry smile. “I took up boxercise to work off some of my stress.”

  “How’s that going?”

  “I broke one of the punching bags, and they asked me to dial back on screaming Murray’s name when I hit things.” She shrugs. “Oh, and I went on a date.” Her lips pucker in distaste. “I used my real picture on the dating site. So did he – but his picture was twenty years out of date, and since then he’s apparently gained fifty pounds, gone bald, and started wearing toupees made of actual carpet. It went downhill from there.”

  I smile in sympathy. “Well, you can’t expect to find the right guy the first time out of the gate. At least you’re getting back out there.”

  “What are you doing at the police station? You started looking into Ferguson Property Holdings?” she says hopefully.

  “No, Carrie, I have not.”

  She leans in, eyes gleaming. “I did a little checking. There’s no bio about him on the company website, and I can’t find anything about him from more than a year ago. Basically he doesn’t seem to have existed before then. Doesn’t that strike you as weird?”

  Impatience crackles through me. “Not everyone lives their lives online, Carrie. First of all, you know you shouldn’t be investigating them, and secondly, I don’t have time to worry about this. My mother’s gone missing.”

  Her brows snap together, her eyes laser-focused. “How long has she been missing?”

  “I forgot, everything’s a story to you,” I say bitterly.

  “No, I was going to say that, believe it or not, I am good at finding things out. I can ask around if you want.”

  “I already reported it, and the chief’s going to put the word out.”

  Carrie nods. “That’s a good first move. To be honest with you, though, the police probably aren’t going to take her disappearance that seriously because of…well, you know,” she says.

  Yes, I know. Because my mother’s past reputation as a flake and a floozy will always haunt her.

  “If it gets to the point where you want to go public with it, I’ve got friends at television stations and radio stations. I can make sure that it gets reported widely.”

  What if this really turns out to be nothing, and my mother was just so distracted that she somehow forgot about today?

  “I don’t know.” My throat swells in sorrow. “Thank you, though. I’ll call you if it comes to that.”

  She smiles. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help. You’ve got my number.”

  I nod. “You’re being very kind. And I did kind of scream at you a couple of weeks ago. I apologize.”

  “No, I deserved it. It’s like those old TV shows where somebody gets hysterical, and their friend slaps them on the face, and the person says, ‘Thanks, I needed that.’ But, I mean, please don’t slap me on the face. The verbal flaying was sufficient.”

  “I’m happy that you’re dating again, and moving past What’s-his-dick. I’ll ask my family for the information that they had on Ferguson Property Holdings and Mr. Ferguson himself, but I know they did their due diligence.”

  When I get back to the winery office, I try to call my mother yet again. I know it’ll be pointless, and it is.

  Then, true to my word, I call Rocco and ask him what he knows about Ferguson Property Holdings.

  “What? Why are you asking now?” he sounds puzzled and annoyed. “We looked into them, and their financials are solid.”

  “But what about their history? You said they were experienced in building this kind of subdivision, but I can’t find any details on their company website. Do you have the names of the subdivisions he’s built? Do you know what he was doing before, say, last year?’

  “Our finance guy does. And Murray does.” Yeah, like he’d tell us anything negative when he’s got a small fortune riding on this deal going through.

  I wonder if our real estate attorney, David Somerville, might know anything, but I doubt it. He read the origi
nal contract and advised us on some minor changes, and he’ll be there at the closing. That’s about it.

  Rocco heaves an exasperated sigh. “I’m pretty busy right now with our monthly reports. And we’re preparing for a state inspection. Can I get back to you with that later?”

  “Sure,” I say wearily. “I know you would have told me, but just in case, have you heard anything from my mother yet? I officially reported her missing this morning.”

  “No, I would call you right away if I heard anything.” He clears his throat impatiently. “I’m sorry, Sienna, I’ve got all this paperwork.”

  “Of course,” I say wearily, and I hang up the phone. I glance over at Aceto, who’s sprawled on top of his cat tower.

  “Did something happen to her, Aceto? Uncle Nuccio? Can you please be Uncle Nuccio for me, just this once?”

  “Naow.” He leaps off the cat tower, thuds onto the floor, and stalks off, tail hanging low like it does when he’s mad or disappointed.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  DONOVAN – IN LOS ANGELES

  Graham and I are sitting in the conference room, getting ready for our meeting with Constantine, when my assistant tells me I’ve got an urgent call from Sienna.

  I feel as if I’m being pulled every which way. My family, Sienna, the business…these days, I can’t seem to do anything right. Yesterday was Sienna’s birthday, and other than a quick call first thing in the morning, I barely spoke to her. I sent her a pile of presents that stacked up taller than her head, of course. And only half of them were jogging-related. I’m only part evil.

  When I answer the phone, I put her on video-chat, because I miss looking at her face. She swims into view, her face pale and her eyes puffy as if she’s been crying.

  I sit bolt upright. “What’s wrong?” I demand.

  “My mother never showed up for her work shift yesterday. She didn’t make it to my birthday lunch, and she hasn’t been home since.” Nervously, she runs her hands through her hair, her fingers tangling in the curls. “Also, her car’s not parked in its usual space. It was a rental car, apparently.”