At Wits' End: An Enemies To Lovers Romantic Comedy

by Kenzie Reed

  I nod to myself. “It had to be done,” I say.

  “Well, don’t get too downhearted. I have some ideas, but I wanted to announce them to everybody at once, if that’s okay with you.”

  When we reach Le Gourmand, I take a moment before we go in, and make a call to Carrie. “The deal fell through,” I tell her. “We’ll give you all the details later today, but I just wanted you to know. Your reporter instincts were still good. You were right all along.”

  “I knew I was. And I’m glad the deal’s not happening, because Liam Ferguson is shady AF, but I’m sorry if it hurt you financially,” she says. “I’ll be giving the story over to one of the other reporters, of course. You were also right all along, I can’t ethically report on anything involving my ex-husband.”

  “And just so you know, you weren’t wrong about everything with Donovan and me either. In the beginning, it was just a marriage on paper. But things…changed.” I flash him a grin, and when he grins back, my heart does a little flutter.

  “I’m very happy for you. Thank you for everything, Sienna. I’m sorry I was such a bitch on wheels for a while there, and I’ll wait for your call.”

  Donovan and I hold hands as we walk into the restaurant. We pass by Brooke and Fraser, who have a table by the window.

  “So, this Saturday at my Uncle Vito’s barn,” I call out loudly. “Eight a.m. sharp. Bring your mud boots.” They just glare at us sullenly as we walk by.

  Our families are waiting for us at a large table in the back. They’re all wearing the same stunned expression.

  “So that’s it, then.” Montgomery Witlocke looks dazed. “It’s all over.”

  “We get to keep two million,” Rocco says. “Split between us.”

  “About that.” Donovan pulls out a chair for me, and I sit down, then he sits down next to us. “First of all, this isn’t a disaster. We have options. But I don’t think we’re going to be able to keep it. The two million dollars is money from criminals.”

  “We don’t know that!” Montgomery protests.

  Donovan arches an eyebrow.

  “Nobody’s proved anything,” Montgomery mutters.

  “There are hundreds of people in Idaho who’ve lost their shirts by massively overpaying for houses that are already falling apart.” Donovan shakes his head. “Even if we could legally keep the money, it would be wrong.”

  “Tell us about these options,” Uncle Vito says.

  Donovan nods. “As soon as Sienna told me about her concerns, I started exploring alternatives. Remember, Greenvale’s planning board has already approved a subdivision, which will make it easy to sell that land.”

  “But not for anywhere near as much.” Rocco speaks up. “And it would take a while for a sale to go through.”

  “You’d still get good money for land that you’re not using, and you might not have to wait for that long. Constantine and I have been talking, and the numbers look good. He might be interested in working with me and investing in the subdivision.”

  As Donovan spells out the details of what he’s proposing, the mood starts to lighten. We’ve avoided what would likely have been a disaster on every level. Constantine and Donovan would ensure that any new development benefited the town and the environment. Donovan’s also willing to float both families a loan to tide us over until the sales go through. And for the first time, it looks as if his father’s willing to accept his help.

  The waitress brings us Ribaldi and Witlocke wines, to celebrate.

  Montgomery uncorks a bottle of Ribaldi Pinot Noir, pours himself a glass, and holds it up in a toast. “Team Rilocke!” he cheers.

  I glance at Donovan. “Are you sniffling?” I whisper.

  “Allergies.” He sniffs harder.

  “Liar.”

  “Could be worse. I could be a shower molester,” he whispers back, but it’s not a very quiet whisper.

  Sara grabs a bread roll and lobs it at his head. It bounces off and falls on the floor. “We. Have. EARS!” she yells.

  Donovan just grins at her, grabs the bottle, and pours himself a glass. He grabs my hand and squeezes it, and holds up his glass and toasts the table.

  “Team Rilocke!”

  Epilogue

  JUNE 2022…

  "Such a scandal,” my Aunt Fernanda frets, fussing with my ivory wedding gown.

  We’re standing in a tent next to the chardonnay and pinot gris wine blocks that I planted last year. They’re budding gloriously, and I can’t wait to taste their first vintage three years from now.

  I look in the full-length mirror and smile in satisfaction. Donovan and I are renewing our vows, and we’re doing it right this time. Sara made me a wreath of grapevines with a trail of gauzy lace. My wedding gown is hand-made and the family has been working on it all year. The sleeves are made with lace from Fernanda’s wedding gown.

  The waistline has had to be adjusted more than once, because my waistline has gone from flat to “I swallowed a volleyball” to “I swallowed a whale.” In other words, I am very pregnant.

  In two more months, I will give birth to Donovan Witlocke Junior and Maria Fernanda Witlocke. Donovan was mildly sad that I wouldn’t go along with his “Kay, Syrah, Syrah” pun names, because we already would have had the Kay and the Syrah, but he didn’t try to push too hard. I agreed that he can buy all the punny baby onesies he wants.

  “It’s not that much of a scandal!” I smile at my aunt. “I was already married when I got pregnant.”

  “Yes, but…” She grimaces and clutches the cross that hangs around her neck. “The pictures! It’s going to look like a shotgun wedding! What will people think?”

  “That Donovan and I are very much in love. Shall we?”

  She sighs. “We shall.”

  Arm in arm, we emerge from the tent. She’s clutching her cane, still a little weak. In front of the altar are dozens of chairs on either side of the aisle, with both of our families present and beaming with happiness. Constantine is sitting next to Carrie’s empty seat while she snaps pictures of us. She’s wearing a giant rock on her finger. Graham and Jamie are sitting side by side, holding hands. Turns out that those two quirky characters are the perfect kind of weird for each other.

  Of course, once Graham and Donovan had opened up their new office in Greenvale, with a special focus on designing equipment for vineyards and breweries, it was a lot easier for Graham to court Jamie. They still have to travel back to L.A. to the main office from time to time, but you can do a lot with telecommuting these days.

  Chief Shaughnessy’s there with the rest of the Shaughnessy family. I think he just wants final proof that the Ribaldi-Witlocke feud is over. Murray’s nowhere to be seen, of course. He had to declare bankruptcy after the sale fell through. We were never able to pin my car sabotage on him, but everyone in town knew what he’d done, and he instantly became a social pariah. And Heather’s nothing but an unpleasant memory; she packed her bags and left the same day the real estate deal fell through, moving on to parts unknown. Murray left town not long after.

  Far off in the distance, we can hear the sound of construction. Constantine invested in the subdivision, and now two hundred and twenty-five ecologically friendly homes are being built on the land bordering our farms. Donovan wanted to try to halt construction during the wedding, but it just wasn’t practical. And it doesn’t matter. Nothing could make this day any less magical.

  As we make our way towards the aisle, Uncle Vito steps up, and I take his arm so he can walk me down the aisle.

  A little flash of pain sparks in me, then dims. A tiny corner of my heart will always wish that I had parents who were part of my life. Linda’s waitressing in Madrid, and regularly sending messages begging me for money, even though it turns out she skimmed close to six figures from my trust fund over the years. I chose not to have her prosecuted for fraud in exchange for her agreeing to be removed as trust fund manager without a fight. Donovan’s taken to intercepting her messages and replying with a curt, “No.�
��

  But today is glorious. The sun breaks through a ceiling of white clouds, and the wedding pergola that was built this weekend is festooned with grapevines and swags of gauze, and everyone I love is here. And the man of my dreams is waiting for me at the end of the aisle.

  Sitting in the front row, Fernanda has Aceto on her lap. She insisted. Ducktape and Cleocatra are back at her house, but we gave them extra snacks.

  The wedding march music begins. As if in a dream, I glide down the aisle with my uncle, and take my place by Donovan’s side. He beams down at me, and I return his smile as a sense of contentment wraps around me like a hug.

  “Hello, lovely,” he whispers to me. “Team Rilocke for life.”

  The pastor’s voice rings through the air. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…”

  THE END

  ***

  You made it all the way to the end? You beauty, you! Hopefully you’re crying happy tears as those who deserve it get their HEAs and those who don’t get their comeuppance. If you’d like a special bonus scene that takes place five years in the future, well, I’ve got you covered! Click here: BookFunnel.

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  About the Author

  Kenzie Reed lives in beautiful New England and is addicted to happily ever afters. She lives with a pack of rescue dogs and is constantly in danger of adopting more. She has a black belt in sarcasm and makes the worst puns ever—just ask her kids.

  She spends her days clearing dog fur from her keyboard and dreaming up snarky dialogue for sexy heroes. Her taste in books ranges from science fiction to thrillers to romantic comedy, and her bookcases have multiple personality disorder.

  You can also check out her website: KenzieReed.com or visit her on Facebook: Facebook.com/Kenziereedauthor.