At Wits' End: An Enemies To Lovers Romantic Comedy Read online

  KENZIE REED

  Copyright 2021

  © 2021 Kenzie Reed

  This book is intended for readers 18 and older only, due to adult content. It is a work of fiction. All characters in this book are products of the imagination of the author.

  License Statement

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. All rights reserved. This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by United States of America copyright law.

  Cover design by Shanoff Designs

  Cover photograph courtesy of Wander Aguiar Photography

  At Wit's End

  The contract says I have to get fake-married to a Witlocke. It doesn’t say which Witlocke. Apparently, any stuck-up jerk whose last name begins with W and ends with E will do. Oops, was that my out-loud voice?

  So I sign on the dotted line and agree to marry vacant pretty-boy Jonathon Witlocke. Voila. We’ll unite our feuding families, and I’ll save my aunt’s vineyard. Unfortunately, when Jonathon gets publicly busted doing the horizontal mambo with my maid of honor, that deal’s off. Enter my nemesis, Jonathon’s sinfully sexy tech-mogul cousin, Donovan. We’ve been mortal enemies since third grade, but he’s all too willing to take Jonathon’s place at the altar, for reasons he refuses to share with me.

  We just have to stay married until the end of the summer.

  But a lot can happen in a summer.

  A dropped towel can lead to unexpected consequences. Snarky sparring can end in steamy kissing. Hidden truths can be revealed under an ancient oak tree. Hearts can melt. And someone can fall in love with the last man on earth who’d want ‘forever’. Wait, that wasn’t in the contract…

  Chapter One

  THURSDAY, MARCH 9, 2000

  Sienna Ribaldi was only eight years old, but she was very smart for her age. She’d memorized every life lesson passed on to her by her family – which was mostly her aunts and uncles and cousins, since her mother travelled a lot.

  Eat fruit or vegetables with every meal.

  Appreciate what you have; the things you take for granted, someone else is praying for.

  Be kind to animals.

  If you stumble, make it part of the dance.

  Pretty is as pretty does.

  And most importantly, never trust a Witlocke.

  So when Donovan Witlocke, who was one whole grade ahead of her, approached her on the playground during recess, she regarded him with caution. After all, the final two pieces of advice on her list were twined together like rope. The Witlockes were a very pretty family – pretty awful.

  They lived on the property next to the Ribaldis, and they were rude and mean to her family, and told lies about them all the time. Donovan had dark green eyes the color of forest-floor moss, and hair the color of a sunbeam, but she suspected that he might not be so pretty on the inside, where it counted.

  She watched warily as Donovan plopped down on the bench next to her. He held out a chocolate-chip cookie. “This for you.”

  Sienna looked at it with longing. Nanny Sue, the Witlocke family chef, made chocolate-chip cookies that were a legend at Greenvale Elementary School. Donovan and his older sisters traded them at lunch time for anything they wanted, and a friend had shared a bite with her once. When she ate it, a chorus of angels had burst into song.

  “Take it,” he urged her. She accepted it and held it up to examine it with a critical eye.

  “Thank you,” she said, because she’d been brought up to be polite. Then, “Is this poisoned?” she asked. Because she’d been brought up to have a healthy suspicion of anything that “those thieving, lying bastard Witlockes” ever said or did. Also, swearing was acceptable when it had something to do with a Witlocke. So that was kind of fun.

  “No, but I can take a bite out of it first if you want,” Donovan offered. He didn’t seem the least bit offended. She handed it back to him, and he took a small bite, chewed and swallowed. Then he gave it to her.

  “Wait! Don’t eat that! Don’t trust him!” Her best friend Pamela barreled across the playground, all protective fury in high-top sneakers and acid-washed Justice jeans, her red ponytails swinging with every step. She screeched to a stop in a small cloud of dust that swirled up around her ankles.

  Donovan flicked a glance in her direction. “I took a bite out of it,” he said, sounding annoyed.

  “Maybe he poisoned the other side,” Pamela argued.

  “That’s true. He could have.” Sienna turned the cookie over, examining it critically. “Or there might be Ex-Lax in the chocolate. I don’t know for sure if the part you ate had chocolate chips.”

  “There isn’t,” Donovan said. “That’s a good idea, though. I’m going to do that to Jonathon next time he short-sheets my bed.” Jonathon was his massively annoying cousin. “Where did you hear about it?”

  Sienna shrugged. “I have good ideas all by myself.”

  He nodded. “I know. I saw your science project.”

  He’d seen her science project? A glow of pride lit inside her. Her aunt and uncle had helped her build the volcano when her mother had had to fly overseas for a very important business trip. They’d made a model of Pompeii and won first place.

  “I still don’t trust him,” Pamela said, squinting her brown eyes at him. “My mother says that the Devil masquerades as an angel of light offering you temptation.” She pointed at the cookie. “That’s temptation.”

  It certainly was.

  “The Devil?” Donovan scoffed. “Drama queen, much? And if you’ll excuse me, this is a private conversation.”

  Sienna frowned at him. “Pam’s my best friend,” she informed him. “You can’t be rude to her.”

  “I’m not being rude. She’s the one who’s interrupting.”

  Pamela folded her arms across her chest. “I’m not going anywhere. Try and make me.” Pamela was the youngest of six and the only girl, plus her father was the police chief and he’d taught her some moves. She could make her older brothers cry. Sixth graders were scared of her.

  Donovan heaved a sigh. “Will you take a walk with me over to the monkey bars?” he asked Sienna.

  “Fine.” She glanced at Pamela, who was slowly shaking her head from side to side. “Pamela, I’ll be right back.”

  “What-ever. Bad idea.” Pamela was probably right, but something about Donovan drew Sienna like a magnet. Maybe it was because she wasn’t supposed to talk to him. Maybe it was the hint of sadness in his green eyes. What did the best-looking boy, from the richest family in all of Greenvale, have to be sad about?

  Sienna and Donovan strolled over to the monkey bars. They stood there in the striped shadows, and Sienna took a leap of faith and ate the cookie.

  “Now you’re my girlfriend,” Donovan informed her.

  Girlfriend? Sienna turned the idea over in her head, equal parts appalled and intrigued.

  “Maybe. I’ll think about it. I’m not going to kiss you,” she informed him.

  “Gross! Of course not.” He looked thoughtful, chewing his lower lip. “Sometimes we might hold hands.”

  “I guess.” A storm of butterflies exploded in her stomach at the idea. What was happening to her? “Can a Ribaldi even be a Witlocke’s girlfriend?”

  “Well, we won’t tell our parents until we’re eighteen.” He said
it in such a solemn tone that she somehow knew he was telling the truth. “Then we’ll get married.”

  Married. Married! Her mouth curved up in a delighted grin. She’d been planning her wedding since she’d first known what weddings were. She even had her wedding dress picked out. Well, it was the fancy pink tulle dress she’d worn to Pam’s seventh birthday party, and maybe it wouldn’t fit her when she was eighteen? No, of course it wouldn’t. When she was eighteen she’d have boobies.

  She’d figure something out. She had plenty of time.

  He cast a glance down at the ground, suddenly looking a little shy. “Anyway, you can come to my birthday party on Saturday if you want. It starts at noon.”

  That was in two days. “I know. I heard about it. Your parents wouldn’t like it, though, would they?”

  “They’re not mad at you. Just your family. And they won’t know you’re my girlfriend.”

  “I’ll think about it,” she said, and she turned and walked back to Pam.

  But of course she’d go.

  Married. She was going to marry Donovan Witlocke! A small part of her heart that had felt crushed down was now blossoming. She tried not to think about it a lot, but sometimes she suspected there must be something wrong with her. Everyone else had mothers and fathers who lived with them. Her mother was so busy with her business trips that she was gone more than she was home, and Sienna didn’t even remember what her father looked like.

  But Donovan Witlocke, the handsomest boy at Greenvale Elementary School, who was one whole grade older than her, and who she now could admit she’d secretly always had a crush on, wanted her to be his girlfriend. And marry her. She must be at least a little bit okay.

  On Friday, Donovan sat next to her on the picnic bench on the playground at recess, and they talked about their favorite TV shows. Pamela sat across from them with a look that was more like pity than disapproval. It made Sienna a little bit mad. Did Pamela not think that Sienna deserved a nice boyfriend?

  Donovan’s sister Jamie, who was two years older than him, walked by and smacked her brother on the back of the head. “What are you even doing?” she demanded, not sparing Sienna a single glance.

  Sienna thought Donovan might jump away from her, or say something mean, but he just twisted around and glared at his sister. “None of your beeswax. And if you hit me again I’ll give you a noogie.”

  Jamie froze him with her ice-blue eyes. Donovan was the only one in the Witlocke family who had green eyes, because he was adopted. “I wouldn’t recommend it.”

  Then Jamie flipped her brother the bird and walked off.

  That Saturday, Sienna helped her aunt Fernanda and uncle Nuccio with chores in the morning, gathering the eggs and taking the chickens out to the vineyard, where they scratched for bugs and fertilized the cover crops. Then she snuck into her room and got dressed, putting on her very favorite party dress, even nicer than the one she’d worn to Pamela’s party. It was handmade, with white lace trim. It had been a Christmas present from her mother, mailed all the way from Italy. It had been almost as good as her mother really being there.

  She quickly wrapped up her present for Donovan in wrapping paper she’d drawn on herself, and stuck it in her purse. She’d used up all her allowance money to buy a Ken Griffey Jr. baseball card from the store in downtown Greenvale. He was Donovan’s favorite Mariner.

  It was easy for her to sneak away. Her aunt and uncle were always busy with the vineyard. And next door, her Uncle Vito and his family were busy with their dairy farm. She spent a lot of time in the woods by herself, and nobody minded at all.

  It had rained yesterday, so she walked very carefully, holding up the hem of her dress. She trudged through the woods and gingerly climbed over the stone wall that separated their properties, then trudged some more until she reached their house.

  The Witlockes had a giant vineyard, twenty times bigger than her aunt and uncle’s vineyard, and they used machines instead of people to pick the grapes, and made what her aunt and uncle scornfully called “juice-box wine.” Their house was big and gray and funny-shaped in some weird modern style, and had a lot of tall windows.

  It wasn’t a very friendly looking house, but it was much bigger and fancier than the little white farmhouse where she stayed with her aunt and uncle. She paused to squint up at it. She should probably try to like it a little bit more, even if the hedges were so perfect that they looked like walls of plastic wrapped around the boxy-looking house. After all, she’d be living there when they got married. Wouldn’t she? Probably. She couldn’t imagine Donovan wanting to live in the Ribaldis’ house, and there wasn’t that much extra room there anyway.

  All of the fourth graders were in the yard by the side of the house. Most of them were climbing on the big fancy obstacle course, the one she’d only ever heard about but never seen.

  Donovan, who was wearing jeans and a yellow polo shirt, looked different somehow. His normally carefree slouch was gone; he stood straight, hands jammed in his pockets, stiff with tension. He was scowling and talking to Brooke Cornwall. Brooke had long blonde hair that she could sit on, and a necklace made of real pearls, and her daddy was the mayor.

  Sienna self-consciously brought her hand up to her explosion of jet-black curls. She suddenly wanted to go home, but it was too late. Donovan had spotted her, and a few of the other kids were looking now too.

  “Donovan?” she called out tentatively. He stopped talking to Brooke, twisted around very slowly and deliberately, and glared at her.

  She stood perfectly still, like a deer in a hunter’s sights. He heaved a huge sigh and walked across the lawn until he reached her. He stood there looking down at her, hands shoved in his pockets.

  “What are you doing here?” His voice rang through the air. Everyone was staring now. The sneer in his voice was an icicle to the heart.

  “Well?” he said impatiently.

  Tears burned in her eyes and threatened to spill down her cheeks. This wasn’t fair. She hadn’t done anything to deserve this. She wanted to cry out in protest, but she was a Ribaldi. And Ribaldis didn’t grovel to anyone, especially Witlockes.

  “I wanted to give you this,” she said, and she lashed out at him with her foot, going to kick him right in the family jewels. Unfortunately, she tripped and went right into a mud puddle.

  As she fell, she felt the sting of gravel scraping her knees. Her white dress was ruined. Her special dress! The dress her mother had sent her.

  Behind Donovan, everyone started laughing. Their laughter sounded like the howling of wolves.

  “Well, thanks, Ribaldi,” he scoffed. “Guess you couldn’t afford a real present. Since your farm’s going broke.” He wasn’t even using her first name anymore.

  She lay there, stunned, the laughter of the fourth-graders washing over her like dirty sewer water. Her heart was a giant bruise in her chest.

  He heaved a massively annoyed sigh and leaned down, holding out his hand to help her up. “Are you going home anytime today? My friends are waiting for me.”

  If you stumble, make it part of the dance.

  She leapt to her feet, landing in the deepest part of the puddle, and mud exploded all over him, splattering him from head to toe. It got in his eyes and mouth, it dripped off his hair and his chin, it stained his shirt and jeans.

  “Hey!” he shouted furiously, spitting dirty water.

  “Happy birthday from the Ribaldis,” she said, and spun on her heel. As she marched back home, she held her head high until she was far enough away that nobody could see her anymore.

  When she reached the edge of her property, she spotted her aunt in the vineyard block farthest from their house, inspecting the trellises. Then the sobs came. Big, heaving sobs that shook her whole body. Tears ran down her face.

  “Sienna!” Aunt Fernanda cried out, running towards her. “What happened?”

  “I fell. I scraped my knees. I ruined the dress Mother gave me.” None of that was a lie. None of that was the reason she w
as crying.

  “Piccolina.” That meant ‘little one’. “It’s just a dress.” Her aunt knelt down next to her and threw her arms around her, pulling her into a soft, warm embrace. Then she leaned back. “And it’s just a little mud. See?” she leaned back. Now she was covered with mud too. She put her hand on Sienna’s dress, then rubbed some on her cheek. “Dirt is our friend,” she said. “Life grows from dirt. Dirt gives us nourishment. Getting dirty is nothing to cry about.”

  Then she glanced at the woods, as if suddenly realizing what direction Sienna had come from. “Where were you just now? You weren’t at the Witlockes’, were you? Did they do something to you?” Her eyes blazed with protective fury.

  “Nope.” Sienna shook her head, her black curls bouncing. And that wasn’t a lie either. She’d done it to herself. “Thank you, Aunt Ferdie. I’m okay. I’m going to go change and wash up.”

  And then she muttered something under her breath.

  “What was that?” Aunt Fernanda asked.

  Sienna just shrugged, but as she walked towards her house, she repeated it under her breath again and again. Never trust a Witlocke. Never trust a Witlocke. Never trust a Witlocke.

  Chapter Two

  FRIDAY APRIL 30, 2021

  "Sienna Verona Ribaldi!”

  It’s never a good sign when your mother uses your entire name.

  It doesn’t matter that I’m twenty-nine years old; it still spells trouble. It’s even worse when she’s bellowing it across the parking lot of the Wine Knot wedding chapel.

  “Sienna!” my mother shouts again.

  I glance out my car window. “Present and accounted for,” I call. Then I catch a glimpse of myself in my rearview mirror. My wide-eyed, stunned reflection momentarily distracts me from my mother’s indignant summons.

  “I, Sienna Ribaldi, do take thee, Jonathon Witlocke, to leave and to heave, preferably out the window…” I announce to my reflection, reaching up and adjusting my veil. The veil is attached to a circlet of white plastic flowers, nestled in my unruly jet-black curls. Plastic. It is so not me.