His Mother Destroyed Our Marriage (Her Marriage in Crisis #33)

1. Layla

— ? —

Layla

Stefan’s hand was on my thigh before we even parked, his fingers pushing up the hem of my dress.

“I’ve been thinking about this all day.” His voice was low in my ear. “You in this dress. What I want to do to you in this dress.”

“We’re in your mother’s driveway.”

“I don’t care.” His hand slid higher, his thumb tracing circles on my inner thigh. “God, Lay. You have no idea what you do to me. I’ve been hard since you walked down the stairs.”

I pressed my thighs together, trapping his hand. My whole body was already humming. Two years of marriage and he still made me feel like this. Desperate. Wanting. Ready to climb into his lap and let him fuck me in the front seat of his car while his mother’s guests sipped champagne fifty feet away.

“I want to taste you.” He leaned closer, his breath hot against my neck. “I want to spread your legs right here and make you come on my tongue. Then I want to bend you over this seat and fuck you until you’re screaming my name.”

My breath caught. I could feel how wet I was already.

“Stefan.”

“Say yes.” His fingers brushed against my underwear and I bit back a moan. “Say yes, and I’ll make you feel so good, baby. I’ll make you forget we’re anywhere near my mother’s house.”

I wanted to. God, I wanted to so badly.

But I could see the curtains in the front window, and I knew Stella was probably already watching, composing her first insult.

I grabbed his face and kissed him instead. I kissed him until he groaned, until I could feel him straining against his pants, and we were both breathing hard.

Then I pulled back.

“That should hold you off for now.” I straightened my dress and smiled at the wrecked look on his face. “You can have the rest when we get home.”

“You’re going to kill me.”

“Probably.” I opened my door. “But what a way to go.”

He caught up to me before I reached the front steps, his arm sliding around my waist, pulling me against his side. I could still feel him hard against my hip.

“I love you,” he said. “Have I told you that today?”

“Several times.”

“Not enough.” He pressed a kiss to my temple. “I love you. I’m obsessed with you. And the second we leave this place, I’m finishing what we started in that car.”

“Promise?”

“Swear on my life.”

We walked inside together, and Stefan kept his hand on the small of my back the entire time. His thumb traced small circles through the fabric of my dress, a constant reminder of what was waiting for us later.

The house was packed with the usual crowd. Designer dresses, expensive suits, champagne flutes catching the light. I recognized most of the faces from previous gatherings, which meant they recognized me too.

A few heads turned. A few whispers started. I kept my chin up.

“There’s my wife.” Stefan’s voice carried, loud enough for the nearby guests to hear. “Most beautiful woman in this room, and she’s all mine.”

“Subtle,” I murmured.

“I’m not trying to be subtle.” He pulled me closer and kissed my cheek, letting his lips linger. “I’m trying to make every man in here jealous that I get to take you home.”

His hand slid down to my hip, his fingers pressing into my flesh through the dress. Possessive. Claiming.

I loved it.

“You’re going to get us in trouble,” I said.

“Good.” His mouth brushed my ear. “I like trouble. Especially the kind that involves you making those sounds you make when I’m inside you.”

“Stefan.” I elbowed him, but I was smiling. “Your mother is literally twenty feet away.”

“Let her watch.” He grabbed two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter and handed me one. “To us.”

“To us.”

We clinked glasses and I took a long sip, watching him over the rim. Dark hair falling across his forehead. Those brown eyes that had caught me from across a crowded room three years ago. Jaw sharp, shoulders broad, mouth curved into that smile that still made my stomach flip.

I remembered the first time I saw that smile.

I’d been twenty-three, exhausted, working my third catering shift that week because my design internship paid nothing and my rent was due in four days. I’d been carrying a tray of champagne through this exact room, trying not to make eye contact with anyone, trying to be invisible.

Then I looked up and there he was. Staring at me from across the ballroom with an intensity that made my skin prickle.

He crossed the room like there was nobody else in it. People actually stepped out of his way, and he didn’t even notice. His eyes never left mine.

“I’m Stefan,” he said when he finally stopped in front of me.

“I know who you are.” I lifted my chin, refusing to be intimidated. “Your family owns half the hotels in the city. Your face was in Chicago Magazine last month. Something about being one of the most eligible bachelors under thirty.”

“You read that article?”

“My roommate did. She has it on her fridge.”

He laughed, and the sound made something warm spread through my chest. “That’s mortifying. But also not relevant. I don’t care about any of that.”

“Then what do you care about?”

“Right now?” He stepped closer. “Your name. That’s all I can think about. What your name is and how I can get you to tell me.”

“It’s Layla.”

“Layla.” He said it slowly, like he was memorizing it. “I’m going to marry you, Layla.”

I almost dropped the tray. “Excuse me?”

“I know it sounds insane. You probably think I’m drunk or crazy or both. But I’ve been standing over there for twenty minutes trying to convince myself not to come talk to you, and I couldn’t do it. I physically could not stay on the other side of this room.”

“That’s... intense.”

“I’m an intense person.” He smiled again, and I felt it in my stomach. “At least give me your number. Let me take you to dinner. If you hate me afterward, I’ll leave you alone forever. But I need a chance. One dinner. That’s all I’m asking.”

“I’m working.”

“So quit.”

“I can’t quit. I need this job.”

“Then give me your number and I’ll call you tomorrow.” He pulled out his phone. “Please. I’m begging you. And I never beg for anything.”

I should have said no. He was the host, I was the help, and nothing good could come from mixing those two worlds.

But there was something in his eyes. Something genuine underneath all that confidence.

“One dinner,” I said. “And if you’re boring, I’m leaving before dessert.”

“Deal.” His smile widened. “You won’t be leaving.”

“Confident.”

“Accurate.” He handed me his phone. “Put in your number. And Layla?”

“What?”

“I really am going to marry you. Just so we’re clear.”

I typed in my number and handed the phone back. “You’re insane.”

“Probably.” He slipped the phone into his pocket. “But I’m also right. You’ll see.”

He was right. He called me the next morning at seven, took me to dinner that Friday, and by the time the check came, I knew I was in love with him.

Now, three years later, I was standing in his mother’s house with his ring on my finger and his hand on my hip, and I still felt the same flutter in my chest every time he looked at me.

“You’re staring,” he said.

“You’re worth staring at.”

“Keep looking at me like that and I’m dragging you into a coat closet.”

“Your mother would have a heart attack.”

“Worth it.” He kissed my forehead, then my cheek, then the corner of my mouth. “Have I mentioned lately how much I love you?”

“You might have said something about it.”

“Let me say it again.” He cupped my face in his hands. “I love you. I’m crazy about you. I can’t believe I get to be married to you.”

“Even when your mother makes me feel like I’m crashing her party?”

“Especially then.” His thumbs traced my cheekbones. “You belong here, Lay. You belong with me. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

“Stefan, darling.”

Stella’s voice cut through the moment. We both turned.

She stood a few feet away, champagne in hand, smile perfectly arranged. Her silver hair was swept back, and her eyes held that familiar glint of barely concealed disdain.

“Mother.” Stefan’s hand stayed on my hip. “Lovely to see you.”

“You’re late.”

“Traffic.”

“Mmm.” Her gaze slid to me, traveling slowly from my face to my dress to my shoes. “Layla. What an interesting choice.”

Here we go.

“Thank you, Stella.” I kept my voice pleasant. “I thought the blue would be nice for a Sunday gathering.”

“Did you?” She sipped her champagne. “I wasn’t complimenting you, dear. That shade does nothing for your complexion. And the cut is all wrong for your figure. But I suppose when one doesn’t have access to proper guidance, one makes do with what one has.”

“I’ll be sure to consult you next time. Since you have such impeccable taste in everything except manners.”

Stefan coughed to cover a laugh. Stella’s eyes narrowed.

“You’ve always had a mouth on you,” she said. “I suppose that’s what passes for wit in certain circles.”

“And you’ve always had a talent for making guests feel unwelcome. I suppose that’s what passes for hospitality in yours.”

“Layla.” Stella’s smile turned icy. “I don’t know who you think you are, but let me be very clear. You may have married my son, but that doesn’t make you one of us. It never will.”

“Mom.” Stefan stepped forward. “That’s enough.”

“I’m simply being honest, darling. Someone has to be.” She looked at me. “You don’t belong here. Everyone in this room can see it. The only one who can’t is my son, and that’s because you’ve blinded him with whatever it is girls like you do.”

“Girls like me?”

“Gold diggers. Social climbers. Whatever you want to call it.” She waved her hand. “I’ve seen your type before. You saw an opportunity and you took it. I can’t even blame you, really. It must be tempting, going from serving champagne to drinking it.”

“I’m a designer. I own my own business. I don’t need your son’s money.”

“Of course you don’t, dear.” Her voice dripped with condescension. “That’s why you’re standing in my house wearing jewelry he bought you, living in a house he pays for, driving a car he provided. Because you’re so independent.”

“The jewelry was a gift. The house is ours. And I bought my own car, thanks.”