The Bride’s Mother (Sapphic Erotica #19)
CHAPTER 1
“That woman… Her husband took everything she had, sold her house, gave away her dog—and she still wanted to take him back. Can you imagine?” said Chloe, too invested in her rant while exiting the highway at high speed.
“We’re almost there.”
“Let me finish,” Chloe said, gripping the steering wheel with both hands—a gesture that always meant she needed to make a point and everyone else needed to listen.
“Okay,” Rachel said in a teasing tone, “you have one minute left, Mrs. Lawyer.”
“My point is… Oh, to hell with it. I just wanted to say she was weak. That’s all. Weak people give too many chances. They get addicted to what’s destroying them. And then they come back for more. It's pathetic.”
“Okay, now you’re done. Not a single word from your law degree until my wedding is over, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Promise?”
“Cross my heart. And hope to—”
“Turn left there,” Rachel instructed, leaning forward as if that would help them reach their destination faster.
“Wow, look at that,” Chloe gasped, staring through the car window.
“Yup,” Rachel agreed. “It’s huge. This is going to be wild.”
They parked the car, and Rachel immediately ran out to greet her mom. Chloe stepped out and let the location sink in for a second.
She had arrived at the wedding weekend with a single goal: to be a model bridesmaid. That meant strict, predefined boundaries—no overindulging in champagne before speeches, no shedding tears during vows, and no flirting with other girls’ boyfriends.
By no means, however, was there a rule on her list about making eye contact with the bride’s mother. But had she known what kind of weekend awaited her, she would have wiped every other point from the list and focused solely on the most critical one:
Under no circumstances do you look the bride’s mother in the eyes.
Taking in the grand sight of the old-world villa—which looked more like a castle than a house—a woman stood at the top of the white stone steps. Her gaze instantly locked onto Chloe, leaving her breathless for a split second.
“Mom, this is Chloe,” Rachel introduced her, as Chloe reached the grand entrance.
“Ana,” the woman said as if in slow motion, extending her hand.
Ana. The bride’s mother, the undisputed mistress of the entire event, a woman of forty-seven. She wore black silk that moved with a quiet, audacious elegance with every step she took. Her hair was bone-straight, her lips defined with dark lipstick, and her neck left bare and exposed.
She leaned forward to pull Chloe into a welcoming embrace, enveloping her in a scent that was expensive, warm, and utterly unforgiving.
Her gaze was even more merciless. Pale gray-green eyes hit Chloe like an invisible electric charge.
“Chloe,” Chloe managed to reply in a weak tone, finding it hard to maintain eye contact.
Chloe, a twenty-three-year-old law student, had been confident in her self-control up until this exact moment—yet now, she forgot how to pronounce her own name for a second.
“It’s so wonderful to finally meet you in person,” Ana said. “Rachel talks about you so often, you’d think you were her second sister.”
She let her hands rest on Chloe’s shoulders for a beat too long, her palms radiating a noticeable heat through the thin fabric.
“Just a friend,” Chloe replied with a smile, though her voice came out much thinner than she would have liked.
Ana’s smile didn’t fade at the correction. Instead, it hovered quietly in the corners of her lips.
“Just a friend,” she repeated.
The phrase landed between them with the weight of heavy, expensive jewelry, making Chloe’s chest feel tight.
Before Ana turned to the rest of the guests, her eyes lingered on Chloe’s lips for a split second.
A moment that felt like an entire hour to Chloe.
Immediately after, Ana went back to greeting the others, and Chloe felt as though an invisible grip had finally released her, allowing her to breathe again.
Left alone by a massive stone pillar, Chloe tried to collect her thoughts. She smoothed down her dress and stepped carefully into the brightly lit house, her eyes frantically searching for Rachel.
“Rachel,” she hissed through her teeth, pulling her away from a group of people right in the middle of a conversation. “You’ll have to look after me. I don’t know a single soul here.”
Rachel laughed. “Chloe, it’s quite the opposite. I’m the bride, you’re supposed to keep an eye on me. Look at you, you’re way too stressed out. Here, take some champagne.”
Rachel grabbed two glasses of sparkling wine from a tray, and Chloe took only a cautious sip. The new surroundings looked pleasant enough, but too chaotic. Or perhaps the chaos wasn’t outside at all—but within her.
“Your mom...” Chloe started, but couldn’t bring herself to finish.
“I saw you two talking,” Rachel said.
“You didn’t tell me she was... a witch.”
“A witch?” Rachel burst out laughing. “You know she’s weird, I’ve told you a hundred times. Just play along and you have nothing to worry about.”
“Rachel, I’m not kidding. When she was talking, I saw... like some sort of aura around her.”
Rachel gave her a suspicious look. “You know what, Chloe? Maybe you should hold off on that champagne a bit.”
They both laughed out loud. But Chloe wasn’t joking. Something had genuinely shifted inside her during that conversation with Ana.
The experience with Rachel’s mother was surreal in a way she couldn’t quite explain.
It wasn’t just that her breath hitched and her knees went weak—the way they sometimes did around an exceptionally handsome guy.
This time, it was something more. Her vision blurred for a split second, as if the picture itself were trying to ripple.
As if there were a tangible energy radiating around Ana.
“Come on, I’ll show you where you’ll be sleeping,” Rachel said, pulling her by the hand.
Chloe followed her, desperately trying to convince herself that the whole thing… had just been a bizarre coincidence.