Reuben Gand gave a smile as wide as possible under the given circumstances. All around, family, friends and a few distant retives from across the world cheered, a very jubint and joyous occasion as they congratuted the newly-wed Mr. and Mrs. Gand.

  Reuben took a step aside, slowly sinking away from cheers, as his father Marcel carried his new wife in the traditional bridal carry.

  At 44, Marcel was still in his prime. No onset of the typical receding male hairline or the slight weight gain in the belly. Only twin streaks of gray hair along either temple were any indications of his father aging, and even that added an element of appeal to most women as well as for some men.

  Nested cozily in his father's arms, Selina, his new stepmother, the now Mrs. Gand beamed a smile that would brighten a dark room. All eyes and smiles, directed at his father. Her bridal veil, a very flimsy and gossamer, thin fabric, trailed behind her, dancing on the floor. When his father was close to stepping on it accidentally, Reuben rushed. He gathered the delicate material, relished in the feel of the feathery soft fabric in his hands, before he gave it to Selina.

  "You are so sweet," Selina whispered. She had one arm around his father's neck and the other clutched a handful of flowers. Fine satin gloves covered both her palms, reaching all the way above her elbows, with embedded pearls trailing along a barely perceptible crisscross pattern.

  Reuben gave a sheepish smile and sunk back into the crowd. A paradox. They had known each other since he was ten. Selina was eighteen at the time. They, that is, he and his father, had moved into this new neighbourhood, and Selina was this energetic teenager next door. Now, at the age of 18, Reuben would have loved nothing more than to revel in his new stepmother's happiness. The only problem was, he could not.

  Just when he thought, he could disappear unnoticed, he bumped into Uncle Craven.

  "Kiddo, you good?" asked Uncle Craven as the tall imposing man slowly ushered Reuben away from the dance floor.

  Just a few steps to the left were the men's rooms, and directly behind Uncle Craven was the exit. Reuben noted, already conjuring an excuse. It's either an urgent call to relieve a full bdder or come up with a justification for ushering guests. He considered the man blocking his path again, all square jaws and rigid back. The excuse to toilet will not work. Uncle Craven will probably accompany him there.

  "Just trying to help with ushering," replied Reuben.

  Craven dismissed those words with a click of his tongue. "You know, your father would still want you here. You still fine with this?" The man pointed to himself. "I mean, Marcel wanted you to be the best man for his big day. " Then, he thrust a well folded paper in his hands. "Kiddo, there is still time. You can do the speech. Make your old man proud."

  Many things could be said of the man before him. He was his father's best friend, the guy who used to sort of used to baby-sit Reuben with a six-pack of beer and sports on the television. Over the years, he went from being that always-avaible friend to that middle-aged guy who had small boxes in his celr. Boxes which were beled and filled with Christmas decorations, Halloween oddities, and which he regurly opened once a year to put up the decorations and kept them closed, till the following year. That is how, from Mr. Enders he became Uncle Craven, the quintessential family father.

  Reuben flicked the letter open, and gave a cursory gnce. "Did you write it with Chatgpt?" He asked.

  "I know you are intelligent, Reuben. Nothing escapes you." Craven gave a nervous ugh and scratched the back of his head. "In my days, we used to tell some embarrassing tale, add some naughty jokes, and called it a speech. Nowadays, you can't even do that. They come out very misogynistic, you see."

  "You're preaching to the choir, Uncle." Reuben flipped the first page, read the next few sentences. Then flipped again, trying to find any amusing detail. There were none. Not like Chatgpt would know his father personally. Unlike Uncle Craven. So, he returned it.

  Craven's vice-like grip on shoulders halted Reuben in his steps. For once, he wished he inherited his physical frame from his Father. Dad was sleek and yet muscle-defined, like an Olympic gymnast. Reuben, on the contrary, ended up being a low-budget duplicate of slenderman, an artefact from his mother. His *biological* mother, Reuben reminded himself.

  "Kiddo, you were barely two when I first met you." Craven's voice lowered to a gentle level. "And I have seen Marcel reject many a date, because as much as they desired your father, none of them could envision accommodating you in the core of their lives. Your father was single for a long, long time. And would have been that way for the rest of his life." The grip on Reuben's shoulder tightened, making a statement. "That is how much you mean to Marcel."

  "I understand. I do." Reuben said with conviction. "But I am not that good with having the spotlight on me. You get it, Uncle?"

  Craven released his grip, gave a concerned look. "I am not talking about the speech. I mean, your decision to move in with *her*."

  "Craven, stop intimidating the boy." Reuben's deliverance came in the form of a sauntering Aunt Tasha, Uncle Craven's wife.

  She carried a flute of champagne in one raised hand and moved with an elegance that belittled everything around. Aunt Tasha always had that grace with her steps, almost ethereal, like she stumbled from a different realm to grace poor mortals on earth.

  Reaching closer, Tasha gave a small peck on Craven's lips. Not too long or tight, just short and quick enough to not get her makeup ruined, but still sufficient enough to convey the very alive intimacy between them.

  Reuben averted his gaze upwards to count at imaginary cowebs.

  Shooing her husband away, Tasha ushered Reuben to his designated seat beside her. That arrangement suited Reuben fine. With Uncle Craven, occupied otherwise; it was just him, with Aunt Tasha and their twins.

  Just four years younger than Reuben, he recalled a time when the twins considered him a hero, and followed him religiously. Then, puberty hit, and they became proverbial assholes. These days, they just screamed loser behind his back. They would probably not come close. There were plenty of other things that kept their attention, like forbidden alcohol and chocote fondue fountains.

  "Let me get a drink." Reuben extracted himself for a brief twenty seconds, in which, he grabbed a flute of champagne, emptied its contents into a vase and filled it with lemonade. Satisfied, he returned to sit beside Aunt Tasha.

  "Still not used to wine, is it?" asked Aunt Tasha.

  Reuben pced his lemonade gently beside her flute of Champagne. "That obvious?" He smiled, keeping his gaze forward, determined to make himself look unfazed. "Not wine. I don't like bubbles."

  "Still avoiding direct questions, aren't you?" Tasha gave one brief pat. She fshed him her fwless smile, straight white teeth, lightly glossed lips. It was actually pleasing, after all, she was closer than his own mother.

  It struck Reuben that for all her compints about growing older, which he had heard on occasions, Tasha appeared rather gorgeous. She carried herself regally. Then, she wore a nice dress. Satin beige cocktail dress hugged her frame, enhancing her tiny waistline. Her dress encapsuted everything feminine. Yet, Reuben realized it fit Tasha perfectly because it draped loosely past her waist, billowing gently along her hips.

  Then, he considered his own attire for the event. Reuben sported a dark gray tuxedo because his father insisted that it complimented his rich mahogany brown hair colour, and he paired it with a set of dusted brown leather shoes. Pretty me by any standards, but what else is left?

  Tasha wore a nice set of pearly white pumps with lime green straps accentuating the slenderness of her ankles. Selina, beneath the flowing hem of her bridal gown, sashayed on a bridal heels with faux-diamond straps. She had another pair of bridal fts safely tucked away in a seemingly innocent Louis Vuitton handbag now in the possession of her best friend. After the first dance as Mrs. Gand, she would quickly switch into her fts, because those were a more appropriate choice for a long day.

  Reuben knew it for a fact because, he accompanied her during the dress fitting. He even managed to stand in for her, during the rehearsal. Then Selina, exhausted from long tryouts with various bridal gowns, sat to rest her weary legs. Reuben even got to model for her while the bridal boutique girl, did the adjustments as Selina, seated on a comfy divan, listed few alterations.

  "Still, considering how rushed this marriage was, it is a marvel they managed to deliver her gown in time." Aunt Tasha said, catching him staring at his new stepmom. Her eyes lit up, as though she had an epiphany.

  Reuben scoffed at the term. *Stepmom*, might be a bit misnomer. Selina already cimed him as her own, even before the wedding. Her social media posts tagged him as her son. Not stepson.

  "Well," he murmured," would you believe if I say, she was the one who chased dad?"

  "I totally believe you." Aunt Tasha sealed the moment with a wink. Then, her tone turned serious. "But are you sure about moving with your mother? I mean, if you are concern about your dad's privacy, we have spare room. It could be arranged, Reuben. You don't have to go through this."

  He took her hands in his palms, and gave them a gentle squeeze of reassurance. That was Tasha. Always worried about him. In many ways, Tasha filled the role of his mother more than his own mother ever had.

  "What could go wrong?" Reuben justified with just enough confidence to alleviate Tasha's concern. "She is my mom, after all."

  "Morgane could be a bit..." Tasha bit her lower lip, as though purchasing time to find the right word.

  "Eccentric? Crazy? Unhinged?" Reuben provided

  "Unconventional is what I would have used." Tasha liberated her hand from his hold, and slowly relieved a dangling medallion from her neck.

  Reuben considered it for a moment. Very elegant design and also peculiar. Like the kind of gift, a Tolkien-nerd who could boast Sindarin comprehensive ability would give to his girlfriend. Uncle Craven definitely was not a Tolkien-nerd. He was more of a Jack Reacher kind of guy.

  "Would you trust me?" She took his palms in her, and the medallion y trapped between. "Reuben, would you tell me what is happening to you? I mean not this whole Dad getting married or moving with Mom, but I sense deep down, something, like a void eroding you from within."

  Reuben chuckled, trying to make light of her concern. But that proved futile. As much, Tasha filled a maternal role, his actual mother failed it. So, in some convoluted bias, it was impossible to lie to Tasha.

  "Anyway, this is an auspicious time. All these joy and happiness around, there is so much positive vibes here," expined Aunt Tasha. "I can help you."

  "Never pegged you as the kind for esoteric stuff." Rueben ughed, a simple and unguarded expression. "That was my mother's domain."

  "You don't need to be esoteric for positivity. Now close your eyes."

  Reuben did, as she asked. She had never given him a reason to suspect. On the contrary, she had given him every reason to trust.

  "Reuben, the ancient shamans had some wisdom in their thoughts. Sometimes, what we really require, is actually hidden even from us. That is why, these shamans traveled through spiritual realms, to seek answers. Only a change in perspective can bring the truth."

  Reuben kept his eyelids shut. With nothing else competing, his vision rexed, drawing him deeper.

  Aunt Tasha rubbed soothing circles along his palms. Her touch brought him deeper, lulling him.

  "Now I don't want you to think of your problem. To seek and find what it is." Tasha continued. "Just acknowledge, if not to anyone, but to yourself, that you do have a problem. Something that bothers you. Something needs to change, inherently. Accept it. To yourself. And the universe will provide an answer."

  Then, everything changed. The medallion felt warm, and a vague pulsation emanated from it. Almost as though, it remained dormant, until Aunt Tasha's words coaxed it to awake.

  Then, came the silence. Not a normal one. A harrowing silence that cut the din of a wedding celebration. The strong clip-clop of expensive heels on well polished marble floors followed. A very precise and well controlled rhythm. Every stroke definite and resounding with power, and they approached closer. Much closer. Till they stopped beside Reuben.

  Strong, warm and yet feminine hands clutched one side of his cheek, and lips, full and soft pressed tight on his other cheek.

  Rueben flicked his eyes open.

  "There. No matter how old you are, you are never too old to not receive a kiss from your mom." Morgane plopped on the seat beside Reuben, ignoring the well-pced naming card.

  "Morgane." Aunt Tasha gave a curt greeting of acknowledgement.

  "Tasha." Mom responded in kind, with controlled civility.

  Seated between the two, Reuben felt like a harmless bloke caught between two cockatrices trying to kill each other with their looks. He gave a sad look at his lemonade and wished it was alcohol.

  "Mom, you can't be here." Reuben finished his lemonade in a gulp, for what courage that would bring, he knew not. "You are not on the guest list."

  Morgane dusted imaginary lint off her expensive bck dress. Her skirt ended inches above her knees, revealing an ample amount of skin. Her creamy white skin begged attention. But she paired it with elegant shoulder-length gloves. It gave her outfit, an alluring air, one which fit perfectly since Morgane wore it.

  That led Reuben's attention to her sparkling blue pendant. Set high along her colrbone, it glittered against her cream-colored skin. Latent feminine power radiated through it. Somehow, Reuben felt the urge to reach out and touch. Maybe if he asked, mom would even let him touch it. Or better, lend it.

  With a flick of her wrist, Morgane ambushed a passing waiter. She relieved him, rather shamelessly, of three flutes of champagne. She drowned the first one in a mouthful and added. "Hmm... This is quality stuff. Marcel spared no expense."

  Aunt Tasha interrupted. "Do you never worry about decorum?"

  Morgane raised her champagne flute. "Cheers!"

  Ignoring her antics, Reuben reminded her. "I will remind you, *Mother*. You are NOT invited."

  She gnced him sideways. "Tell me, how does it feel? Now that your Dad is marrying your babysitter."

  Reuben shifted closer to Tasha, seemingly seeking courage from her presence. He reminded himself on why the retionship with mom was always strenuous. Morgane, with her whip-like tongue, and an inherent penchant for stating facts in a cerating manner, left very little to work with. Only mom could take something joyous like dad's wedding and twist it to sound scandalous.

  "Mom." Reuben issued a sibint hiss. "First, Selina was never my babysitter. Second, dad is not that kind of person, and third, this is a great moment for dad and Selina, so you should stop trying to make it sound shockingly outrageous."

  Morgane's eyebrow arched dangerously. He regretted his choice instantly. Because, whenever she rose her eyebrows, bad news followed. And, Morgane wielded her eyebrows better than any weapon. It had destroyed many foes, flummoxed many a school teacher.

  "Shockingly outrageous? Me?" Morgane id a gloved hand on her chest, just below the blue pendant, in an exaggerated sign of disappointment. "Sleeping with a babysitter isn't that weird. I am not suggesting that. No. I am not that prude. Besides..." Morgane let a well controlled pause fall. "Even if Marcel slept with your babysitter, it is not like I have not drunk from that cup."

  "Mom, let me refresh your memory." Reuben leaned back, arms folded in front. "You only hired girls as babysitters for me."

  Morgane raised her silencing palm. "Precisely." Her mischievous lips quirked sideways.

  Suddenly, her arched eyebrows seemed to carry more than one meaning.

  After a moment of pondering, Reuben concluded that he was reading too much into those gestures. It was just mom's way of getting under his skin. Nothing more.

  Meanwhile, Reuben caught his dad looking at his direction. His brows creased. No words were needed. Then, Selina turned. The smile she beamed at him was wholesome, as though the clouds parted and the ray of sunshine soaked the soggy wet earth.

  "A bit chaste for my taste." Morgane pursed her lips. That did very little to hide anything. "What is the point in appearing chaste in that pristine white gown, when it is an open secret that soon, they would ravaged. Your dad's hands would be pulling that cssy updo, and she would moaning all wild under your father's ministrations, while twisting like a human pretzel."

  Reuben choked. Yet, Morgane seemed oblivious, slowly finished her champagne, and called for more.

  That was the st straw. Reuben stood up. "Mom, you came to pick me, right? Then, lets leave."

  He leaned and pced a customary quick peck on Aunt Tasha's cheek, and received a tight hug, and an affectionate kiss on the forehead in return.

  "Remember, you always have a pce with us." Tasha whispered, and turned to his mom. "I would like to say it was nice seeing you again, Morgane, but both, You and I know that that would be a lie."

  "You know, I too would love to invite you to my new pce, *Tasha*." Something about the way Morgane inflected the name seemed to imply more than Reuben knew. "But as I have this new iron grill installed on my fence and your breed does not like the aesthetics. So, I will spare you the trouble of coming up with an excuse."

  "Mom, can you drive to dad's pce first? My things are already packed."

  "No need. You won't be needing them."

  "But I don't even have any spare sets of clothes here."

  Mom reached closer, and ran her gloved hand through the inner lining of his tuxedo. "You look fine in this. But believe me when I say this, you won't need them again." A mysterious glint appeared in mom's eyes, something that worried Reuben, but he dismissed those thoughts.

  If it were mom's way of throwing money on new clothes as a way of making up for the lost time, then she already missed her opportunity. Too te to mend anything.

  Morgane rotated swiftly, stomped on her high-heeled foot. The movement caught Reuben's attention, dragging his gaze all along her bck pumps, glossy bck painted toenails, dangling ces, and sliver pearls tracing slowly along her ankles. She definitely dressed impeccably. Yet, she held herself completely different than Aunt Tasha. More predatory, compelling, and commanding.

  Unknowingly, he raked his gaze all along her toned shapely legs encased in sheer nylon stockings, till Morgane tugged him closer.

  Her voice became surprisingly soft. Very surreal and surprisingly, almost mom-like. "Look, I know things haven't been exactly smooth between us."

  That took Reuben aback. The admission came unexpectedly.

  "But I promise, we will forge a new bond, sharing wonderful moments." Mom continued. "We could spend nights talking; sleep wrapped in my arms on the couch." Liberating her fingers from the confines of her gloves, she ran them through his long hair, tossing them gently over his shoulders. "We could do each other's hair and nails."

  Mom stepped closer, maintaining her soft tone. She guided him gently, turning him towards the reflection on the long window pane on the other side of the hall. The resembnce was stunning. Despite his qualms, Reuben had to agree.

  Morgane tilted his chin. "Oh, darling." Her voice trailed, became husky. "Look at you. If you were to wear a dress, we would even be mistaken for sisters."

  "But I am a bloke, Mom." After a second, Reuben examined himself through his mom's mischievous twinkling gaze. He found nothing. That statement hung between them. A lot unsaid. Finally, it struck. "Why would I agree to wear a dress anyway?"

  No answer came from her. Only a very knowing smirk and again the mysterious and dangerous glint in her eyes was all he got in response.

  When they reached the foyer, Reuben heard Marcel's voice.

  "Reuben, a minute." He turned to catch dad rushing towards him.

  His silver cuff links glistened with diamond studs, as he drew near. His new tuxedo cut perfectly, enhancing his chiseled features. That may expin why many considered Selina to be lucky.

  "Morgane." Dad gave a prim nod. The smile he beamed at the guest never faltered. In fact, not even a twitching of a muscle or facial nerve. "Can I have a moment with my son?"

  Morgane csped Reuben's shoulder. "Fine." Her tone rose above." Take all the time you need." Something about the way she said those words felt more akin to a st bit of merciful favour; as though dad would never see him again.

  Dad brought him closer, his hands csping him on both shoulder. "Hey buddy, you leaving so soon?" The disappointment in his voice could not be concealed.

  Reuben shrugged as if bereft of any culpability, which he was. "You know mom. How she can be. Better to leave with her soon, than let her crash the celebration."

  Marcel reached into his pockets, and thrust a card into his hands. "Keep the credit card safe, just in case of emergency. Okay? It has enough funds to keep going for a year."

  Reuben almost felt guilty. Dad abandoned his own wedding celebration just to ensure that the additional safety net reached him. That one gesture expressed greater depths than words ever could. Dad was not just a good man. He was a great man and an awesome dad.

  "I raised you alone, and I would like to think that I did a good job of it." Marcel's voice lowered to value acceptable for serious confessions. "Morgane and I, have our differences, but that is ours to settle. Remember, she is still your mom. Respect her, and treat her well. Can I ask that of you, buddy?"

  Reuben nodded. With both dad's hands rested heavily upon his shoulders, it wasn't possible otherwise. Still, Marcel's gaze contained reassurance. Dad tried. Really, he tried. Despite not willing to let him go, dad tried to put a brave face. It just seemed futile. Inwardly, Reuben shook his head. A poor charade. Even that was typical dad.

  Reuben knew, he should say something. Just anything. If only to keep dad happy.

  Just when he started to give his assent, Selina arrived. Even masked by yer of professional bridal makeup, the concern still showed up.

  "Everything alright?" Selina asked, then she turned to Morgane who stood a few steps away. "Hello, I am Reuben's new mom."

  Morgane's eyebrows arched to a dangerous level. Reuben could swear, he saw his mom's nostrils fume. Like literal fumes. Mom looked ready. She seemed all tensed, like a coiled serpent ready to strike. Even her body nguage indicated, she would spring forward, cws extended, ready to disembowel Selina.

  "New mom?" Mom repeated the word as if it were venom festering on her tongue. "Do you think of it like a girlfriend situation? You are his new mom, so what am I? Ex-mom?"

  Dad's hands drifted towards Selina's waist. He pulled her closer. "Morgane, could you please stop antagonising Selina?"

  "Me, antagonise *her*?" Morgane sniffed contemptuously. Yet her attention remained fully concentrated on Selina. "What kind of ridiculous accusation are you throwing at me, Marcel?"

  Reuben tilted his head. When he examined carefully, he saw both, his mom, standing beside him, dressed impeccably and oozing sophistication in her immacute bck dress matched perfectly with her shoulder length gloves, while Selina stood close, cd virtuously within yers upon yers, costly silks draping gracefully all along her frame, folded past her waist, spilling onto marble floors.

  His new stepmom seemed serene, completely unfazed by his mother. It was subtle, yet very apparent. In fact, he never expected Selina, not to back down. He looked caught between two extremities --between Selina's bridal calm, fwlessly soothing, hinting curves, drawing attention subtly, unlike his mom's attire which consisted half plunging neckline, generous dispy of skin.

  "Like it or not, I am a very much a part of his life now." Selina charged, like a relentless, enraged bull. "You need to accept it."

  "Never." The anger evaporated without a trace from Morgane's feature. Repced by a suggestive and somewhat disturbing smirk, promising pleasures both profane, wild and tempting.

  With not a second to spare, Morgane grabbed Reuben by the wrist and marched toward the door.

  Selina shouted from behind. "You still haven't answered. Tell me. What in your opinion will make me from his stepmom to his mom?"

  That stopped mom. She halted her steps. Momentarily. Then, she turned, one hand raised to her ear, thumb and pinky extended in a universal sign of asking someone to call. Even her lips moved in the form of making those words, but Morgane did that so slowly, and so deliberately, with a sacious grin that left very little to imagination, like signalling a booty call.

  Anger seared on Selina's face, and beside her, dad facepalmed.

  Just when Reuben thought that their retionship might be salvageable, Mom went and did it. In her typical manner, she effortlessly managed to spoil his stepmom's big day, and walked out without a worry.

  Outside, Reuben's attention snapped as Marcel called behind him. "Remember what I said, and no matter what, you can always call me."

  Those words lingered even as he walked after Morgane, till mom approached a parked red corvette, sleek and imposing like it was meant to own the space.

  "Mom, can you not rent an electric hybrid or something compact like normal people?" asked Reuben.

  Mom pulled him closer. Her lips brushed his ears, her tone warm. "There are two kinds of people, darling. Those satisfied with mediocrity. Then, there are people, willing to risk everything, reach their full potential. Never settle darling." Mom swung her arm wide. "Also, it's not rented. It's mine. I mean, can be yours."

  Reuben chuckled inwardly. Like his affection can be bartered for a design with a powerful engine. Not interested, Mother.

  Morgane slithered inside to sit behind the steering wheel. Reuben took the other side. His attention became consumed, considering his mom's grace behind the steering wheel. Her fingers gripped hard, wrapping tightly round steering wheel. His vision lingered, distracted. Reuben tried to csp his seat belt buckle, it failed him. Again.

  Noticing, Morgane nudged his side. "Move closer, darling. I will fix it."

  He complied. Reluctantly. With their distance measured only inches apart, he gulped, a nervous swallow, shifting awkwardly.

  Mom released her hold, one hand draped his shoulder, while her free fingers gently pried open his seat belt buckle, attached it safely, tugging till it clicked. Then, she whispered softly. "No need to worry, darling. You can always depend on your mother."

  They drove towards his new home. It was te, time ebbed slowly. With nothing much happening, Reuben remained lost inside his thoughts. For distraction, he concentrated elsewhere. The corvette purred silently, its glossy paint surface gleaming beneath street lights, bouncing between alternate shadows and light.

  Morgane cleared her throat. "Something on your mind?" She asked.

  Reuben clenched his fists. This tactic, pretending to care. Mom used it all the time. She would fsh her brilliant smile, her eyebrows arched dangerously high, though he never understood why. Something about making people lower their guard. Mom called it a mere illusion. He thought otherwise.

  "So you are loaded with cash?" he asked.

  Mom gave a wink. "Pretty much."

  "And still allowed dad to raise alone? Never gave any child support?"

  Morgane snorted. "You make me sound like a real vilin, darling."

  Mom gnced in his direction, searching his expression. That single act seemed worrying, because Reuben failed completely grasp her train of thoughts.

  "There are things you need to know about men, like your father." She spoke as though he weren't one.

  Reuben gave a non-committal scoff.

  "Marcel cannot allow the dent in his ego when I pay." Mom took her free hand, raking through his well-beyond shoulder length hair. Then, they moved. Her free palm pressed against his cheek, soft and gentle.

  Morgane ughed. "All I am saying, you can never know, darling. Some blokes may be responsible in one aspect and can be pretty thick-headed when it comes to others."

  That startled Reuben. Mom spoke as though she were giving advice on men. He is not even gay. Would make perfect sense, if he were their daughter, which he wasn't.

  Reuben shrugged loose, defiantly. "I can't believe you are doing it. Making it all about you."

  Mom pushed her ebony bck hair, one hand hooking it behind her ears. Then, she plunged her hand through them, pushing them behind the nape of her neck. All done slowly, calcuted, till her sharp silken hair framed her pretty features. "Who else can I make it all about?"

  "What is new with you, Mom?" Reuben leaned back and observed her controlled features shifting. "How is it going with your witchy communal thingy?"

  "Coven." Morgane corrected with a sibint hiss of frustration. "Bitches could never appreciate raw and untamed talent. Tossed me out." Her expression soon retained their previous guile. "But now that I have you, we will show them what real peak magic control looks like."

  Reuben sank back in his seat.

  Will there be an altar in her home, where Mom would take a sacrificial knife and carve runes on his body? Drain his blood and offer it to some eldritch being? All pusible scenarios considering, it is Mom. Reuben might be scrawny, not all beefy like his dad, but he was certain he could overpower mom, when it came to that.

  Besides, his father might be on a three-month cruise with his new stepmom, but he still had the credit card. And dad would abandon his honeymoon, and come, if he needed. Then, there are the Enders, close enough to real family. All bases covered.

  Any further rumination on escape routes was cut short and mom drove through the gates of a walled Vil.

  Not a house. A freaking vil.

  Mom killed the engine in front of the main portico, and beamed a dazzling smile at him.

  "Wake up darling. We are here."

  Reuben stumbled out and considered the impressive gothic structure looming before him.

  Morgane sauntered closer, looped both her palms around his arm, and ushered him up the stairs leading to the massive carved doors. Despite the inconsistency of everything, Reuben took a moment to relish. Something about Mom's body pressed close, gave Reuben a pause. This might be the closest he got to his mom in the past years.

  "Mom, shouldn't you be parking the car elsewhere? You might be blocking the path for the other residents."

  Mom chuckled, gliding closer. Her cheek brushed against his. "This house may appear huge, darling, but it has only one owner."

  Her velvety curtain of hair caressed his cheeks. As though she perceived something in him, she slid her finger along his chin, dragging his attention back at her. "It had only one resident. Now..." Mom had a beautiful smile. "Two."

  Then, she freed her hands, and snapped her fingers. The door opened silently. That should worry him, because people can't expect entrances opening magically. However, Reuben stepped within. Must be some amazing state of art electronic home assistance Mom invested in her new vil.

  Reuben followed behind mom's sashaying form. It was mesmerising, because her high heels clip-clopped loudly; rhythmically. Then, it stopped. Mom halted halfway through, slowly pivoted, half turning her attention behind him. Reuben snapped his gaze back, just in time to watch the doors close, automatically.

  The closed doors presented nothing extraordinary. Heavy wooden antique doors, complete with gothic bck hinges. Even its stout handles, and heavy ring above remained undisturbed.

  Then, mom removed her gloves and pressed them into Reuben's palm. His breath hitched. Mom wore silk gloves. Soft and smooth and pleasurable to touch.

  "Do you like silken clothings, darling?" she asked. "When we go shopping tomorrow, you can have your wardrobe filled with silken shirts, scks and PJs. Also remind me, some new satin bed covers for you. Your room is not yet complete."

  "That's alright, I can sleep on the couch." Reuben volunteered. Dad had, on occasion, taken him camping in the wilderness, so he considered himself pretty flexible when it came to sleeping arrangements.

  "Nonsense. You will sleep in my room tonight. Nothing awkward about sharing a single bed with your mom." Morgane continued her prattling about the temporary arrangements. "We can talk about things. Make up for the missed time. This will be a nice bonding time."

  "Have about a no for an answer." Reuben stood his ground. "I am a guy. A dude. A bloke. Can't be climbing on your bed."

  Morgane ignored with a dismissive wave of her hands. She tilted his chin to meet her gaze. Something about those gaze unsettled him. The fsh within her features appeared mischievous.

  "Its cute. Even your obliviousness, and your denial of everything, darling, let me tell you, it is so adorable. Almost makes me want to just spoil you more."

  Her words only heightened his discomfort, but then Mom started parading him towards, the ornate staircase. Every step seemed filled with purpose, complete dominance, reverberating through Reuben, imposing itself upon him.

  Morgane gave his ass one solid smack, soundly echoing through her expansive vil. "Follow me, darling." Her words followed suit, punctuated each step.

  Reuben could not understand. Why those motions held him, striking him dumb, forcing him almost mute.

  "We have a long day tomorrow, and an even bigger schedule." Mom continued. "I have pns. Big pns. We are starting our own coven."

  "But Mom, I can't be a witch. I am a boy."

  There was a mysterious gleam in Mom's eyes when she lurched closer. The movement was graceful, and somewhat predatory. Her lips moved in suggestive ways. "Darling, that can be fixed."

  She extended her arms, slowly creeping them forward, making minuscule motions with her fingertips. When she flexed those fingers, raw power surged along her arms. "Just accept the truth and the power within can set you apart."

  Then, Mom snapped her fingers, and a purple hue filled Reuben's vision. He inhaled sharply, as though the very air turned oppressive. The expensive tuxedo became heavier, and slipped. His pants felt tight in odd pces and sloppy in others.

  He took a step. Even the leather shoes felt loose. Tied ces liberated from the knots and tossed on the sides.

  Reuben stumbled to fall, but mom was there to catch before unconsciousness took over.

  AnnouncementDear Readers, If you have enjoyed the first chapter, feel free to leave a comment or kudos.I can be found in the following:BluskyDiscord