Chapter 24: Lena’s parents
The scent of frangipani and strong Balinese coffee hung heavy in the morning air. Sunlight streamed onto the villa’s open-air breakfast terrace, dappling the plates of tropical fruit and fresh pastries. Bruce, digging into a mango sticky rice, felt the shift beside him before he saw it. Lena sat unnaturally still, her usual vibrant energy dampened. Her fork pushed a slice of papaya around her plate, untouched. Her dark eyes, usually sparkling with mischief or fierce intelligence, were distant, clouded.
He swallowed, setting his spoon down. The memory of Ketut’s tear-streaked relief yesterday was still fresh, a fragile victory. This felt different. Deeper. "Lena?" His voice was soft, cutting through the gentle clink of Camille’s spoon against her yogurt bowl. Ketut paused, a piece of dragon fruit halfway to her lips, sensing the tension. "What’s wrong, mi amor? You haven’t touched your coffee."
Lena flinched, as if startled out of a trance. She looked down at her hands, clenched tightly in her lap. A shaky breath escaped her. "It's... it's my parents." The words came out flat, devoid of her usual fire.
Camille leaned forward, concern etching lines around her eyes. "Your parents? Did something happen?"
Lena shook her head, a sharp, jerky movement. "No. Nothing happened. That's... sort of the problem." She lifted her gaze, meeting Bruce’s swirling hazel eyes. The gold flecks were muted, reflecting her anxiety. "They called last night. While... while we were...distracted." A faint blush crept up her neck, a stark contrast to her pallor. "I didn't answer. They called again this morning. Left a voicemail."
Bruce reached over, covering her clenched fists with one large hand. Her knuckles were white. "Okay," he said slowly. "What did they say?"
"They’re wondering why they haven’t heard from me," Lena whispered. "Why my texts are short. Why I sound...different." She swallowed hard. "I haven’t told them, Bruce. About...this." Her gesture encompassed the terrace, the villa, the three women watching her intently. "About us. About being married... to you... and Camille... and Ketut."
The silence that followed was thick, broken only by the distant chirp of birds and the hum of insects. Ketut’s eyes widened slightly, understanding dawning. Camille’s expression softened with empathy.
"Traditional Spanish Catholics," Lena continued, her voice gaining a brittle edge. "My mother still lights candles for the Virgin Mary every Sunday. My father... he thinks living together before marriage is a mortal sin. And I..." Her voice cracked. "I haven't been incredibly close to them, not since I moved out, but we still talk. Weekly. They're my parents. And I'm terrified." She finally looked up, her brown eyes swimming with unshed tears. "Terrified of what they'll say. What they'll think. That they'll... disown me. Call me a whore. Tell me I'm going to hell." The last word was barely audible.
Bruce squeezed her hands gently, then lifted one to his lips, pressing a kiss to her tense knuckles. The cool metal of her wedding band pressed against his lips. "Hey," he murmured, his voice a low rumble meant only for her. "Look at me." She dragged her gaze back to his. The swirling colors in his eyes seemed to deepen, the blue and green intensifying. "That fear? It’s real. It’s valid. What Ketut went through yesterday... that was hard. This? With your parents' background? This is a different kind of mountain."
He held her gaze, unwavering. "But listen to me, Lena. You are fierce. You are loyal. You have a fucking fire in you that lights up every room you walk into. You chose this life. You chose us. And we chose you. That choice? It comes from love. Deep, messy, complicated, beautiful love. Just like what I told Ketut’s parents."
He glanced at Camille and Ketut, seeing their silent support. "You don't have to face them alone. We're right here. Whatever happens, whatever they say... you have a family. Right here. Unbreakable."
Lena blinked rapidly, a single tear escaping and tracing a path down her cheek. She swiped at it impatiently. "I know," she whispered hoarsely. "I know I do. But... the thought of hearing the disappointment in my mother's voice... the condemnation..."
"You don't know that's what you'll hear," Camille offered gently, reaching across the table to touch Lena’s arm. "They love you, Lena. That might be the strongest thing."
"Or it might make it hurt worse," Lena countered, but some of the brittle tension seemed to ease from her shoulders. She took a deep, shuddering breath. "I... I need to call them back. Today. Rip the band-aid off." She looked at Bruce, a flicker of her old fierceness returning. "Will you... will you be there? When I call?"
Bruce didn't hesitate. "Every second. Wherever you need me."
Later that afternoon, the air in the villa’s shaded living room felt charged. Lena sat rigidly on the plush sofa, Bruce beside her, a solid, reassuring presence. Camille and Ketut sat nearby, offering silent solidarity. Lena clutched her phone like a lifeline, her knuckles white again. She took another deep breath, visibly steeling herself, then tapped the screen and put the call on speaker.
The ringing tone echoed loudly in the quiet room. Once. Twice.
"Hola, mija?" Her mother's voice, warm and familiar, laced with relief, filled the space. "Por fin! Estábamos preocupados. ¿Estás bien?"
"Hola, Mamá," Lena replied, her voice surprisingly steady, though Bruce could feel the fine tremor running through her arm pressed against his. "Sí, estoy bien. Lo siento por no responder antes. Estaba... ocupada."
"Ocupada, sí, sí," her mother chuckled softly. "Tu padre dice que trabajas demasiado. Pero... algo en tu voz, mija. ¿Segura que estás bien?"
Lena closed her eyes. "Mamá... Papá está ahí?" A muffled sound, then her father's deeper voice joined. "Sí, Lena. Estamos aquí. ¿Qué pasa?"
This was it. Lena opened her eyes, staring straight ahead at the vibrant Balinese tapestry on the opposite wall. "Mamá, Papá... tengo algo importante que decirles. Algo... grande." She paused, gathering the words. "Me casé."
A beat of stunned silence. Then her mother's voice, higher now, hopeful. "¿Casada? ¡Ay, gracias a Dios! ¿Quién es él? ¿Un buen hombre? ¿Un muchacho de la iglesia?"
Lena winced. "Sí, Mamá. Un hombre increíble. Se llama Bruce. Es... es estadounidense."
"Americano?" Her father's voice held a note of caution. "Bueno... si es un buen hombre, que te trata bien..."
Lena forged ahead, the words tumbling out now. "Y... y no es solo Bruce." Another heavy pause. "Me casé con Bruce... y también con Camille... y Ketut."
Silence. Thick, suffocating silence. Bruce could almost feel the shockwaves traveling through the phone line from Spain to Bali. He tightened his grip on Lena’s hand.
"¿Qué... qué dijiste?" Her mother’s voice was a whisper, disbelieving.
"Estoy casada con tres personas, Mamá," Lena repeated, her voice gaining strength, laced with defiance now. "Bruce, Camille, y Ketut. Somos una familia. Nos amamos."
"¡Una familia!" Her mother’s voice cracked, rising into something shrill and horrified. "¡Esto es pecado! ¡Abominación! ¡Lena María, qué has hecho! ¿Vives en pecado con un hombre y... y dos mujeres? ¡Dios mío!" The sound of frantic prayer in Spanish, rapid and desperate, spilled from the speaker. "¡El demonio te ha engañado!"
Her father’s voice cut in, cold and hard, devoid of its earlier warmth. "Esto no es mi hija. Mi hija sabe lo que es correcto. Esto... esto es perversión. ¿Dónde estás? ¿En ese lugar pagano? Bali? ¡Claro! ¡Corrompida!"
"Papá, por favor," Lena pleaded, the defiance crumbling, raw pain flooding her voice. "Escúchame. Somos felices. Es amor verdadero. Bruce es un hombre maravilloso, nos protege, nos cuida..."
"¡Cuidar!" Her mother shrieked. "¡Eso no es cuidar! ¡Es lujuria! ¡Perversión! ¡Has roto el corazón de tu madre, Lena! ¡Y ofendido a Dios! ¡Arrepiéntete! ¡Vuelve a casa ahora! Deja esa... esa vida sucia!"
"No puedo, Mamá," Lena whispered, tears streaming freely down her face now. "Esta es mi vida. Mi familia."
"¡Entonces ya no tienes familia aquí!" Her father’s voice was final, brutal. "Si eliges ese... ese nido de pecado... estás muerta para nosotros. No llames. No escribas. Tu madre y yo... rezaremos por tu alma perdida."
A choked sob escaped Lena. "Papá... no..."
The line went dead. The dial tone buzzed, a harsh, mechanical sound in the devastated silence.
Lena stared at the phone in her hand, her body rigid with shock. The tears flowed silently, unchecked. Bruce pulled her into his arms, crushing her against his chest. "Shhh," he murmured into her hair, his own throat tight. "I've got you. I've got you, Lena. We've got you."
Camille was there instantly, wrapping her arms around Lena from the other side, pressing kisses to her temple. "Oh, mi vida," she breathed, her voice thick with tears. "Lo siento mucho. Lo siento tanto." Ketut knelt before Lena, taking her free hand, pressing it to her own cheek, her dark eyes filled with shared pain and fierce loyalty.
Lena trembled violently in Bruce’s embrace, the raw wound of her parents' rejection laid bare. The fierce, vibrant woman was momentarily shattered. Bruce held her tighter, rocking her gently, whispering nonsense words of comfort against her hair. The silence stretched, filled only by Lena’s ragged breathing and the muffled sounds of Camille and Ketut’s comforting murmurs.
Slowly, the violent tremors subsided. Lena lifted her head from Bruce’s chest. Her face was blotchy, tear-streaked, but her eyes... her eyes were dry now. And blazing. The devastation was still there, a deep, aching bruise, but it was being consumed by a familiar, incandescent fury. She looked at Bruce, then Camille, then Ketut, her gaze lingering on each face.
"They're wrong," she stated, her voice raw but clear, cutting through the heavy air. "Dead fucking wrong." She pushed herself upright, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand with a sharp, angry motion. "They don't get to define my love. My family." She looked directly at Bruce, her brown eyes holding a fire that bordered on desperation. "Show me, Bruce. Right now. Show me what I chose. Show me I'm not lost. Show me I'm yours."
The shift was instantaneous, electric. The grief morphed into a desperate, demanding hunger. Bruce saw it, felt it radiating from her. He stood, pulling her up with him. "Camille. Ketut. Bedroom. Now."
He didn't wait. He scooped Lena up, her phenomenal legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. Her arms locked around his neck, her mouth finding his in a kiss that was less affection and more a claiming, a desperate affirmation. It was fierce, bruising, tongues clashing, teeth scraping. She ground her pelvis against the hard ridge already forming in his shorts. "Fuck me, Bruce," she gasped against his lips, her voice thick with tears and need. "Fuck me like you own me. Because you fucking do."
He carried her down the hallway towards the master suite, Camille and Ketut following close behind, their own arousal palpable in the charged atmosphere. He kicked the bedroom door shut behind them. The room was bathed in the golden afternoon light filtering through the bamboo blinds.
Bruce didn't set Lena down gently. He walked them straight to the massive bed and dropped her onto her back. She bounced once, her dark hair fanning out, her eyes wild and fixed on him. He tore at his shorts, shoving them down his legs, freeing his thick, already rigid cock. Lena scrambled back on the bed, ripping off her sundress, leaving her naked except for a tiny black thong. Her small, perfect breasts heaved, her nipples hard peaks.
"On your knees," Bruce growled, his voice rough with possession and shared fury. "Ass up. Now."
Lena obeyed instantly, scrambling onto her hands and knees, presenting her incredible ass, the black thong a flimsy barrier stretched tight between her cheeks. Bruce knelt behind her, his hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise. He hooked his fingers into the sides of her thong and ripped it down her thighs, exposing her glistening pussy, already slick with arousal and the adrenaline of pain and defiance.
He didn't tease. He didn't prepare her. He positioned the broad, swollen head of his cock at her tight entrance. Lena braced herself, pushing her ass back towards him, a wordless demand. With one powerful, brutal thrust, he buried himself to the hilt in her gripping wetness.
"FUCK! BRUCE! YES!" Lena screamed, her back arching violently. Her inner walls clenched around his invading thickness like a hot, wet vice. "OH GOD! SO FULL! FUCK ME! FUCK ME HARDER!"
Bruce obliged. He pulled back almost entirely, then slammed forward again, his hips pistoning with raw, punishing force. Each deep, brutal thrust drove a cry from Lena’s throat – not of pain, but of desperate, primal affirmation. The wet slap of flesh on flesh filled the room. He gripped her hips, using them as leverage to drive deeper, harder. "You're mine, Lena!" he grunted, his voice guttural. "All fucking mine! This pussy! This ass! This fire! Mine!"
"YES! YOURS! ALL YOURS!" she shrieked, pushing back against him with equal ferocity. "FILL ME UP! MAKE ME FEEL IT! MAKE ME FORGET!"
Camille and Ketut had climbed onto the bed. Camille knelt beside Lena’s head, her fingers tangling in Lena’s dark hair, pulling her head back. "Look at you, mi vida," Camille breathed, her own eyes dark with lust. "Taking that big cock like you fucking need it. Like you need him to split you open." She leaned down, capturing Lena’s mouth in a deep, possessive kiss, muffling her cries.
Ketut positioned herself beside Bruce, her small hand reaching out to stroke Lena’s flexing back, then lower, her fingers finding Lena’s swollen clit. She began rubbing tight, rapid circles. "So wet for him," Ketut murmured, her voice husky. "So hot inside. Feel him stretching you open, Lena. Feel him claiming you."
The combined sensations – Bruce’s relentless, deep pounding, Camille’s demanding kiss, Ketut’s expert fingers on her clit – pushed Lena
The combined sensations – Bruce’s relentless, deep pounding, Camille’s demanding kiss, Ketut’s expert fingers on her clit – pushed Lena over the edge. Her scream tore through Camille’s mouth as her body locked, convulsing violently around Bruce’s driving cock. "¡MIERDA! ¡ME CORRO!" she shrieked, her inner walls clamping in frantic pulses, milking him as wave after wave of raw, obliterating pleasure crashed through her. Bruce roared, his thrusts turning jagged, brutal, burying himself impossibly deeper as thick jets of cum erupted inside her clenching heat, flooding her with liquid fire.
Lena collapsed forward, gasping, her body twitching uncontrollably, Bruce’s cock still throbbing deep within her. Camille stroked her sweat-drenched hair, whispering "Te tengo, mi fiera," while Ketut traced soothing circles on her trembling back. Bruce withdrew slowly, his cum leaking from Lena’s well-used pussy onto the rumpled sheets. He gathered her limp form against his chest, her face pressed into his neck, her breathing ragged but slowing.
Silence settled, thick with spent passion and lingering grief. Lena’s tears returned, silent now, soaking Bruce’s skin. "They meant it," she whispered hoarsely, fingers clutching his shoulder. "Dead to them."
Camille curled against Lena’s back, her warmth a shield. "Their loss burns," she murmured, lips brushing Lena’s shoulder blade. "But this fire here?" Her hand slid possessively over Lena’s hip. "This fire’s yours. Ours."
Ketut nestled close, her small hand resting over Lena’s heart. "You are not lost," she said fiercely. "You are found. Here."
Hours bled into dusk. Lena drifted through the villa like a ghost, her usual vibrancy extinguished. She picked at dinner, stared blankly at the moonlit pool, flinched at phantom phone vibrations. Bruce watched her curl into a rattan chair on the terrace, knees drawn up, eyes hollow. The fierce blaze that defined her had guttered to embers.
He moved silently, kneeling before her. Her phone lay discarded on a teak table. He picked it up, his jaw tight. "Give me their names," he said, voice low but steel-edged.
Lena blinked, focus returning slowly. "What?"
"Your parents. Their contact." He held her gaze, the swirling hazel depths holding no compromise. "Trust me."
A flicker of defiance sparked in her exhausted eyes, then died. She whispered, "Papá: Eduardo Rivera. Mamá: Sofia."
Bruce scrolled through her contacts, finding "Papá." His thumb hovered. He inhaled sharply, then pressed call, putting it on speaker. The dial tone pulsed like a heartbeat in the humid night air. Lena froze, eyes wide with dawning panic.
A gruff "¿Hola?" crackled through the speaker.
Bruce leaned close to the phone. "Señor Rivera? Eduardo?" His Spanish was halting, heavily accented. "Soy Bruce. El esposo de Lena."
Silence. Thick, hostile. Then, icy venom. "No tengo hija."
Bruce barreled on, words tumbling. "Por favor. Escúcheme. Lena... está destrozada. Su corazón... está roto." He swallowed, forcing clarity. "Yo... la amo. Mucho. Camille, Ketut... la aman también. Familia."
A derisive snort. "Familia de pecado."
"Venga aquí," Bruce pleaded, desperation roughening his voice. "Por favor. Usted y Señora Sofia. Vuelo pagado. Todo pagado. Quédese en nuestra villa. Una semana." He gestured wildly at the moonlit gardens, the shimmering pool, though Eduardo couldn't see. "Vea... vea nuestra vida. Vea a Lena. Ella... no puede llorar más."
Silence stretched, taut as a wire. Lena held her breath, trembling.
"Por favor," Bruce rasped, the word raw. "No nos juzgue... sin conocer. Por Lena."
The line clicked dead.
Lena stared at the phone, then at Bruce’s strained face. A single, broken sob escaped her. Bruce pulled her into his arms, crushing her against him, his own eyes burning. "Whatever happens," he growled into her hair, "you’re ours. Always."
Her fingers dug into his back, clinging. Outside, the jungle hummed, indifferent. The silence from Spain screamed.