Elena Bride Novels & Stories

Leo’s excited voice carried up the stairs as he ran around in his prince suit, Max trotting happily behind him. “Mama! It’s wedding day! I get to wear my crown!” Elena smiled and got out of bed. She spent the morning getting ready with the women she loved most, her mother, Victoria, and a few close friends. They helped her into her elegant ivory dress, styled her hair in soft waves, and fastened the silver tower necklace around her neck. When she looked in the mirror, she barely recognized the shy girl from years ago. The woman staring back was stronger, healed, and radiantly happy.

Three weeks later. The cathedral smells like roses and lies. I stand in the bride’s chamber, staring at my reflection in a mirror that’s probably older than the vendetta between our families. The dress is beautiful, I’ll give them that. Ivory silk, hand-beaded lace, a train that goes on forever. Marcella Valenti chose it herself, sent it over with a note that read, “A Valenti bride must look the part.” Not my bride. Not Elena. A Valenti bride, like I’m already erased.

She was finally getting married, it was a dream come true for Busayomi. “It’s beautiful.” I smiled. “Don’t you think it is too revealing?” She pointed to her cleavage. “I think it is fine..come on you are the bride! You have to look....what’s the word?” Omolade thought. “Stunning!” Iteoluwa screamed. “Oh that’s right! You are such a bright child!” Omolade gave Iteoluwa a high five. “Elena looked bright and stunning on her wedding day.” Iteoluwa talked about one of her story books, Princess Elena.

My hair was also a simple bun at the back of my head, with a jewelled clip to hold my veil in place. The bridal gown was pure white and simple. The skirt was flowing with a slight train and the sleeves were lace. Although my father had objected to the ‘unconventional dress’ at first…but he had changed his mind at the last minute when my groom’s father, and by father’s good friend, Mr. Davis, had reminded him that this was the twenty first century and women dressing in lace sleeves was appropriate enough. And yet…Mr. Davis hadn’t thought that arranged marriages should’ve been left behind in the nineteenth century either.

She chuckled. In the collection, the most costly dress was a fantasy of brocade with a bustier that was delicately embroidered with pearls and silvery threads in the shape of flowers. "Those are platinum threads," the store owner stated. That clarified the cost. "I believe your choice will please your groom," she said. So she was more familiar with him than I was. Today, Damon was just as foreign to me as he had been almost three years before. ***

They are not the best but I still love them both dearly. Father held out his arm and I entwined mine with his. Isabella handed me my bouquet of white lilies then we walked through the double doors and into the chapel. I fidget and almost skip a step at the flashes of camera that came over us all at once. Father must have sensed this as he bent down slightly to whisper in my ear. Somewhere in the back of my head I can hear the organist play Here comes the bride. "It only gets awkward at first. Try to smile and you'll be fine" he said.

she said, “It’s such a shame that a smart princess like you has to marry a scumbag as her husband.” Lennie’s eyes turned cold, but she didn’t drop her smile. Instead, she reached out her hand to Elena and then invited her in a friendly tone, “Come on, girl, it’s time for our unparalleled bridal shower, just you and me. And I promise you will have lots of fun tonight.” Elena narrowed her eyes. She knew it must be another sneaky trick of Lennie’s but she wasn’t afraid of her. She had made plans a long time ago about how to handle Lennie.

Laura wore a pale blue silk dress that shimmered in the light, and Sebastian couldn’t stop staring at her like he’d never seen anything so beautiful. Emily came with Ivan and little Mila, who had insisted on being the flower princess. She scattered rose petals down the aisle with more enthusiasm than accuracy, and no one had the heart to correct her. Especially not Emily, who laughed and cried in equal measure. And then there was me. Elle Marino. Soon to be Mrs. Elle Volkov. Bride. Survivor. Mother. Lover.

Shadows swirled around me with every step I took. “Elena," I whispered in disbelief. Like a specter lifted from the dark, she hovered in front of me. Her the coat danced with wind, and her gaze which was recognized yet harsh fixed on me. I asked, “What the hell are you doing out here?” in a stuttering tone. “Breathe,” she said, that perfect blonde head slightly bowing, moonlight reflecting off golden locks. “You were going to her.” “Don’t have time for this,” I replied and moved.

He swallowed hard, looking like he might be sick, and forced his gaze away as the music swelled for the bride. Lady Elara Valerius walked down the aisle. She was a striking woman, tall, with sharp features and cold grey eyes. She wore an expensive but conservative dress with no lace or frills. She didn’t look at Bryson with love. She looked at him like an investment she intended to manage closely. The ceremony was short, and the vows were standard, recited without emotion. “I, Bryson, take thee…” His voice cracked. He had to clear his throat to finish.