Page 133 of The Most Perfect Wrong

“So, when does everyone else get here?” Ryan asks, glancing at Leo as he picks up the menu.

“Everyone else gets here tomorrow,” Leo replies, setting the menu aside. “Except for Michael and Stella. They’re flying in on Tuesday. It’s tough for him to take time away from the restaurant.”

We all place our drink orders, Vivian sticking to water.

“Does it suck knowing you can’t drink when everyone else will be shit-faced after the ceremony?” I ask.

She laughs. “Yeah, it definitely sucks. Mostly because I’ll have to deal with his drunken ass.” She points to Leo, a teasing smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

Leo sets his drink down with a scoff. “Come on, you love a drunk shag more than anyone I know.”

“Yeah. When I’m drunk, too,” she fires back, her grin widening.

“You don’t want me to drink?” he asks.

“Oh, no, I want you drunk. I love a drunk Leo.” She pauses, her eyes narrowing playfully. “Just don’t get plastered.”

He blows out a puff of air. “Can’t make any promises there, babe.”

Vivian laughs again, leaning in to kiss him. “Guess I’ll take whatever you give me.”

God, they’re so cute. Over the past month, we’ve spent so much time with them—double dates on the weekends, more shopping with Vivian. They’ve become good friends.

Ryan’s hand squeezes my thigh, his touch lingering. His thumb brushes back and forth, slipping just under the hem of my dress. The light, teasing strokes send tingles straight to my core, heating me from the inside out.

I glance at him, catching his smug smile. Of course. Goddamn him. He’s toying with me. He raises his brows, daring me to react, and I smother a laugh, my heart so full it could burst.

My grin matches his, and for a moment, it’s just us—wrapped up in our own bubble. Leo and Vivian are ridiculously cute, but so are we. We’ve got our own thing, our own connection, and I hope we’re building something as deep and lasting as theirs.

I rest my hand over his, giving it a squeeze. He squeezes back, his thumb brushing against my skin one last time before I pull my focus back to the table, where Vivian is looking at me expectantly.

“What are you ordering?” she asks, her voice breaking through my thoughts.

* * * * * ?* * * * *

We barely made it to the room before tearing into each other like starving animals. My dress was halfway down before we even walked through the door. Afterward, I slip into the bathroom to freshen up, pulling on a little number Vivian convinced me to buy—a silky slip in a soft pink champagne shade with ivory lace across the top. My cleavage peeks through the delicate trim, the lace barely covering my nipples. The matching G-string leaves just enough to the imagination.

I glance over my shoulder in the mirror, twisting slightly to catch the way the fabric grazes my hips, how my ass peeks out from the hem. A grin spreads across my face. Yeah, Ryan’s going to lose it.

When I step into the master suite, the sliding doors are open.

“Ry?” I call out.

“I’m out here,” his voice comes from the patio.

I follow the sound and find him stretched out on the sofa lounger, joggers riding low on his hips, shirtless, beer in hand. There’s a glass of wine waiting for me on the side table, condensation trailing down the stem.

“Saved you a seat.” He pats the space beside him.

I snuggle up next to him, his arm immediately wrapping around me, anchoring me in place. His hand finds my skin, his palm resting on my bare ass like it belongs there.

“Whatever this is,” he murmurs, his thumb lazily skimming the edge of my slip. “I like it.”

His fingers brush lightly over my skin, sending tiny sparks through me as we take in the lush scenery. Everything feels perfect—this place, this moment, him. And it’s impossible not to compare it to where I was just two months ago. The difference is staggering. The difference in men. In happiness. In me.

Being with Ryan has unearthed a version of myself I didn’t even know existed—a better version. People always say to find someone who makes you the best version of yourself, but I never truly believed it was possible. No one had ever done that for me before. If anything, I liked myself more when I wasn’t with Brad.

I smile to myself, letting my finger trace the contours of Ryan’s rippling muscles, appreciating every groove—a testament to the man he is. Ryan doesn’t half-ass anything. He pours himself fully into what matters to him, and his body is no exception.

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