The wedding was tomorrow. Rehearsal dinner wrapped early—too much champagne, too many toasts, everyone pretending the night wasn’t already slipping sideways. I slipped out to the hotel garden for air. Fairy lights strung through the trees. Pool glowing blue in the dark. Quiet except for crickets and the distant hum of the party.
Then I heard footsteps on the stone path.
Ryan. The groom. Still in his slim-fit rehearsal suit—charcoal gray, tie loosened, top button open. Hair a little messed from running his hands through it all night. He stopped when he saw me leaning against the low wall by the pool.
“Couldn’t sleep either?” he asked. Voice low. Rough around the edges from too many speeches.
I shrugged. Took a slow sip from the beer bottle I’d carried out. “Not tired.”
He stepped close
