Maid of Honor Claims the Groom

I never meant for any of this to happen. At least that’s what I told myself as I stood barefoot on the moonlit terrace of the honeymoon villa in Bali, the warm night air thick with frangipani and salt. My name is Emily. I’ve been Leah’s best friend since we were six years old. I was her maid of honor yesterday when she married Ryan in a ceremony so beautiful it hurt to watch. And now, less than twenty-four hours into their marriage, Leah was on a red-eye flight back to Sydney because her father had suffered a serious heart attack. She’d begged me to stay behind and keep Ryan company so the honeymoon suite wouldn’t go to waste.

I should have said no.

Instead I poured us both another glass of the chilled Veuve Clicquot the resort had left in a silver bucket. Ryan stood at the railing in a white linen shirt unbuttoned at the throat, the fabric glowing against his tanned skin. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with that easy, crooked smile that had twisted my stomach for years. I’d watched him fall in love with my best friend. I’d smiled at their engagement party. I’d helped Leah pick out her wedding lingerie. And every single time he looked at me too long, I felt it. That dark, shameful pull low in my belly.

Tonight the pull had teeth.

“Poor Leah,” he murmured, staring out at the black ocean. “She was crying so hard when she left.”

“I know.” I stepped closer, the silk of my deep emerald bridesmaid dress whispering against my thighs. The dress was backless, held up by tiny straps that kept slipping off my shoulders. “She told me to make sure you didn’t drink alone.”

Ryan turned to look at me. His eyes were darker than usual, pupils blown wide. “You’ve always taken such good care of her, Em. Of both of us.” His voice had dropped an octave. “Even when you probably wanted to kill me for stealing your best friend.”

My pulse hammered against my throat. The champagne buzzed in my blood. I set my glass down on the wide teak railing and met his gaze.

“I never wanted to kill you, Ryan.”

He took one slow step toward me. Then another. The air between us crackled.

“What did you want, then?” he asked, low and rough.

I swallowed. The truth had been rotting inside me for three years. Tonight the rot felt like honey.

“You,” I whispered. “I wanted you.”