My Husband Took His Best Friend on Our Honeymoon

Bryan texted me the dinner location at five in the afternoon. No apology. No explanation for ditching me at the airport. Just an address: *The Ivy, Covent Garden. Seven o'clock. Don’t be late.*

I showed the screen to Liam. He glanced at it, his expression unreadable, and tucked his phone into his jacket pocket.

"Let's go," he said quietly.

We arrived right at seven. The restaurant was warm and buzzing with soft jazz and the clinking of crystal glasses. The host led us toward a leather booth in the back.

I spotted them immediately.

Bryan and Halle were sitting side by side, leaned in close. Halle was throwing her head back in a bright laugh. Her manicured hand rested possessively on Bryan’s forearm, her fingers stroking the fabric of his sleeve. Bryan was grinning, his eyes fixed on her face.

They looked like newlyweds on their honeymoon.

A sharp ache hit my ribs, but it vanished the second Liam stepped up beside me. His shoulder brushed mine, solid and warm. I took a steady breath, smoothed down the front of my black dress, and walked to the table.

"Hi, Bryan," I said clearly.

Bryan looked up. His grin was halfway off his face when his eyes traveled past me.

His whole body went rigid. His smile froze into a flat, ugly line.

Liam stood beside me, effortless and commanding. In his tailored dark charcoal suit, he made the crowded room seem small. His posture was relaxed, hands resting lightly in his pockets. He looked like old money, sharp edges, and total power.

Halle stopped laughing. Her hand slid off Bryan’s arm as she sat up straight. Her eyes narrowed, flicking up and down Liam’s frame with greedy, calculating curiosity.

"Saylor?" Bryan stammered, scrambling to stand up. He adjusted his collar, looking small in his wrinkle-free button-down. "Who is this?"

I offered a polite, casual smile. "This is Liam Evans. My childhood best friend. We grew up on the same street. He happens to live in London now, so I invited him to join us."

Liam extended a hand. His watch caught the chandelier light—simple, but unmistakably expensive.

"Nice to meet you, Bryan," Liam said. His voice was deep, smooth, and utterly unimpressed.

Bryan forced a stiff, jerky handshake. I watched Bryan squeeze hard, trying to assert dominance. Liam didn't flinch. His grip was unhurried, firm, and steady. After a second, Bryan wiggled his fingers slightly, his face flushing red as Liam released him without a word.

"And you must be Halle," Liam added, his dark eyes sweeping over her like she was invisible glass.

Halle tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, flashing a sweet, pouty smile. "Guilty. I’m Bryan's best friend."

Liam didn't smile back. He turned away from her and pulled out the chair directly across from Bryan for me. He waited until I sat down, then tucked it in gently before taking the seat beside me.

The waiter appeared immediately with menus.

"Can I start you off with drinks?" the waiter asked.

Bryan cleared his throat, trying to regain control. "Yeah. I’ll have a gin and tonic, and Saylor will take a sweet white wine—"

"Actually," Liam interrupted smoothly, not looking up from his menu. "She’ll have a glass of Sancerre. Very cold. She hates sweet wine."

The waiter nodded. "Right away, sir."

Bryan blinked at me, his jaw tightening. He had ordered sweet wine for me during our entire four-year relationship because he never bothered to remember what I liked.

"Still have good taste, Say," Liam murmured, leaning in slightly. His cologne washed over me—cedar and cool rain.

A tiny flutter stirred in my stomach. "You remembered?"

"I remember everything," Liam replied softly. He gave me a crooked, familiar half-smile that hit me right in the chest. "Like the time you tried to steal Mrs. Gable's sour green apples and got stuck on her wooden fence by your overalls."

I let out an unexpected laugh. It felt bright and real, bubbling up from somewhere deep inside. It was the first time I had laughed like that in years.

"I was eight!" I protested, swatting his arm playfully. "And you left me hanging there for ten minutes while you ate two of them!"

"I needed fuel to carry you down," he said, his eyes crinkling.

Across the table, the atmosphere turned to ice.

Bryan’s knuckles were bone-white against the edge of the mahogany table. His eyes darted between Liam and me, a vein pulsing near his temple. Every time I smiled at Liam, Bryan flinched as if he’d been slapped. He kept reaching for his water glass, drinking fast, his chest heaving with silent agitation.

Halle cleared her throat, trying to break the spell. "So, Liam... what do you do here in London?"

"Finance," Liam replied, dismissing her with a single word. He turned right back to me, reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers brushed against my neck, sending a sudden shiver down my spine. "You looked tired earlier, Say. Make sure you order something heavy."

That was the breaking point.

Bryan slammed his fork down onto his napkin with a loud clatter. Several diners turned to look.

"Didn't know you had a guy best friend you never mentioned, Saylor," Bryan snapped. His voice was sharp, dripping with sour, jealous venom. "Kind of strange to suddenly drag another man to our dinner, don't you think?"

I met his glare across the table. My pulse was steady. My voice was pure, calm innocence.

"Funny," I said softly, tilting my head. "That's exactly how I felt about Halle."

The table went dead silent.

Bryan choked on his next breath. The color drained from his face, leaving him pale and completely speechless. Every excuse he had used on me that very morning—*She's just a friend, why are you so dramatic, why are you so insecure*—echoed in the quiet air between us.

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

Beside him, Halle froze for two agonizing seconds before letting out a high, brittle, too-loud laugh.

"Oh, Saylor!" she trilled, her voice cracking around the edges. "You are just so funny."