The Real Best Man: Part 4 — The Whole World, Crashing Down

I’m falling for you.

The words hit me, cracking the careful armor I had built around my heart. He deserves someone who is 100% sure.

Jessica’s voice was a ghost, mocking me. I wasn’t sure. I was fractured, torn in two, and this man, this impossible, forbidden man, was holding one half of me in his hands.

And in that moment, I didn’t care about the consequences.

I didn’t care about Chloe’s perfect wedding or Marcus’s kind, complicated heart or my own carefully constructed career.

All I cared about was the truth I saw in Rhys’s eyes, a truth that mirrored the terrifying, exhilarating feeling that had taken root in my own soul.

Overwhelmed, undone, I surged forward.

It wasn’t a choice; it was a surrender.

My hands came up to fist in the front of his jacket, pulling him down to me as I crashed my lips against his. The kiss wasn’t soft or tentative. It was a desperate, hungry collision. It was all the pent-up frustration, all the stolen glances, all the unspoken words pouring out of me at once. It was a cry for help and a declaration of war.

He responded instantly, his mouth claiming mine with a ferocity that stole my breath. One of his hands tangled in my hair, tilting my head back, while the other slid around my waist, yanking me flush against the hard lines of his body.

I could feel the thud of his heart against my chest, or maybe it was mine. I couldn’t tell where I ended and he began.

We were lost. Lost in the dim hallway, lost in the heat and the desperation, lost in a moment that was both a beautiful beginning and a catastrophic end. The muffled sounds of the party faded into nothingness. There was only this. Only us.

A soft gasp from the end of the hall cut through the haze.

It was barely audible, but it was as loud as a gunshot.

My eyes flew open. Over Rhys’s shoulder, framed in the doorway that led back to the bar, stood two figures. The strobing lights from within cast them in silhouette, but I knew them instantly.

Jessica. And Lauren, another one of Chloe’s bridesmaids.

Time froze. Rhys must have felt me stiffen, because his lips stilled against mine. He pulled back slowly, his brow furrowed in confusion, but he didn’t have to ask. The answer was in my wide, horrified eyes. He followed my gaze.

Jessica’s hand was pressed to her mouth, her expression a devastating mix of shock and profound disappointment. Lauren just stared, her jaw slack, her eyes wide as saucers, taking in the scene—me, the wedding planner, locked in a passionate, illicit embrace with the bride’s brother and best man, less than a week before the wedding.

No one moved. No one spoke.

The only sound was the incessant, mocking beat of the music from the party, a soundtrack to the exact moment my entire world came crashing down.

Chapter 42: The Gathering Storm

The cavernous ballroom of The Astoria felt different in the harsh light of day.

Last night, in the smoky haze of the bar, everything had been muted, softened at the edges.

Here, under the glare of the recessed lighting and the unforgiving morning sun, every flaw was exposed.

Including, it seemed, my own.

My head throbbed in a painful rhythm that matched the click of my heels on the polished marble floor.

A clipboard, my usual shield of professionalism, felt flimsy and useless in my hands. I’d triple-checked the floral arrangements, confirmed the revised seating chart, and coordinated with the caterer, all on autopilot.

My body went through the motions of being Ava Morgan, meticulous and unflappable wedding planner, while my mind was a maelstrom of guilt, fear, and the ghost of Rhys’s lips on mine.

I’m falling for you.

His words echoed in the empty space where my composure used to be.

And my answer, a desperate, soul-searing kiss, had been seen.

The bridal party was late.

The rehearsal was scheduled to start in ten minutes, and only Marcus and Rhys were here, standing by the altar space, speaking in low, serious tones.

Rhys caught my eye, his expression a complicated mix of concern and the same raw yearning I felt churning in my gut.

He took a half-step toward me, but I gave a tiny, almost imperceptible shake of my head. Not here. Not now. My stomach twisted itself into a tighter knot.

Then, the doors to the ballroom swung open.

Chloe arrived, not in a flurry of bridal excitement, but with the cold, deliberate calm of a gathering storm. Jessica and Lauren, the other bridesmaid from last night, flanked her like sentinels.

Chloe’s smile was a slash of crimson lipstick that didn’t reach her eyes.

Her gaze swept the room, cataloging the lilies, the draped silks, the placement of the string quartet’s chairs, before finally landing on me.

The temperature in the room dropped ten degrees.

Chapter 43: The Execution

“Ava,” Chloe said, her voice dangerously sweet. “Everything looks… adequate. ”

“Chloe,” I replied, forcing a professional smile. “Glad you could make it. We can run through the processional as soon as everyone is ready. ”

She glided toward me, her silk dress whispering against the marble. “Oh, I’m ready,” she murmured, her eyes flicking over my shoulder to where Rhys stood, his posture suddenly rigid. “I’m more than ready. I had a very… illuminating evening. Didn’t we, Jessica?”

Jessica, who had been so kind and gentle in the dressing room, now smirked. A cruel, triumphant little twist of her lips. “Definitely eye-opening. ”