Brayden's POV
My wife was a lightweight.
I’d suspected it after she’d finished her second drink but by the time she was halfway through her third, it became painfully obvious. Larissa was drunk.
Not tipsy. Not pleasantly buzzed. Drunk.
The scene before me looked like a Renaissance painting come to life – soft, flushed, and utterly unconcerned with the world around her. She was sprawled on the couch, one leg tucked beneath her, her hair now free from all the pins that held it up. She held her glass loosely, swirling the whiskey in the crystal glass, oohing and aahing at how the light caught in the amber liquid.
The most surprising aspect of all this, however, was the brothers who hadn’t left her side in the past hour. Pluto had his massive head resting on her lap, his tail thumping laz
