Phoenix:
“I have to get changed into something more comfortable,” I whispered, voice low and teasing against Ryder’s ear. His breath hitched—just the way I wanted it to.
“Okay,” he said, but it came out half-prayer, half-choke.
I smirked and disappeared into the bathroom, heart racing with anticipation. This was our wedding night. But I wasn’t about to walk out in some lace nightgown or silky lingerie. That wasn’t me—and Ryder didn’t fall in love with a delicate doll.
He fell in love with a wildfire.
I yanked off the white dress, careful but quick, and slipped on a fresh Phoenix tee—one of the newer ones with my signature blue flames curling around the edges, the logo bold across the chest. It was oversized, soft from a thousand washes, and smelled like my studio. I tugged on my favor
