Mia's POV
I hadn't expected to feel nervous. But as I adjusted the cutlery for the fourth time and double-checked the pasta, my fingers fidgeted too much for it to be just friendly nerves.
"They're just friends," I muttered under my breath.
I was dressed in a soft wine-red gown Paula had insisted I wear, claiming it brought out my skin tone. My hair was pinned in a loose twist, and I even wore heels—heels—with a light touch of makeup she practically applied herself. Apparently, being a gynecologist with flawless eyeliner was her hidden power.
"Trust me," she had said, applying lip gloss to me like I was some reluctant Barbie. "A little effort never hurts when your husband looks like that."
Fake husband, I reminded myself. But when I caught sight of myself in the mirror, even I had to admit—I looked good.
Paula was already in the kitchen helping with the final touches. She could cook too—her jollof rice was legendary in our intern group back in med school. We made a good team in more ways than one.
The doorbell rang.
Paula grinned. "Let me get it."
I heard the door open, followed by footsteps—two distinctly masculine presences. Ryan and Ezra.
And then silence.
"Mia?" Ryan's voice.
I stepped out, brushing my palms down the fabric of the dress, and caught the way Ryan's gaze froze when it landed on me. His silver eyes flickered from my neckline to my heels, and for the first time in a long time, he didn't have a snide comment ready.
Paula leaned over and whispered, "Bingo."
"Dinner's ready," I said, walking past him as casually as I could manage. I didn't dare look back.
Ezra looked impressed, greeting Paula with an easy smile. "You look great."
She smiled, tilting her head. "You clean up well too, business guy."
They laughed, and we all gathered around the table. Dinner was warm and rich with conversation. Paula and Ezra hit it off easily, tossing jokes like they'd been doing it for years.
Ryan, though, remained unusually quiet—his eyes moving between me and Ezra with faint tension.
When Ezra leaned over to hand me the salad bowl and our hands brushed, Ryan's fork paused mid-air.
"Everything okay?" Paula asked sweetly, clearly noticing.
Ryan gave a thin smile. "Perfect."
I arched a brow but said nothing.
Midway through dessert, Ryan set down his glass of wine and leaned back. "You didn't mention guests were welcome in our home."
My breath caught. "It was a last-minute idea."
He didn't argue. But the word home still lingered between us like something intimate and possessive.
Paula nudged me subtly under the table, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "So domestic."
After dinner, Ryan stayed behind, watching me while I cleaned up.
"You look different tonight," he said quietly from the kitchen doorway.
I turned, arching a brow. "Disappointed?"
A small smirk tugged at his lips. "The opposite, actually. It's… distracting."
That word sat heavy in my chest long after I heard the soft click of his bedroom door closing for the night.