Watching three billionaires argue over cufflinks should be a YouTube category.
"The silver is classic," Stephen insisted, holding up links that probably cost more than my rent.
"Gold matches the venue lighting," Titus countered with the seriousness of someone discussing nuclear codes.
"Black. Understated. Professional." Raphael's contribution came with his signature this-is-final tone.
"You're all overthinking," I said from my perch on Stephen's couch, painting my toenails a color called 'Fuck It Pink.' "Amber won't notice your cufflinks. She'll be too busy crying over her mascara."
But watching them coordinate outfits with military precision? Heart eyes emoji didn't even cover it. Three powerful men treating my best friend's wedding like a state dinner because it mattered to me.
The wedding gift shopping had nearly killed me with feelings. They'd found this gorgeous crystal decanter set with matching glasses, engraved with Amber and Bryson's initials and wedding date. Thoughtful. Elegant. The kind of gift that screamed "we have our shit together" while I was over here considering a gift card.
"Small but stylish" was Amber's wedding aesthetic, which translated to forty guests max and decorations that probably required a small country's GDP. No random plus-ones, no obligation invites, just people who actually gave a shit about the couple. My kind of party.
Saturday morning arrived with the kind of sunshine that felt personally ordered by Amber's sheer force of will.
"Champagne before noon is called dedication," Amber announced, already in her robe, already emotional, already perfect.
The bridal suite was chaos orchestrated to look like calm. Five bridesmaids, one stressed photographer, and enough hairspray to damage the ozone. I claimed a corner and tried not to think about how three specific men would react to my dress.
"Show me again," Amber demanded for the fifteenth time, making grabby hands at my phone.
I pulled up the photo from last night—all four of us at dinner, looking suspiciously domestic. Stephen's arm around my waist, Titus's hand on my shoulder, Raphael's fingers tangled with mine.
"I still can't believe you're doing this," she squealed. "My best friend, living her best reverse harem life. It's like fanfiction but with better abs."
"Please don't say that in your speech."
"No promises." She clinked her mimosa against mine. "But seriously, Kota. You look happy. Like, actually happy. Not pretending-everything's-fine happy."
"Yeah," I admitted, throat suddenly tight. "I really am."
"Good. You deserve it. Even if it does make seating charts complicated as fuck."
The ceremony venue was forty minutes outside the city, some restored barn that managed to be rustic and elegant simultaneously. Very Amber. I rode with the bridal party, nervous energy making my hands shake as I fixed my lipstick for the seventh time.
The bridesmaid dress was actually gorgeous—dusty rose that didn't wash me out, cut to show exactly the right amount of everything. Amber had taste when she wasn't drunk.
Standing at the altar, waiting for the music to start, I found them immediately. Front row, groom's side, looking like a GQ spread come to life. Stephen winked. Titus's intensity could've melted steel. Raphael's slight smile made my knees wobble.
Forty guests and somehow they were all I could see.
Then the music changed, everyone stood, and Amber appeared.
"Holy fuck," I whispered, because my best friend looked like she'd stepped out of a fairytale. All ivory lace and delicate beading, hair in soft waves, smile bright enough to blind.
Bryson made this sound—half sob, half laugh—and started crying before she even reached the halfway point. Which made Amber cry. Which made me cry. Domino effect of emotions.
The vows were personal, funny, absolutely them. Amber promised to share her fries sometimes. Bryson promised to pause his games when she needed to vent. They both promised to choose each other, every day, even when the other was being an idiot.
"Especially then," Amber added, making everyone laugh through their tears.
The kiss was movie-perfect. The cheers were deafening. And I got to watch my best friend marry someone who looked at her like she hung the moon.
Post-ceremony was controlled chaos. Photos, hugs, more crying. Then the moment I'd been dreading and anticipating in equal measure.
"So these are the infamous Sullivan brothers," Amber said, dragging Bryson over like she was presenting them at court.
"Infamous seems strong," Stephen charmed, shaking hands with practiced ease.
"You clearly don't know what Dakota's told me," Amber shot back, zero filter as always.
"Should we be concerned?" Titus asked, and fuck if his awkward attempt at social interaction wasn't adorable.
"Extremely," I confirmed. "She knows where all the bodies are buried."
"Metaphorical bodies," I added quickly when Raphael's expression went dangerously still. "Jesus, nobody's actually murdered anyone."
Bryson nearly choked on his champagne.
"I like them," Amber announced. "They match your chaos energy."
The reception was in the barn's main space, all exposed beams and fairy lights and rustic elegance that photographed like a dream. Assigned seating had us at a table with Amber's college friends, who were already three drinks in and ready to interrogate.
"So which one's yours?" Ashley asked, gesturing with her wine glass.
"All of them," I said, because fuck it. In for a penny.
The table went silent. Then—
"Fucking legend," someone whispered, and everyone burst out laughing.
No judgment. No weird looks. Just my people being my people.
Dinner was incredible—Amber had threatened the caterer within an inch of their life to get it perfect. Speeches ranged from hilarious to heartfelt. I managed mine without crying, mostly by staring at a spot above everyone's heads and pretending I wasn't emotionally compromised.
First dance time. Amber and Bryson swayed to something slow and romantic, lost in their own world. Then the floor opened up, and I had decisions to make.
"May I?" Stephen appeared first, hand extended with theatrical flair.
Dancing with Stephen was like being in a rom-com. He led with confidence, spun me with perfect timing, made me laugh with whispered commentary about other dancers.
"Uncle Marcus is definitely drunk," he murmured. "Twenty bucks says he requests the Macarena."
"Thirty says it's the Electric Slide."
"Deal."
Titus cut in next, movements precise but gentle. Dancing with him was quieter, intense in a different way. He didn't speak, just held me close and let the music carry us.
"You okay?" I asked softly.
"Perfect," he said against my ear, and the simplicity of it made my heart skip.
Raphael was last, commanding the space around us like he owned it. Which, knowing him, he probably did somehow.
"You look beautiful," he said simply. "Happy."
"I am," I admitted. "Terrifyingly happy."
"Good. You deserve it."
"Even if it's complicated?"
"Especially then." His hand tightened on my waist. "The best things usually are."
As the night wound down, Stephen pulled me aside during the cake cutting.
"We have a surprise," he said, looking unusually nervous. "Well, more of a suggestion."
"If this is a sex thing at my best friend's wedding—"
"Hotel suite," Titus interrupted, appearing with Raphael. "We booked one. For all of us. If you want."
"Big bed," Raphael added helpfully. "Room service. Privacy."
I looked between them—these three men who'd upended my entire life in the best possible way. Who'd come to my best friend's wedding and charmed everyone. Who were offering me a night away from real life, just us.
"Did you plan this?" I asked.
"Extensively," Stephen admitted. "Titus made spreadsheets."
"I like organization," Titus defended.
"We know, baby," I said, and watched him flush at the endearment.
The send-off was sparklers and cheers and Amber throwing her bouquet directly at my face with sniper precision. I caught it reflexively, then immediately tried to hand it off.
"Nope!" Amber called out. "Universe has spoken! You're next!"
Loading into Raphael's car, Stephen's hand on my thigh, Titus playing with my hair from the backseat, I let myself sink into the contentment of it all.
Not one person had looked at us sideways. Not one snide comment or confused glance. Just acceptance, joy, and the occasional jealous sigh from Amber's single friends.
"Good day?" Stephen asked as we pulled away from the venue.
"Perfect day," I corrected, watching the fairy lights fade in the distance.
"It's not over yet," Raphael promised, and the heat in his voice made me shiver.
Three men who loved me. Friends who supported me. A future that looked nothing like what I'd planned but everything like what I wanted.
Yeah. This story was just getting started.