Page 201 of Sexting My Best Friend's Brothers
“He sent a gift basket,” Asher notes dryly. “He’s afraid of us now. Especially after the SEC raid on Nebula last week. With Markus indicted for corporate espionage and Greg facing federal hacking charges, our market dominance is absolute. The #MyMosaic campaign increased our valuation by three hundred percent. We’re untouchable.”
“We aren’t untouchable,” I correct him, looking out the window at the sprawling green lawn where rows of white chairs are arranged. “We’re just united.”
I look at the crowd gathering below. Harper is in a silk dress, directing the caterers like a drill sergeant. Tessa’s parents are there—her dad looking uncomfortable in a suit, her mom crying already.
And then, there she is. My mother.
She’s sitting in the back row, stiff as a board, wearing sunglasses even though the sun is behind the clouds. She came. I didn’t think she would. I didn’t ask her to. But Harper insisted on sending the invite.
“She’s here,” Owen says, following my gaze.
“She is,” I agree.
“Does it bother you?” Asher asks.
I watch her for a moment. I wait for the old anger, the resentment, the fear proving I’m a disappointment. It doesn’t come.
“No,” I say honestly. “It doesn’t.”
I turn back to my brothers.
“Ready?” I ask.
Owen claps a hand on my shoulder. “Born ready.”
Asher checks his watch. “We are T-minus five minutes to deployment.”
“Then let’s go get married,” I say.
The backyard of the estate is a masterpiece. Asher designed the layout, of course. It’s a natural amphitheater, overlooking the lake, framed by ancient oak trees.
We stand at the altar. Not one groom. Three.
I stand in the center, with Owen on my left and Asher on my right.
The guests whispered as we walked out. A few of the more conservative cousins from Cedar Creek look ready to faint.
I don’t care.
The music changes. The chatter dies.
And then she appears.
Tessa.
My chest tightens.
She’s walking out the French doors of the house, holding her father’s arm. She’s wearing a dress that isn’t white—it’s a soft, pale gold, like champagne. It flows around her, catching the light.
But the most beautiful part isn’t the dress. It’s the bump.
She’s six months pregnant. The twins—Babies A and B, who we now know are a boy and a girl—are making their presence known. Her belly is round and proud, hugged by the silk of her gown.
She’s radiant. As she walks down the aisle, her eyes lock onto ours. She smiles, and it’s that secret, intimate smile belonging only to us.
Her father walks her to the front. He stops. He looks at me. He looks at Owen. He looks at Asher.
He takes a deep breath.
