"She didn't call me," Alex calls out as he returns to the kitchen. "Maybe she doesn't have my number."
"Or maybe she knows you're the actual father and blames us for complicating things," Julian suggests, guiding me to the couch.
"I'm so sorry," I say, mortified. "She had no right?—"
"Stop." Tristan sits beside me, taking my hand. "You don't need to apologize for her."
Julian disappears into the kitchen, returning moments later with a glass of water that he hands to me before sitting on my other side.
"I've been researching cribs," Tristan says, nodding toward his open laptop. "There's a Finnish design that has the highest safety rating, but Julian thinks it's overpriced."
"It's not the price," Julian protests. "It's the practicality. Where's the storage? Have you seen how much stuff babies need?"
Their playful bickering over something so domestic makes my throat tight with emotion.
"You two realize we have months before we need a crib?" I ask, my voice wavering slightly.
"Try telling that to Mr. Spreadsheet over there." Julian jerks his thumb toward Tristan. "He's already comparing the merits of sixteen different baby monitors based on signal strength and camera resolution."
"Fifteen," Tristan corrects. "I eliminated one of them because of reported connectivity issues."
A laugh bubbles up from somewhere deep inside me.
"Dinner in ten," Alex calls from the kitchen. "Julian, set the table."
Julian rolls his eyes but stands, dropping a kiss on top of my head before heading to the dining area. The casual domesticity of it all—Alex cooking, Julian setting the table, Tristan researching baby equipment—feels surreal.
"Are we not going to talk about it?" I ask, glancing between them. "The articles? The photographers?"
Tristan squeezes my hand. "We can if you want to. But we already have a plan."
"A plan?"
Alex emerges from the kitchen again, wiping his hands on the dish towel. "My PR team is drafting a simple statement. Nothingdetailed, just acknowledging our relationship and asking for privacy."
"We talked about it earlier," Julian adds, returning from his table-setting duty. "Figured a unified front was better than ignoring it."
"And you're all... okay with this?" I look between them, searching their faces for any signs of doubt or resentment. "Going public with our arrangement?"
"It's not like we have much choice now," Tristan says pragmatically. "But yes, I'm fine with it."
"More than fine," Julian corrects, his usual playful smile in place. "I'm actually enjoying watching society try to wrap its collective mind around us."
Alex approaches, perching on the arm of the couch near me. "The only thing that matters is that you're comfortable with it. We can handle whatever comes our way."
His certainty, matched in the steady gazes of Tristan and Julian, makes something loosen in my chest. After a day of being judged, scrutinized, and criticized, their unwavering support feels like clean air to my lungs.
"My mother wants me to pick one of you and get married," I confess. "She called our relationship 'obscene'."
Julian snorts. "Of course she did."
"Some people are never going to understand what we have," Alex says quietly. "That doesn't mean you're doing anything wrong."
Tristan's arm slides around my waist. "We're figuring this out as we go."
A timer dings from the kitchen and Alex stands. "That's dinner. Hope everyone likes osso buco."
I watch as Alex returns to the kitchen, as Julian finishes setting the table, as Tristan closes his laptop with one final glance at a safety comparison chart. The scene is so beautifullyordinary, so perfectly imperfect. These three extraordinary men, each powerful in his own right, moving around each other in this space we're creating together.
