Is there anything worse than helping your best friend pick out a wedding dress when you’re a guy?

Yes. Being her maid of honor and also completely, pathetically in love with her.

Harry never planned for this. Not in a million years. And yet, here he is—sitting in a velvet chair surrounded by lace, pearls, and far too many mirrors—watching the love of his life twirl in front of him in white.

They met years ago, when he was still in One Direction. Through a mutual friend. They clicked instantly. Jokes, inside references, all-night conversations about the dumbest things. The kind of friendship that feels like falling into something soft and familiar.

And somewhere along the way, without meaning to, Harry fell for her.

Hard.

Of course, everyone saw it. Gemma. His bandmates. Even strangers on the internet. Everyone told him to say something. That it was obvious. That she probably felt the same way.

But Harry? He chickened out. Every. Single. Time.

And now? Well… now she’s marrying someone else.

She introduced him to Luca a year and a half ago. An Italian film director who’s charming and sophisticated and painfully handsome. Six months ago, they got engaged. Two months from now, they’re getting married in a picturesque Tuscan villa. With vineyards. And string quartets. And gelato carts. Kill me.

Harry is the maid of honor. Of course he is. He gave a very heartfelt, very supportive speech when she asked him. Said yes through a smile that almost cracked his soul open.

Now he’s here. In Florence. Going dress shopping with her and her bridesmaids. Holding up veils, giving opinions on silhouettes, pretending not to die a little every time she says the words “my wedding”.

He’s smiling. He’s being a good friend. He’s making jokes. But deep down?

He’s losing it.

And the worst part?

She has no idea.