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As if summoned by the call of his girl feeling herself, Kofi approaches us, wrapping his arm round her waist from behind and dropping a kiss on her cheek. ‘Enough to eat, actually. Shall we call this whole ting off?’

Aminah’s smile seems to emit spindles of joy across her face now, lighting her up as she playfully swats him. They look amazing together: Kofi looking as sharp as his line-up, with gleaming deep skin and high cheekbones, decked in a sleek deep-navy suit paired with a crisp white button-down, and Aminah is grace and mischief, an angel on a rumspringa from heaven, making earthly men collapse to their knees. Aside from my parents, they have been my personal fairy tale, giving me hope. It’s why, as a surprise, I’ve started making a scrapbook, writing their love story– the plan is to give it to them at their wedding, with the blank pages open, ready for guests to sign and stick Polaroids in.

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful Yoruba princess named Aminah Bakare with excellent taste in couture and a lack of patience for nonsense. . . Then she met the Fresh Prince of the South, Kofi, with excellent taste in women (he only had eyes for her) and wasn’t about nonsense (she was the only thing that made sense to him).

The beautiful thing is that none of it was a lie. I’d been there from the beginning, and they’d adored each other from the moment they set eyes on each other at a stuffy student party in Whitewell University with sticky floors, thumping bass and dozens of other options. Their spirits flowed into the gaps within each other as other spirits flowed into mouths. Aminah had tried to fight it because she was scared of being so open, because she was scared of how easy it was– and at one point it had seemed as if Kofi was tired of waiting for her to fully accept what he had embraced immediately– but in the end, after a little push and pull, their spirits won out, rushing towards each other, over the risk of pain, over Aminah’s stushness and Kofi’s pride, because nothing could be more painful than being without each other. I love their love and I love my friend and I love how Kofi loves my friend and I love how that love wraps around her essence.

Right now, she preens, leaning into his arms before gently shoving him with her elbow. ‘We can’t cancel. Kiki worked way too hard on this.’

I’m a permanent fixture in their relationship, so much so that the two are almosttoocomfortable around me, making me audience to extreme acts of PDA– so I’m not surprised or offended that Kofi doesn’t realise I’m standing right here until now.

When he does, though, he directs his wide beam to me, brotherly and welcoming. ‘TheKilla Keeks!’ he hails, before unwinding his arms from his fiancée to wrap me in a bear hug. ‘You smashed it, my sis. Thank you. This is incredible.’ He drops his voice, muttering quickly, ‘Also, warning, our queen is sensitive tonight– mum and sisters under one roof. You know how it gets. We might have to tag team it.’

I press my lips together in a knowing smile as he releases me, nodding infinitesimally, conspiratorial in our pursuit of protecting the woman we love from herself.

‘It’s no problem,’ I say out loud in double response.

His smile broadens as he stumbles a little on the champagne on the floor. ‘Wait – this from you?’

I frown in slight confusion as Aminah jumps in front of me. ‘Um, yeah! Isn’t that kind of her?’

‘Real kind! Our Chief of Enjoyment. Let me help you with that. Then we’re getting you a glass. I’ll give this to the kitchen.’ Kofi picks up the crate and heads off as I shoot Aminah a quizzical look.

My best friend links an arm through mine and draws me further into the unfilled room. I only see her mum, sisters and a few of Kofi’s cousins– and notably no ex-boyfriends– so we migrate to the corner with ease to stand near the sliding doors to the wraparound balcony.

‘Is there a reason you just lied to your fiancé now? You said you ordered that to my house because it would be complicated to do it to the hotel. . . though now I’m saying it out loud that sounds ridiculous—’

Aminah lowers her voice, eyes wide. ‘It’s notlyingjust. . . a delay of the truth. I ordered extra champagne in case. Using some of the money my parents gave us towards the wedding. And I know Kofi would moan about how we should save it or whatever, and how this engagement party was just supposed to be a “small drink up at the house”, but what’s next? I get married in a barn and we make our wedding toast with mason jars?’ She shudders daintily with deep disgust and waves a hand, as if the thought is too atrocious to even entertain. ‘Like, let’s be serious. My sister’s engagement party was on a yacht off the Amalfi coast. The same one Jay and Bey rented that time! I had to!’

I don’t mention that her sister is also married to a hedge-fund manager. I don’t exactly know what the job entails, but I do know it probably means easy access to Jay and Bey’s love boat.

‘And I could have told you this if we had got dressed together, like we were supposed to. You know that Kofi wasn’t supposed to see me in this outfit before the event– it’s bad luck. The plan was to take two separate cabs from mine, but because you bailed he had to zip me up and we went in the same car, like we were going on a common date!’

Oh, whoa. Kofi was not exaggerating. My girl isonone tonight. She only gets like this when her older sisters have been pirouetting all over her nerves.

She takes a deep breath and continues: ‘Not that I believe in bad luck. I believe in God and no weapon formed against me shall prosper.’ Her manicured hand does a little twirl around her chest that’s in the vague shape of a cross: a flash of pearly white piousness. The same girl who reminded me that there was to be no pork on the menu tonight, ‘obviously’. She’s my favourite Chrislim.

I clear my throat carefully, gingerly venturing into the patented MinahMeltdown.

‘OK, well, first of all, I think that superstition is for the wedding, not the engagement party, anyway, and, second of all, we couldn’t get ready together for the same reason I’m late. I was at the restaurant overseeing your order and making sure they got it perfect. Remember, the notice was shortened and we already had another order today. . .’

Aminah’s eyes soften from mild annoyance to sincere affection, her shoulders sagging from the release of irritation as she pulls me into a tight hug, enveloping me with sweetness and the scent of the Hermes body butter I know she saves for special occasions.

‘Don’t mind me, sis. I’m sorry. I appreciate you– this place is amazing and I’m just hot because my mum has invited, like, a dozen aunties I don’t know even though I very clearly told her the engagement party was really forusand our friends and we only invited our parents because we had to. They havebothweddings! Traditional and white! I couldn’t invite my nail tech because of capacity, but my macan bring the lady she’s sat next toonceat a party? Like, if I knew aunties and uncles were gonna be there, your parents could have come!’

I shake my head and put my hands on her shoulders to calm her down, gently brushing a wayward curl from her face. ‘Well, I wasn’t going to say, but my parentswereinvited by yours. They just couldn’t come tonight because they’re visiting Kayefi in Nottingham. Secondly, I never mind you, but I am going to need you to calm down and get it together. Count to ten. Regular ten, not Beyoncé countdown ten– we’re short on time. More guests will be arriving soon.’

Aminah slows her breath and closes her eyes as I grab her tiny hands and breathe with her. ‘Now, we’re going to enjoy tonight, yeah? You’re marrying the love of your life– second to me, of course – and this is the launch party. It’s stage one of this process and we can’t lose our shit now. Gotta save our stamina. Let’s at least wait till Kofi’s mum insists on serving Ghanaian jollof at the wedding.’

Her eyes flutter open and she bites at her smile. ‘Not funny!’ Exhaling heavily, she nods to herself. ‘OK. I’m better now. Thank you.’ She assesses, then appraises me, a smile growing into a glitter on her face. She smacks my butt and squeals, ‘Oh my gosh. How did I miss this? You lookfine–you’re about to send me into another panic attack! Did Bakari glitch when he saw you? Did he short circuit? Did he say you looked like an ancient Queen of Nubia as steam left his ears?’ She frowns and stops, as if something just occurred to her. ‘Wait. Where is he? I thought he was still coming despite your R&R.’

I stare at her for a few seconds, putting that sentence through my Minah Translator. R&R. . . Ross & Rachel. . . On A Break.I attempt to manufacture some breeze into my voice, pray that Aminah is too wrapped up in her night to detect the counterfeit nonchalance. ‘Um. He couldn’t make it– work, you know? No big deal. He sends an apology. And apparently he also sent some wine ahead here.’

‘Oh!’ She holds still for a fraction of a second before she nods and pushes out a smile. On the surface, she buys it– or she’s biding time. Either way, I’m grateful. ‘I was wondering where that case came from. Expensive shit. Tell him I said thanks. I’ve had some already. Tastes like what I imagine Roman emperors used to drink. Tech money is sweet.’ She clears her throat, catching herself, and eyeing me warily. ‘You OK, though? Because if you’re not I’mmafinishthat low-rent Mark Zuckerberg.’

Unthinkingly, I reply, ‘Mark Suckerberg.’ Aminah grins. ‘Oh good, a pun. That’s my Killa Keeks. So you really are all right.’

‘I am. We will be fine. I’m sure of it.’ Kind of. ‘And I was just riffing on the pun opportunity. He doesn’t actually suck, OK? I don’t want you to fuck him up, but, out of curiosity, how would you fuck him up, babes?’