What irks her to no end isn't the fact that she's left out—because, to be perfectly honest, marriage isn't something she's ever really considered a possibility; she's not marriage material, not the kind to walk down the aisle or even just stand at the end of it, and definitely not the kind to be a wife, god forbid. No, it doesn't bother her that Chlo and Bree are the ones getting married, cause, really, it makes sense that it'd be them two. What bugs her is that she can't marry them, even if she wanted to. Because god forbid three responsible, consenting adults be in a relationship together, let alone be married. What kills her is that she knows they'd both love for her to marry them, both of them, legally. Sure, they're technically—in reality—engaged, all three of them, and sure, they'll have a ceremony and all of that, and it'll mean a hell of a lot more than the "wedding" Chlo and Bree will probably grit and bear their teeth through, and sure, in her head—in their heads—they'll all three be married. But it won't be legal. It won't be recognized. And, even though she really doesn't care, because who needs a piece of paper to tell her who she's with, she knows that they do. And so, it pisses her off that they can't, that she can't. Because even though she cringes at the very idea of her getting married, she'd do it, for them. She'd still call herself the mistress, and she'd probably laugh hysterically down the aisle just to make it less…icky, but she'd do it, and she'd love it, for them.
So it's not fair. Totally not fair. And she can see it in their eyes sometimes how unfair it really is.
But then Bree curls up beside her at night, breathing a soft, warm sigh directly into her face, and Chlo squirms her way into the middle, unintentionally tickling them the whole way and making all three of them giggle. And Chlo props herself up on her elbows and kisses them both, sometimes so softly it steals her breath away and sometimes so hard she's surprised she never has a bruise in the morning. And then Chlo plops down onto the bed, comfortably snuggled between them, and always, always, always falls asleep within seconds—they're envious some nights, both of them, that she can sleep so easily and so deeply, because they both have insomnia. But on those nights, they're content to watch her sleeping peacefully, eyes gliding over each other's faces occasionally in the dark, wrapped around their favorite redhead. And it's those nights that she doesn't care that it's unfair. Because they're soft and comfortable, and Chlo somehow manages to warm them both like the space heater that she is, and she knows that this is where she belongs—and not just because Chlo gets so clingy when she's asleep that even if she tried pulling away, she'd get trapped in a ginger death grip.