Aurora pivots from the seagull disaster with the philosophical ease of someone who has already moved on. Flavio, after one last dignified glare at the flower arch, follows. Together they toddle across the harbour cobblestones toward the gelato cart with tremendous purpose. The young man in the white apron watches their approach. He has served tourists, fishermen, and the occasional confused pelican. He has never been approached by two unaccompanied toddlers in formal wear, one of whom appears to be wielding a flower as a wand. He has absolutely not been briefed on this scenario. Aurora reaches the cart first, rises to her tiptoes, and places both hands on the edge, peering at the flavours with the focus of a seasoned scholar. She frowns. She points at something pistachio-coloured. Flavio draws alongside and presents the boutonnière to the vendor with extraordinary gravity, as though it is legal tender — which, from his perspective, it absolutely is. The vendor looks at the flower. He looks at the twins. Above them, the seagull shuffles along the arch. Somewhere to the left, a dog is still barking.