The boutonnière is already airborne. Uncle Gianni considers his options — all of them involve a scene — and takes the one that doesn't: he lets it be. The ring hymn rises from the organ, warm and full, and Flavio seizes the moment. He conducts. In earnest. The boutonnière sweeps left on the high notes, dips on the low, and holds — trembling with absolute importance — through the long chord that Birgitta milks with everything she has. Three rows ahead, a Swedish grandmother has raised her handkerchief. Two members of the Italian contingent are actively vibrating. Gianni can feel the ripple spreading forward through the pews: not scandal, not chaos, but something warmer and completely unstoppable — all the way to the altar, where it reaches the bride and she smiles. One twin handled. Gianni glances right. Aurora has moved eight centimetres along the pew. Her boutonnière is in her hand. Her eyes have not left the hat.