The standoff lasts eleven seconds, which is approximately eleven years in toddler time. Nobody breathes. The gull regards Flavio with the unhurried calm of an apex predator assessing a rival — tilting its enormous head one way, then the other. Flavio holds perfectly still, boutonnière raised, chest fully inflated, radiating the solemn authority of someone who has been doing this job his entire life. Then, with impeccable timing, the gull simply opens its wings, steps off the arch, and sails back out through the side window in one long, dignified arc — as though it had somewhere more important to be. The congregation exhales. Aurora slowly closes her fist; one final birdseed lands with a tiny ceremonious tick on the tile. Up at the altar, the bride and groom exchange their vows without missing a single word, apparently oblivious to the diplomatic incident just resolved in the aisle. Uncle Gianni blows his nose thunderously into his pocket square. Everyone pretends it is emotion.