Outside the side door, the hill pitches cheerfully toward the harbour, where the afternoon light is performing small miracles on the water. The Observer sets Flavio down — an error whose consequences are immediate, since Flavio's legs are operational and oriented downhill — and recalibrates, securing both twins firmly by the hand. Aurora descends with the unhurried authority of someone who planned this excursion all along. Flavio waves the boutonnière at every seagull in range. Halfway down the path, a small golden dog materialises from behind a stone wall, brass bell chiming on its red collar, and joins the procession with the conviction of someone who has been assigned to this exact mission. By the time the little parade reaches the waterfront, the reception restaurant is deep in preparation: white lights, elaborate napkins, the smell of something involving butter, and — at the terrace's sunlit edge — a gelato cart standing in a posture of cheerful optimism. Flavio stops dead. Aurora stops dead. The Observer reads both faces and understands, with perfect clarity, that the next problem has already selected itself.