Uncle Gianni, still holding Flavio under one arm with the easy confidence of a man who has carried many things he did not plan to carry, glances around with the quick, calculating look of someone solving a problem under time pressure. His gaze falls on the ring pillow — cream satin, two gold rings tucked safely in their ribbon loops — sitting on the edge of the front pew where someone has set it down. He reaches over, collects it in his free hand, and without ceremony or explanation, presses it into Flavio's arms. The effect is instantaneous. Flavio looks down at the pillow. He looks at the rings. He looks back at the congregation. Something ancient and ceremonial shifts behind his eyes. He becomes, in the space of one breath, the most serious two-year-old in the history of Swedish-Italian matrimony. His tuft of auburn hair stands at full attention. Aurora, already halfway down the aisle, glances back and gives her brother a single nod of professional acknowledgement. Flavio nods back. Uncle Gianni sets him down, and the two smallest members of the wedding party walk forward together: one strewing petals with magnificent authority, one carrying two gold rings with the focused gravity of a tiny bank guard. The congregation doesn't just smile. They dissolve. In the middle pews, the Hat Lady is already reaching for her handkerchief. The bells have long since stopped, but the church feels like they are still ringing.