Uncle Gianni, bearing his two-child cargo with the focused dignity of a man defusing something adorable, begins the thirty-foot pilgrimage to the family pew. He sidles. He turns sideways. He murmurs 'piano, piano' to Flavio, who responds by leaning approximately four centimetres closer to the moustache and narrowing his eyes in the manner of a very serious researcher. He can feel the small fingers hovering — hovering — at a distance measured not in centimetres but in milliseconds. He drops sideways into the pew just in time. The cushion takes all three of them. Aurora, settled against his right arm, immediately begins braiding her boutonnière into his pocket square. Flavio, on the left, extends one decisive finger. Contact. The moustache — magnificent, silver, walrus-grade — turns out to be extremely soft, and Flavio's face arranges itself into an expression of profound scientific satisfaction. Up at the front, the organist strikes the opening chord, and the ceremony begins.