The vendor scoops two generous cones — strawberry, because Flavio's boutonnière-compass had pointed there all along, and pale lemon for Aurora, who accepts hers with the composure of someone receiving a state gift. He tucks the battered boutonnière into his own buttonhole with quiet ceremony. Then the twins turn, cones aloft like twin torches, and begin the march back up the cobblestones at full toddler speed — a committed, listing wobble. Behind them, the golden dog watches their retreat with enormous longing. Above on the harbour wall, the gull has abandoned the bread roll entirely and is now tracking the gelato with an expression of serious intent. Flavio's strawberry tilts at a concerning angle as they round the corner past the fishing net. Aurora licks hers with methodical focus. The church waits at the top of the hill, the door is very heavy, and the ceremony is still underway — and two small figures are approaching it, dripping quietly onto the cobblestones, with absolutely no plan for what comes next.