Uncle Gianni lowers Flavio to the floor with the solemnity of a man completing a great diplomatic act. Flavio lands, considers the boutonnière in his hand, and makes his decision with impressive speed: he pins it to his own chest — sideways, but firmly — and squares his shoulders. He is official now. The badge says so. He falls into step beside Aurora. She doesn't look at him, but she makes a half-inch of room. The two of them proceed together — Aurora scattering petals with the quiet authority of someone born to the role, Flavio marching at her shoulder like a pint-sized honour guard who has assembled himself from scratch in under thirty seconds. The congregation freezes in collective, enchanted silence. At the front, someone begins to cry. They are not sorry about it. Uncle Gianni adjusts his pocket square and decides that this is exactly how weddings are supposed to go.