The Observer meets Aurora's enormous betrayed eyes and, with the deliberate gravity of a diplomat handing back a passport, opens their hand. Aurora blinks. She examines the open palm for one long suspicious moment — then, accepting terms, opens her own fist. The seeds cascade. The gull launches off the flower arch with a sound like a small explosion: all wing, all indignation, all yellow beak. The congregation's reaction is somewhere between a scream and a cheer. Flavio sweeps his boutonnière wand in a magnificent arc, absolutely certain he has personally done this. The gull banks once, swoops at the scattered seeds, and exits through the same side window it arrived in, taking half a white rose as a souvenir. In the ringing silence, the priest clears his throat. The bride is laughing so hard she is crying. The groom's eyebrows have completed their ascent. The ceremony, against all probability, continues.