“You know,” Barty said lazily from the couch, dodging a flying lipstick tube with minimal effort, “most brides cry before their weddings. You’ve chosen violence instead.”

Lily didn’t even turn around.

Another object flew.

Barty barely caught the compact powder this time.

“Lily—”

A shoe.

“—please—”

A hairbrush.

He doubled over laughing.

“LILS—” he wheezed, clutching his stomach. “You’re going to run out of objects eventually.”

Lily finally turned, arms crossed.

“You say that like the room isn’t full of projectiles.”

She grabbed a makeup sponge and threw it.

It hit Barty square in the forehead.

He collapsed further into the couch, cackling.

“God,” he gasped, wiping tears from his eyes. “Pandora is marrying a menace.”

“Pandora,” Lily snapped, pointing at him, “is marrying the love of her life. Which is very different from the clown currently sitting on my couch.”

“Your couch?” Barty scoffed. “I’m the best man. This is my couch.”

“You are the best man, not the best couch owner.”

He opened his mouth to argue but Lily had already turned back to the mirror again.

The room quieted a little.

For the millionth time that morning, Lily adjusted the sleeves of her dress.

It was enormous. Puffy. Layers of white and soft gold fabric spilling out around her like she had been swallowed by a cloud.

She stared at herself.

“Do you think this dress is still me?”

Barty’s hands immediately shot up.

“Lily—”

Too late.

A tube of mascara hit him in the shoulder.

He wheezed again, curling forward, laughter shaking his entire body.

“Lils,” he said once he could breathe again, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes. “Everyone and their mothers have said what I am again about to tell you.”

He leaned back, finally looking at her properly.

For a second the sarcasm dropped.

His voice softened.

“This dress would be a disgrace on anybody but you.”

The tears from laughing still clung to his lashes, making his eyes look far gentler than usual.

Lily studied him.

Long and suspicious.

Barty shifted slightly under the scrutiny.

Then something clicked behind Lily’s eyes.

The kind of quiet, dangerous realization that usually preceded chaos.

“Oh no,” Barty muttered.

Lily stepped away from the mirror.

The dress swished dramatically as she crossed the room and plopped down beside him on the tiny couch.

The couch made a noise like it was reconsidering its life choices.

Barty was now half buried under tulle.

“When are you proposing to Rosie?”

The question dropped into the room like a grenade.

Barty blinked.

Once.

Twice.

“Whatever do you mean?” he said smoothly.

Except his voice jumped an entire octave and he suddenly found the ceiling extremely interesting.

Lily stared at him.

“Barty.”

“Lily.”

“You’re sweating.”

“I am not.”

“You are absolutely sweating.”

He wiped his forehead.

“…shut up.”

Lily leaned back against the couch with a triumphant little hum.

“You’ve been dating Evan for six years.”

“Five and a half.”

“Six.”

“Five and a half,” he insisted.

“Barty.”

“Yes, dear?”

“You look at him like he personally invented oxygen.”

Barty scoffed.

“I do not.”

“You absolutely do.”

“I look at many people that way.”

“You threatened a waiter for flirting with him.”

“He was suspicious.”

“He said ‘enjoy your meal.’”

“It was the tone.”

Lily snorted.

Then she leaned forward slightly.

“Do you have a ring already?”

Barty’s head snapped toward her.

“What—no.”

“Liar.”

“I am a pillar of honesty.”

“You once told Pandora the DMV lost her license just to see if she’d cry.”

“She did cry.”

“Barty.”

He groaned, dragging his hands down his face.

“Why are we talking about this on your wedding day?”

“Because,” Lily said sweetly, “I’m getting married and you’re having an existential crisis.”

“I am not.”

“You absolutely are.”

Barty slumped deeper into the couch.

The tulle swallowed him further.

Lily waited.

He sighed.

“…I might have a ring.”

Lily gasped so loudly someone outside the room yelled, “Everything okay in there?”

“YES!” Lily shouted back.

Then she grabbed Barty by the arm and shook him violently.

“YOU HAVE A RING?”

“Stop shaking me, woman, I bruise like a peach.”

“When were you going to tell me this?!”

“I wasn’t,” he said calmly.

“BARTY.”

“I had a plan!”

“Oh this I have to hear.”

“I was going to propose during a meteor shower.”

“That’s actually romantic.”

“I know.”

“When is that?”

“…next August.”

Lily stared at him.

Then she smacked his arm.

“OW!”

“You’re waiting almost a year?!”

“I like dramatic timing!”

“You live with him!”

“All the more reason for suspense!”

Lily grabbed the nearest pillow and hit him with it.

“You’re insufferable!”

“Yet beloved.”

She huffed.

Then her expression softened slightly.

“You’re really going to marry him, aren’t you?”

Barty didn’t answer right away.

For once, he didn’t make a joke.

“…yeah,” he said quietly.

Lily smiled.

Then immediately ruined the moment.

“Good. Because if you break Evan’s heart I’ll push you into traffic.”

Barty snorted.

“Duly noted.”

A knock came at the door.

“Five minutes!” someone called.

Lily stood up slowly, smoothing her dress.

She looked at herself in the mirror again.

Barty watched her.

She still looked nervous.

So he stood up too.

“Well,” he said, straightening his suit. “Time for you to go marry the weirdest woman I’ve ever met.”

Lily grinned.

“You love her.”

“I tolerate her.”

“You cried when she adopted that third cat.”

“It had one eye, Lily!”

She laughed.

Then she hooked her arm through his.

“Ready, best man?”

Barty smirked.

“Always.”

They walked toward the door.

Right before opening it, Lily glanced sideways at him.

“…you’re proposing before next August.”

Barty sighed.

“Blackmail already?”

“Absolutely.”

He opened the door.