There were four hundred and twenty three guests congratulating the happy couple. There were seventeen shades of puce- puce (Ophelia was practically having kittens because it clashed with her distinct chartreuse colour theme.) There were two bowls of punches (one not poisoned and one...) And there was one lovestruck girl mooning over her object of affection. Or rather the person, the person she was not engaged to in the slightest.

Sighing miserably Coraline looked over the balcony, staring down at Malia before she twiddled with the key round her neck. It wasn't like it was the end of the world, she really did like Flavia and it was a very sensible match. Flavia's chemistry, Coraline's biology- they made the perfect team. She just couldn't imagine wanting to hold her hand as desperately as she wanted to hold Malia's.

"I think Feely is actually turning purple herself," Coraline called out to Flavia. Trying not to moon over Malia quite so obviously.