Juno and Damien's wedding had forty-three people.
This was exactly what Juno had said it would have and exactly what Damien had put in the spreadsheet and the spreadsheet had been correct about everything so nobody was surprised.
The venue was a converted warehouse in East London that Juno had found, assessed, rejected, reconsidered, and accepted over the course of six weeks. It had exposed brick and high ceilings and large windows that let in the specific quality of light that Juno required from any space he spent significant time in.
Damien had noted, during the reconsideration phase, that the structural integrity was excellent.
Juno had looked at him.
Damien had looked at Juno.
They had booked it the following morning.
Juno wore something that was specifically, deliberately not a suit.
Dark trousers. A jacket that was technically a jacket but had been tailored in a way that communicated a point of view. A pocket square that matched nothing and everything simultaneously.
