Miriam had on a gold brocade suit, which she’d worn when accepting an award as Accountant of the Year; she’d had it reconfigured for today with the addition of blooming pink chiffon roses everywhere. She looked great, like a garden party in heaven.

“I love all of you,” I told the group. “And I’d never get married without every one of you being part of this.”

“Of course not,” said Miriam. “It wouldn’t be legal.”

Dane, who’d been incredibly supportive of Abby’s wedding mania, and who was wearing the fashion-forward tux from a Japanese designer that Abby had picked out, led a toast, saying, “What a cool day. I thought just marrying Abby would be kick-ass, but here’s to the dudes!”

While I’d wanted to walk to the abbey, as a man of the people, or a person of the people, Abby and Miriam had insisted that I ride in the traditional gilded royal carriage drawn by six white horses wearing feathered headpieces. The streets were thronged, and I’d asked Abby and Miriam to ride with me. They were in their element, waving to the cheering, whistling crowd and calling out, “You look gorgeous, too!” “Thank you for being here!” and “Can you believe this?”

I couldn’t decide if I felt like some new, progressive Disney prince or more like Jiminy Cricket, but I was fine either way. I’d feared that, given my history, no one would show up, or people would understandably jeer me, but this wasn’t the case. Because while the English people could be skeptical, once they’d established that Edgar was happy, they were all in, at least for today. The shops were brimming with souvenirs, including tea caddies, dish towels, commemorative platters and pillow shams, all with often unrecognizably retouched images of Edgar and me standing side by side. Conservatives assured one another we were just staunch coworkers.

“It’s like the best kind of fairy tale,” Abby told me, assessing a window stacked with Edgar-and-Carter bobbleheads, “because it’s got a fifty-percent-off sale table.”

The night before, Edgar and I had sponsored five free concerts at venues across the city, with pop and hip hop stars performing along with local bands, solo artists and choirs, all celebrating the country’s diversity. At the abbey, in addition to hymns, we had a children’s chorale, a fifty-member all-female a cappella group, the Brighton Gay Men’s Chorus and a klezmer band. The pews were filled with dignitaries seated among postmistresses, fast-food workers, schoolteachers and health care aides, all of whom had entered a lottery (Edgar and I had also made sure to invite Harriet and Edith, from the Baking Jubilee). We had a no-gifts policy, except for donations to the Royal Clean Water Initiative and a list of global charities.