“Good to meet you, dude,” said Dane, shaking Edgar’s hand—did anyone in England ever call the crown prince “dude”?

“You’re the luckiest fellow,” Edgar told him.

“I am!” Dane said, his arm around Abby.

“He really is,” Abby averred wholeheartedly.

“And Abbs,” I said, gently but firmly, “unless you have something you need Edgar to sign, in blood, isn’t it time for cake?”

There were two cakes, one an eight-tiered, powder blue and magenta rosettes-and-lilies, buttercream-and-rum super structure, and the other only three tiers of a gluten-free, nondairy alternative. And I’m not even mentioning the table with those Christmas-tree-like wire stands stacked with magenta and powder blue cupcakes.

“Not yet,” Abby told us. “First we’re gonna dance!”

As the evening progressed I observed the following things:

• For a guy who’d resisted loosening up at the UN, Edgar was a surprisingly out-there dancer. When we joined Abby, Dane and what my mom termed the “younger people” on the floor, Edgar moved like someone determined to break a sweat and let his limbs do whatever they pleased. I like to think of myself as a great dancer, but Edgar’s what-the-hell whirling made me rethink my patented club-trained cool. We danced like people at a New Jersey wedding, which was much more fun.

• Edgar was willing to eat things I’d never go near. Royals, like politicians, are availed upon to at least sample every possible food and feign enjoyment, but Edgar devoured Abby’s socially aware delicacies, including a meatless sirloin, a cucumber lasagna and flourless mini-donuts decorated to resemble wedding rings. These last items offended me on a primal level, because they tasted like children’s aspirin mixed with construction paper. “They’re actually quite tasty,” Edgar insisted, “if you’ve never had food.”

Edgar was really good at his job. Before the cakes were served, I toasted Abby and Dane, raising my glass of champagne and declaring, “I have the best sister in the entire world and I’m so glad she’s found the perfect guy. And they can never get divorced, because Abby will never be able to find a more incredible wedding gown!” Abby stomped her feet and whistled, and then she surreptitiously jabbed Edgar with a fork, to indicate that he should make a toast as well. He obliged, saying, “I’ve only just met the beautiful bride and her dashing groom, but I’m in awe. Some of those in attendance today may have seen coverage of various royal weddings, but I can only say this: America, and specifically Abby and Dane, do it so much better!”