The evening of Laurel Lance and Ted Grant’s wedding, no one gets punched in the face. No one gets kidnapped or held at gunpoint. No one even gets asked to leave for throwing back too much goldschlager and taking out the buffet table.
It is an altogether civilized affair, which is impressive given how many of the attendees can boast extensive rap sheets, concealed weapons, or small children.
Felicity watches a pack of them dash past the open bar, giggling and dodging grownups. Her three-year-old straggles at the tail end, stubby legs working as fast as they can. She is surprised to see that his tiny bowtie is not yet askew.
“Elaine Michaels Diggle!” she calls out.
The ringleader turns around with an expression strongly reminiscent of her father when Lyla is angry with him.
“No running inside. There’s a whole garden out there.” And all the picture-taking is over, so a little dirt can’t matter now.