Toby grins and grabs something that's probably supposed to be an hor d'oeuvre but honestly looks more like a woodchip with gunky pebbles on top and feeds it to the baby goblin he's bouncing in his lap. "Oh, come on, mom," he laughs as she yelps away from the fiery shoving a platter of champagne in her face. "At least Sarah only meant this kind of fairytale when she talked about her wedding."

His mother blanched. "I honestly would have preferred it if she'd been a bridezilla."