Archive of Our Own

"I can't imagine getting married in a place like this."

This was always going to be a loaded investigation. Phoenix was only a little surprised when the room went dark, and five sets of chains and locks came slamming down around Edgeworth. Marriage was definitely a precarious topic for the formal, repressed man. Nonetheless, that statement seemed honest enough: The Flying Chapel was gaudy, gimmicky, and definitely not to Edgeworth's taste. He was fairly sure Edgeworth would not have chosen it unless it was the last venue on Earth, and perhaps not even then.

Even more surprising was the number: Five seemed excessive for relationship gossip, however embarrassing or personal. He'd seen literal murders guarded by fewer locks. Even with all his poker experience, he wasn't quite able to suppress the startled expression that flashed across his face.

To his side, Edgeworth turned to him with a furious glare, tailcoat swishing. "I thought we agreed not to pry into each other's secrets with that magic rock!"

Damn, I let my guard down. "Hey, I wasn't trying!" Phoenix raised his hands disarmingly. You were the one who said—"

"How many?" Edgeworth interrupted.

"Erm. . . five." Phoenix admitted with a grimace. His mind was already racing through the implications: Five was a secret of life-altering gravity. For that many locks, it had to run deeper than generic or theoretical opinions on venue decor. Phoenix mentally ran through the list of people it could impact. Franziska wouldn't have disowned him for anything (except perhaps literal murder). Edgeworth was not close to many, and in fact, the closest friend the man had was Phoenix himself, and Edgeworth would know by now that Phoenix wasn't about to begrudge him either, not in any permanently relationship-ruining way, not after everything they'd been through together.

Turn your thinking around, Phoenix coached himself. What possible ruin could Edgeworth have to fear from his secret, besides judgement?

Edgeworth flinched, clearly having run through the same train of thought himself and come to the same conclusion. And as Phoenix's thoughts slowly caught up, and his eyes widened—

"I'm madly in love with you," Edgeworth blurted, trembling and deathly pale.

To Phoenix's shock, not a single lock broke.

*

"I don't understand," Phoenix gasped. "That's. . . can't be."

Edgeworth's shoulders slumped in defeat. "I'm sorry, Wright. I hadn't meant to ever tell you, knowing you were unlikely to reciprocate my feelings. Even now, when forced to reveal my deepest secret, I had hoped. . . but I understand, I will never mention this to you again—"

"Edgeworth!" Phoenix said loudly, interrupting the rambling speech. He pointed absurdly at the locks—locks that only he could see. "That's not it! All the locks are still intact."

"I—ah," Edgeworth furrowed his brow, seeming to grow more anxious. "All of them?"

"Every last one. There's something else you're not telling me—five more things, and I can't imagine what would be so much of a deeper secret than this."

"I've. . . held deeper secrets before," Edgeworth murmured.

"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?" Phoenix asked in alarm. "Now I'm getting really worried. Are you being charged with murder again?"

"What? I—no!"

"Oh god, are you dying?"

"Who among us isn't dying?" Edgeworth scoffed. "To answer your question, no! I'm not dying any faster than you are!"

"Oh, good. Then what could it be? Let me think," Phoenix paced the petal-strewn room. "Could you repeat what you said just then, right before the locks came up?"

"Hmm, all right," Edgeworth sighed. "I said, This investigation has revealed a nightmare of hidden opportunities to collude or conceal evidence. We'll be lucky to get out by midnight. Not to mention the design on every aspect is horribly generic. I can't imagine getting married in a place like this."

"And that was when the locks showed up," Phoenix said thoughtfully. "That last sentence—it's not about your feelings for me, it's about your feelings towards weddings. But I was under the impression that marriage was the last thing from your mind. I mean, you've never mentioned liking or seeing anyone. I doubt you've even been on a date."

"Ah, I. . . well. . . it's unimportant, but perhaps it will set your mind at ease," Edgeworth sighed in resignation. "The truth is, I'm not as completely distanced from marriage as I may have led you to believe. You see. . . I have gone on a date."

A lock shook but did not break. Phoenix eyed it skeptically. "Hardly a lock-worthy secret. Was there something unusual about this date?"

Edgeworth turned away, and the words came out barely audible. "It was with you."

"What?" Phoenix yelped a bit too loudly, causing the Flying Chapel's culinary staff to look at him sharply. "Sorry," he haphazardly called over his shoulder. "We. . . we've been on a date? When?"

"Ah, do you remember the Prosecutors New Year Gala? It went like this. . . ."

*

"Wright, will you accompany me to the Prosecutors New Year Gala?" Edgeworth asked, perfectly calm and formal, handing him a crisp invitation on some kind of undoubtedly-expensive matte cardstock. "As the architect behind the successful jurist system, you will surely be a prominent figure in the legal world for years to come, and there are many who are eager to make your acquaintance."

"Um, thanks? But you know I don't have a knack for. . . erm. . . ." Pompous peacocks sounded rude. So did sticks in the mud. "Very formal settings," Phoenix settled on, diplomatically.

It was true: Phoenix was casual and did not know the salad fork from the dessert fork. Phoenix was incapable of leaving the place settings at rest, always finding himself having snagged a fork like a possessed gremlin and fidgeting with it. Phoenix did not keep up with polo, or the opera, or whatever it was that posh prosecutors discussed over hors d'oeuvres. On that note, Phoenix could neither spell nor pronounce the things; having been mocked one time for saying horse divorce was enough for a lifetime.

"It's or-derv," Edgeworth sighed. "And the prosecutors will find you charming—"

"They won't, and you know it," Phoenix interjected.

"Well, I find you quite charming. And I know that won't convince you, so I'll make it worth your while." He leaned in conspiratorially. "I've talked the planning committee into putting Eldoon's fanciest noodles on the menu."

"No! You didn't!"

Edgeworth nodded solemnly. "I did. And I'll help you smuggle out a cheesecake."

So Phoenix went to the pompous gala, and rubbed his finger on his wineglass until it rang out, and suffered the servers' judgmental glares. He stared at Edgeworth way too much—the black suit jacket looked fascinating on him, but at least his waistcoat was burgundy. This black tie version of Edgeworth looked. . . out of his league was what came to mind, a peculiar and irrelevant turn of phrase. Phoenix shook his head, blamed his flush on the wine, and accepted Edgeworth's invitation to dance, telling himself that he'd never understand the strange ways of prosecutors at formal events.

And as he whirled around the floor in the Chief Prosecutor's arms, he admitted to himself that, just maybe, he wouldn't mind returning next year.

*

"In my mind I thought of it as a date, though I wasn't quite brave enough to be upfront with you," Edgeworth concluded, as the first lock splintered and fell away. "I apologize."

"No, don't apologize!" Phoenix protested. "You did exactly what you promised, after all. Trucy loved the cheesecake."

"So you're not. . . repulsed by my unsolicited interest?"

"Hey, of course not! Besides, I'm the one who wrote you letters for fifteen years and then popped up in your courtroom."

"Fair point." Edgeworth allowed himself a small smile, and some of the tension fell away. "So where does that put us?"

"Well, let's summarize." Phoenix tapped thoughtfully on his chin. "You thought of the Gala as a date and didn't tell me, and that was one lock's worth of secret. That's still pretty far removed from weddings though. . . it's not like we're in a relationship."

"Ah, actually. . . ."

"Nice try, Edgeworth. There's no way I'd be in a relationship with you and not be aware of it," Phoenix scoffed.

Unfortunately, Edgeworth seemed to have taken it as a challenge; he was sitting up straighter and his eyes were taking on a flinty look, and Phoenix smiled despite himself.

"You could bluff your way into the truth itself and not be aware of it," Edgeworth growled, and it was delightful. Riling up his favorite pedantic prosecutor was Phoenix's favorite activity on Earth.

He smirked as Miles began to explain, pronouncing every word. "It was your idea to begin with. . . ."

*

"It's okay, Larry! So Candice doesn't want to be your valentine, but maybe Ashley will. It's only November, you have loads of time!" Nine-year-old Phoenix reassured his wailing friend.

"Really?" Larry gulped.

"Yes, and there are ten other girls in our class, and forty in our grade. You'll find someone who likes you!" Miles added.

"You two are the best friends ever! Thank you, I'll go ask right now!" Ever the optimist, Larry got up with renewed enthusiasm.

Phoenix and Miles watched Larry run off, each lost in their own thoughts.

"Miles?" Phoenix ventured. "Will any of those forty girls like me?"

"Of course they will!" Miles nodded emphatically. "You're kind, you have good grades, and you're pretty good at sports. I'm surprised you haven't had a valentine before."

"Well," Phoenix hedged. "What if I don't like any of them? I mean, I want to be friends with them, but I don't want them to be my valentine," he explained.

"You don't have to have a valentine. Or a girlfriend," Miles answered, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration, like Phoenix was saying something puzzling that he was struggling to decipher.

"But I do want to have a valentine. And a girlfriend, someday. Just. . . not one of them," Phoenix protested. "What if I never find someone I want to ask?"

"Well," Miles said thoughtfully. "I've never had a valentine or a girlfriend either, so at least you won't be the only one."

"Let's make a deal," Phoenix said. "If we're both thirty, and we both don't have girlfriends, then we'll be each other's girlfriends." He paused thoughtfully. "I mean boyfriends."

"Alright, Phoenix." Miles smiled indulgently at him. "It's a promise."

*

"We pinky swore!" Phoenix exclaimed. "It's binding! So. . . so are you my boyfriend?" He asked, suddenly shy.

"No reasonable interpretation would label us so. Verbal contracts between nine-year-olds are non-binding," Miles huffed, growing more proper and lawyerly the more uncomfortable he became. "I simply enjoyed thinking that there was some interpretation where you might be, in all this time that I was in love with you in secret," he admitted. "I assure you it doesn't come with any obligations to act like my boyfriend. It was just. . . ." He turned away, unable to meet Phoenix's eyes, and the second lock broke. "It was just a nice thing to imagine."

"Edgeworth." Phoenix touched his shoulder. "It is a nice thing to imagine. I think I'd like that."

"You would?"

"Yes. But then, that's pretty mild. That's two locks concerning pretty cute headcanons you have of me so far," Phoenix said, earning an angry glare.

"Call them cute headcanons again and I will end you painfully. Where did you learn that word anyway?"

"Maya tells me hers all the time, remember?" Phoenix shrugged. "Anyway, are the rest about me too?"

"No," Edgeworth answered way too quickly, and with an air of defeat.

The chains rattled angrily. "Edgeworth."

"Yes," he sighed. "Yes, the rest are involving you too, though for the sake of my blood pressure, I dread when you figure it out."

"We can stop here if you'd rather I not," Phoenix offered. "I doubt this is essential to the investigation anyway."

"No, Phoenix. I don't know how long I could've kept up the ruse after today anyway, not after, well." He waved a hand vaguely around, indicating the Flying Chapel's wedding hall around them. "Not after all this."

"How embarrassing can it be?" Phoenix pressed.

"How-What's the most embarrassing thing you can imagine?" Edgeworth retorted.

"Well, one time in college I ate a piece of evidence. That was pretty embarrassing." Phoenix wilted a bit under Edgeworth's furious glare. "Another time, I went to an audition, not knowing it was for an adult movie! That was pretty embarrassing too. Wait. . . ." With rising horror, Phoenix stared at Edgeworth. "No. No."

Edgeworth was relentless. "What do you remember about that time our chartered jet crash-landed in the woods?"

"Not much. I was pretty concussed. I heard what happened afterwards though: The plane went down in northern Wisconsin. I couldn't walk, so the pilot left to find help while you stayed behind to keep an eye on me," Phoenix recited off the details.

"Go on. When were we found?" Edgeworth prompted.

"It was the next day. We stayed overnight in the plane's fuselage."

"And you were informed of the factual details, but have no personal recollection."

"Correct," Phoenix said. "The first thing I remember is waking up in the hospital."

Edgeworth pinched the bridge of his nose. "I think I might die of mortification, but let me fill you in, starting from when the pilot left. . . ."

*

"You're shivering," Miles murmured, bending protectively over the half-conscious man lying in his arms. They huddled near the tail of the wreckage, farthest from the smashed front cabin with snow and freezing winds blowing in. The tattered blanket wrapped around them did little to keep out the chill.

Hour by hour, Wright grew colder and weaker, so pale and fragile it broke Miles's heart. He wasn't even shivering anymore. The bandage at his temple became heavy and sticky with blood, and his quiet mumbles grew more confused. "Hold on, love," Miles begged, drawing him infinitesimally closer, desperation tearing the endearment from his lips. With hot tears threatening to spill, he pressed a kiss onto the bloodstained forehead, and he wondered whether help would arrive too late.

"I'll save you this time," Miles whispered. "No matter what."

Later, as they lay in a tangle of bare skin and heavy limbs, Miles shielding Wright from the cold ground, Wright shuddered, curling into his arms. Miles bit back a sob. Overcome with emotion, he kissed him desperately, his mouth hot on the delicate skin at Wright's throat.

*

"Oh god. Did we. . . ?"

"No!" Edgeworth sputtered, his face a deep crimson.

The lock trembled. "So what happened?" Phoenix asked slowly, dreading the end of it.

"Nothing! I kissed you a lot and cried a lot, and in the morning the helicopter came!"

The lock trembled again, but still held firm. "Is that all that happened?" Phoenix asked skeptically.

Edgeworth buried his face in his hands. "Your dick touched my dick," he mumbled into his hands.

The lock broke. And Phoenix, that inconsiderate clod, had the gall to snort at him.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry," Phoenix wheezed, clutching his stomach. "That's awkward of me—"

"Shut up, Wright. It's unimportant. As the hours passed and you lost consciousness, that was the furthest thing from my mind."

"Edgeworth. . . Miles. . . wow. You really saved me, huh?" Phoenix wiped away the mirthful tears from his eyes.

"Oh, come off it. You've saved me loads of times," Edgeworth muttered darkly.

"Miles, you know what this means? We can't go anywhere without each other," Phoenix chuckled. "What if one of us needs saving? We should just stick together all the time and—"

Another lock twitched.

Phoenix froze.

"Huh?" Phoenix gave Edgeworth a questioning look. "What did I say?"

"Actually," Edgeworth said with a long-suffering sigh, "I am engaged to you."

"Oh, congratulations!" Phoenix said, before he processed the words. "I think. Wait. What?"

"It's no cause for congratulations," Edgeworth said somberly. "It's a technicality, but one I've held dear to my heart."

"Okay, I'm all ears."

"No, you're all Wright."

"Oh, hardy-har. Just tell me."

"Well, we were in Germany," Edgeworth began. "It was about eighteen months before Kristoph's arrest, when we visited a jewelry shop, right?"

"Oh." Phoenix remembered it well. "Yes, Berry Big Jewelers. We went to get some crystals for Trucy's costumes. I don't see where you're going with this," he lied, with sweat dripping down his face.

"Do you remember the ring that you liked?" Edgeworth asked.

Phoenix squirmed. He more than remembered it. "To this day I don't know how you convinced me to accept it."

"But I did convince you. If I recall, it went like this. . . ."

*

"I'm surprised you'd have such a strong reaction to a ring," Edgeworth said in amusement, and Phoenix stared at the display case.

"Me too. . . somehow it reminds me of everyone who's dear to me. My parents, the Feys, Trucy. . . and you," Phoenix answered, admiring the row of stones set in the band.

"That's because it's a rainbow, Wright. It has everyone's color in it."

"Now you're just making fun of me. I still like it. If I propose to someone with it, it will be a piece of my history. . . everything that's closest to my heart," Phoenix explained, feeling a little foolish. Discussing proposals with Edgeworth, of all people. . . .

To his surprise, Edgeworth smiled, a sincere smile without any mockery. "Well, that's settled. We have to get it for you. You might not find another design you like as much," he said.

"Okay, and I'll pay you back as soon as I can."

Edgeworth waved over a sales clerk and pointed out the ring. They watched her pack it in a velvet box, tied with a neat bow.

Turning back to Phoenix, Edgeworth continued the negotiations. "What if you decide not to use it? No, when you propose to someone with this ring, you can pay me back then." Phoenix opened his mouth to protest, and Edgeworth held up a hand. "And if you find another ring you like better, you can simply return this one to me."

It sounded so logical but it felt like a trap. "Okay, I guess I can agree to that," Phoenix answered dubiously, uneasily—almost as if he sensed the jaws of fate closing in on him.

"Then do you accept this ring?"

Was there any other answer? "Yes."

*

"Oh my god," present-day Phoenix exclaimed. "You bought me a ring and I accepted it!"

"I did, and until you either returned it or gave it away, I considered it binding. Sentimental of me, I know."

Phoenix looked at his hand where the ring glinted innocently—he'd been wearing it the whole time— "Well, you should also know I would never have done either. You got it for me! I was going to hold onto it for all time. I guess that makes two of us sentimental fools."

Edgeworth cleared his throat and looked away, a delicate pink flush spreading on his cheeks, and Phoenix stared at it, enchanted. He was so close. He could have this: claim the beautiful man before him and make him his own. Years stretching before them, filled with shy smiles and subtle touches, days spent raining fire and justice upon the courts, quiet evenings that ended in taking Edgeworth by the hand and gently leading him to bed. If only he could work up the courage to ask.

Phoenix swallowed, staring again at the ring. "Miles, let's do it all for real. Really get engaged. . . Miles?"

The too-blank expression on Edgeworth's face stopped Phoenix in his tracks.

"Miles. What's wrong?"

"I can't get married to you, Phoenix."

It was like holding out his heart only to have it crushed to dust. Phoenix felt his own heart crumble in his chest. "Why the hell not?" he yelled in dismay.

The last lock rattled. One stupid lock in mockingly bright colors, staring Phoenix in the face.

Edgeworth's eyes flickered to the glowing magatama, then fixed back on his. "It won't be satisfied with anything but the whole truth, will it? The truth, Phoenix Wright, is that I am already married."

"What?" Yelped Phoenix as the last lock began to crack.

". . . Married to you!" Edgeworth finished. The chains whipped with such force that Phoenix went stumbling back, tripping over his hem and flailing as he fell.

Edgeworth advanced on him, regal, beautiful, and menacing. "That's right! That's the whole truth! And it happened just an hour ago!"

"An hour ago! But that means. . . here?"

"Yes." Edgeworth stared down at him, mouth set in a grim line. "I'm sorry. It wasn't my plan, but I was aware as it happened, and I had plenty of opportunity to put a stop to it. Instead, I let it happen. . . ."

*

One hour earlier. . . .

"In order to better understand the movements of all the suspects and witnesses, please walk us through a typical wedding's events," Phoenix instructed the event manager, Ms. Reese Epton, with Maya, Trucy, and Pearl in tow.

"Certainly," said Ms. Epton. "The wedding parties would arrive typically a few hours in advance. Here are the dressing rooms—this one has larger mirrors, and is typically used by the party with the more intricate preparations."

"We get it, usually the bride," Phoenix sighed. "Guess I'd better take this one," he added, glancing at Pearl's star-struck expression.

"Then it's agreed," Edgeworth said with a nod to Franziska and Gumshoe. "We'll meet back here in a few minutes and report on our findings."

The first thing Phoenix noticed in the dressing room was the floor-length gown hanging from a tall ledge, lit with fairy lights and surrounded by mirrors. It was a generic wedding gown of grand and dreamlike proportions: a strapless ball gown in shimmering ivory with a sweetheart neckline, swirls of bead and pearl detailing stitched into the bodice, and too many layers of lace and tulle to count exploding from the waistline.

"My goodness," Phoenix breathed. "That's wider than my office doorway."

"Ah yes," Ms. Epton explained. "That's our staging gown. It's a sample meant to show prospective brides how this room would look on her wedding day."

"Wow, they spared no detail to make this a fairytale experience, huh?" Maya grinned.

Pearl was instantly enchanted. "Oh, Mystic Maya! You can wear this dress when you marry Mr. Nick!"

Maya got a wicked twinkle in her eye. "I'd be lost in a dress in that style," she began slowly. "But I bet Nick could pull it off! Right, Nick?"

"Huh?" Phoenix sputtered. "No! No, of course not!"

"But daddy. . . how will we know the bride's movements unless you try it on?" Trucy asked thoughtfully. "This could be a crucial window of opportunity. She could have hidden the murder weapon or held a secret rendezvous. . . ."

"Alright, fine," Phoenix said with the air of a convict awaiting execution. Grumbling, he pulled off his suit jacket and shirt and allowed Maya to help him into the gown.

"Lucky that it's strapless, or your arms would've torn any sleeves," Maya teased.

"Just between you and me, it's a bit too fussy for your style," Trucy whispered.

Phoenix stared at himself in the mirror, swallowed by a sea of fluttering lace. He felt incredibly ridiculous, and inexplicably wistful. His face was warm.

"Next, through that door is the makeup table," Ms. Epton was saying, and of course it was decked out with sample equipment.

Pearl squealed.

"Ow! You're supposed to rescue me from. . . this," Phoenix hissed at Maya as he let Pearl stab him with a mascara pen.

"And pass up an opportunity this good? Never, not even for a hundred burgers."

Phoenix managed to talk the girls out of styling his hair, though only by distracting them with the sample bridesmaids gowns and flower girl dresses in matching generic wedding lavender. But before he was allowed a quick escape (or as quick as he was able hampered by twenty pounds of tulle), Pearl managed to slip a cathedral-length veil onto his head.

"You just had to have a sample in this ridiculous length," Phoenix stage-whispered to Ms. Epton.

"It's good for display! And it suits you," She whispered back with a wink.

As he left, Trucy caught him right in his bared throat with a spritz of something labeled nuit mysterieuse—an overwhelming concoction of citrus, sandalwood, and aftershave. "A magician always keeps essential tools on hand," she explained with a dazzling smile.

Even I think that name sounds trite, Phoenix thought to himself.

*

Phoenix stomped out from the dressing room on precarious heels with the skirts bunched in one arm, and the absurd veil draped over the other, only to drop both in shock. There, in the hall stood Edgeworth, scowling, in full bridegroom regalia, wearing an extravagant tuxedo: crisp white shirt that extended just below the cut waistline of a solid black suit jacket, white pocket square tucked artfully in the breast pocket. A suit jacket with penguin tails, that probably had a fancy name Phoenix didn't know.

He wore a lace-embroidered jewel on his jabot.

The whole look was made of clichés. And yet, the man wearing it was stunning.

The scowl dropped off Edgeworth's face, replaced by a shocked flush as he stared Phoenix up and down, and abruptly Phoenix was reminded of his own. . . state of dress.

He winced. Edgeworth coughed.

"Look, can we just not talk about it?" Phoenix asked despairingly.

Edgeworth tried to answer, and only a strangled squeak came out.

They were saved by the crack of Franziska's whip. "Are you fools going to stand there foolishly gawking all day, or shall we get on with the investigation?" She snapped, stalking past and dragging Gumshoe with her by the lapel, the pair of them in matching groomsmen's suits.

They made their way to the wedding hall, where Edgeworth briskly strode up to it and began inspecting the decorative arch. Phoenix tried to follow, clumsy in his dress.

The crack of a whip in his face made him flinch back. "No, you fool!" Franziska shrieked, hauling Edgeworth to the side of the arch. "You have to start from over here. How else will you know what the groom saw as the ceremony progressed? And you!" She rounded on Phoenix, her whip flying and blocking his way. "Phoenix Wright, you must stand there and approach when the processional plays. Do you understand?"

"Yes! Just put that whip away!" Phoenix yelled.

Franziska took her place between Edgeworth and Gumshoe and gave the event manager a nod. "Alright, please begin the processional."

"Is this really necessary?" Phoenix whispered to Maya as Here Comes the Bride began to play. "And do they really have to play that?" He tried to walk forward, only to be held back.

"Are you trying to get whipped?" Maya hissed at him. "The flower girl goes first!"

Pearl began her entrance, sweet and ethereal in her fluttery lavender gown, scattering white rose petals from a basket she'd somehow found.

"Awwwww," Gumshoe sighed from the altar, wiping away a tear. Franziska elbowed him.

"Alright, we're going now. Count out eight beats, then you can begin. And pay attention to the music! Good luck, daddy!" Trucy shoved a ridiculously oversized bouquet into his arms (white and pink roses tied with gold ribbon; so not what he would've chosen, Phoenix thought with an eyeroll). Then she and Maya were off, walking side by side, radiant in their lavender dresses, with dark green ivy sprigs woven in their hair.

Eight beats, and then Phoenix was staggering down the aisle, and it was the most terrifying experience of his life! Worse than confronting von Karma. Worse than falling off a bridge. Maybe not worse than the Engarde trial, but certainly the scariest moment sans assassin. His ears were ringing—was he in time with the music? The aisle seemed to stretch for miles, and at the end stood Edgeworth, wide-eyed and looking terrified himself. Phoenix took his place next to Maya.

"We are gathered here today," the event manager intoned, re-enacting the ceremony. Phoenix was so captivated by Edgeworth's ridiculous suit that he heard none of it. The cut of the suit jacket seemed to make him sleeker, like a conductor and a butler at once, or a supervillain from a fairy tale, drawing a subtle curve from his hips to his elegant neckline. Phoenix longed to run his hand up that smooth jacket, savoring the feel of the man under it. . . he hurriedly looked away, and his eye fell on all the tulle bunched around him. His ears burned with humiliation.

And then, Franziska was nudging Edgeworth and jerking her head at Phoenix. As Phoenix stared, perplexed, Edgeworth cleared his throat and began to speak.

"Yes, um. . . Ergo! Mr. Phoenix Wright! The prosecution declares before the court. . . Nghohh!"

"Try again, you foolish fool of a bridegroom!" Franziska snarled at him. "You are giving a vow, not an opening statement!"

"Indeed! Mmmph. The applicant declares before the assembly—" he cast an irritable glance at Franziska, who looked absolutely outraged "—its intention to enter into a union with Mr. Phoenix Wright!" And here, he pointed with a dramatic flourish, so fiercely Phoenix felt his hair rustle, as if he were in court after all.

Even Maya looked disgusted at that. "I feel a migraine coming on," she muttered.

"Fool!" Franziska hissed, loudly enough for everyone to hear. "Tell him why you wish to marry him!"

Edgeworth coughed. "Verily! Yes, well. Simply put, Wright, you are a wonderful man. . . and an inspiring man." He took a deep breath, seeming to draw out words from the depths of him. "You are. . . a joy to the people around you, and I vow to inspire joy in you as well. You are a stalwart friend, the first to help a friend in need, and I vow to be your staunchest supporter." Another deep breath. He seemed to calm, grasping onto the truth of the words. He gave Trucy a small but sincere smile. "You cherish your family above all else, and I vow to make your—our home a hearth. Loving you is as easy and as essential as breathing, and the only possibility. I vow to love you with all my heart."

"Wow," breathed Phoenix in awe. Maya wiped a tear from her eye. Even Franziska seemed stunned into silence. "Miles. . . ." Phoenix gazed at the man facing him, staring into his eyes like they were the only people there.

Gradually, Phoenix became aware of an ear-splitting silence.

"Nick! It's your turn!" Maya hissed.

"How can I follow something like that?" Phoenix whispered in horror.

"I don't know! Just say something!"

"Ahaha. Um. I, um. I vow. . . ." There were too many people, and he wasn't eloquent on the spot, and his mind was buzzing. Despairingly, he cast around for anything that sounded even remotely romantic: quotes, verses, even song lyrics. . . only one thing came to mind. And as he opened his mouth to deliver the line, he thought that if this was to be the biggest bluff of his life, at least it was true to himself.

Maybe, just maybe, Miles would appreciate how very Wright it was.

"I vow to be your Rick Astley. . . because I'm never gonna give you up!"

*

Then again, maybe not.

But as the wedding party descended into chaos, Edgeworth got a steely look in his eye. Determined to act out the part to the end, he grabbed Phoenix and kissed him senseless.

*

". . . And then Trucy produced rings from her magical panties, and when we signed the license, I recognized it as a genuine legal document," Edgeworth—no, Miles—finished. The last lock shattered and dissolved. The chains retracted, and color returned to the room.

Phoenix looked down at himself, at the ball gown still clinging to his body and the veil still fluttering around his head, at the golden band on his finger nestled next to the engagement ring. He had the oddest feeling that he'd played himself. He was speechless.

"And that's the whole truth. I should have objected during the ceremony. But I didn't. . . I admit it was a twisted way of living out my dream, if only for a little while." Edgeworth looked away, ashamed. "I thought I'd simply annul it afterwards, and you'd never need to know. I'm sorry though. . . I should have told you."

A slow grin began to spread on Phoenix's face. He pointed triumphantly, the two rings flashing on his finger. "So that was your bald-faced lie. . . you very well could imagine getting married in a place like this because you just had!"

Edgeworth flinched hard, his hand finding his elbow. "Yes, you've found me out. I'll take care of it right away."

"Objection!" Phoenix yelled. He was grinning so wide it hurt. "Don't you dare annul our marriage! I'm keeping it!"

"What? You're. . . what?"

"I kept the cheesecake, I kept the engagement ring, and I'm keeping you!" Phoenix declared nonsensically.

"Objection! You can't just keep a person!" Edgeworth spluttered in indignation.

"Yes I can, Miles Edgeworth, unless you have evidence to the contrary. Well? Are you about to prove me wrong?"

"No, and don't say it," Edgeworth growled. "Don't even think it!"

Gleefully, Phoenix said it anyway. "Because I'm always—mmmpph!"

*

"By the way, I have the murder weapon," Trucy announced brightly, to everyone gathered except the two irredeemable idiots. "It was hidden behind the wedding dress." They all leaned in as she shook her magical panties, sending a heavy, bloodied cake-topper tumbling to the ground.

It was shaped like the Thinker. As it hit the floor, it beeped and spoke.

"With this ring, I think we are wed."