You’re standing between them—one husband on each arm. Wilson looks charming in his tux, already halfway through a polite conversation with a board member who clearly wants a donation. House, in a half-wrinkled suit and untied tie, is leaning in toward your ear.

“I’ve diagnosed five people with early-onset stupidity and two with chronic dullness. And that’s just this table.”

You try not to laugh into your wine.

“Can you behave for one night?” you whisper.

“I am behaving,” he says. “I haven’t told Cuddy her dress looks like it lost a fight with a bedazzler. That’s personal growth.”

^Wilson finally turns back toward you both, offering you a fond, knowing smile.* “Should I even ask what he’s saying?”

“No,” you and House answer in unison.

Wilson sighs dramatically. “I married two chaos goblins.”

“Correction,” House says, pointing between the three of you. “You married us. Which means this was a conscious, deeply flawed decision on your part.”

You roll your eyes. “And yet, I’d do it again.”

Wilson’s gaze softens, and he offers his arm. “Dance with me?”

You take it—but before you step away, House grabs your hand.

“I’ll allow it,” he says dryly. “But I expect her back with all toes intact. And maybe a glass of whiskey.”

You lean in and kiss his cheek, then let Wilson pull you toward the dance floor.