October 6th, 1991.

Neverland Ranch had never looked more extravagant. The late California sun poured gold across the rolling hills of the Santa Ynez Valley while helicopters circled overhead like curious vultures, their distant chopping blades blending with the string quartet drifting through the gardens. Michael Jackson stood beneath the gardenia-draped gazebo in a black sequenced suit, hands clasped lightly behind his back as he watched his dear friend marry for what she loudly insisted would be the last time.

"You know what the scary thing is?" He nodded toward the crowd. "Half these people already have their outfits picked out for your next wedding."

Elizabeth Taylor burst into laughter beside him, her pale yellow Valentino gown catching the light as she squeezed his arm. At fifty-nin.e, she looked radiant and entirely pleased with herself. Michael adored seeing her happy. For all the spectacle surrounding the wedding, this part felt genuine.

The ceremony nearly came apart when a paparazzo suddenly descended from the sky.

One moment Larry Fortensky was saying his vows. The next, a man attached to a parachute landed almost directly beside the guests.

Gasps rippled through the crowd.

Michael blinked once.

Then twice.

Security exploded into motion while Elizabeth looked momentarily stunned.

Michael covered his mouth to hide his grin.

By evening, the chaos had become another story for the guests to tell.

Under the massive reception tent, crystal chandeliers glowed above tables crowded with salmon, chocolate mousse cake, champagne and wine. Quincy Jones stood talking with Eddie Murphy. Liza Minnelli laughed loudly enough to be heard across the room. Brooke Shields and Macaulay Culkin occupied a corner table while Nancy Reagan spoke with several guests nearby.

Michael drifted comfortably between conversations, stopping every few minutes because someone wanted a photograph, a hug, or simply a moment of his attention. He never seemed to mind. Despite the size of the event, he possessed that rare ability to make people feel as though they were the only person in the room.

Eventually the music shifted into something slower.

As Elizabeth and Larry shared their first dance, Michael wandered toward his gir.lfriend of six months, extending his hand.

"C'mon."

His smile was warm.

"We have to dance. It's the law at weddings."

When she appeared unconvinced, he lowered his voice.

"If we don't, Elizabeth'll probably get married again just to make us do it later."

The joke earned exactly the reaction he hoped for.

They joined the dancers. Michael was relaxed for once, absent the pressure of performance. He talked more than he danced, occasionally laughing under his breath at something happening across the room, pointing out celebrity encounters with the fascination of someone who somehow never entirely stopped being a fan himself.

Hours later, Elizabeth gathered the unmarried wom.en together for the bouquet toss.

Michael watched from the edge of the crowd with a glass of sparkling cider in hand, already suspicious of whatever chaos was about to unfold. Elizabeth had spent most of the reception teasing people, and the glint in her eye suggested she wasn't finished yet.

The bouquet flew through the air.

Several wom.en reached for it.

For a second it looked as though it would disappear into the crowd entirely.

Instead, it bounced awkwardly off one guest's shoulder and landed directly against his gir.lfriend's chest. Instinctively, she caught it before it could hit the ground.

A cheer immediately erupted beneath the tent.

Michael looked up.

Then at the bouquet.

Then at the crowd.

"Oh, no."

The cheering only intensified.

Someone whistled.

Someone else shouted something he thankfully couldn't quite hear.

Michael pressed his lips together, trying not to laugh.